I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I do own three pennies, a nickel and two dimes, which are in my back pocket at the moment.

"Early dinner," Peter announced, though it could almost be called a late lunch, given that the sun had barely begun to sink outside the one tavern window. They had been sitting at the same corner table for almost an hour, Edmund slumped across it, Peter resting his head against the wall and Lucy trying to convince them both to take a bit of cordial, which of course had never amounted to anything. Peter lifted his head from the wall and got to his feet wearily, making his way through the dimly lit room and over to the bar, where he held a quick conversation with the bartender, a burly man who looked as though he didn't think too much of them.

When he slid back into his seat a moment later, Lucy gave him a questioning look.

"On its way," he told her. And sure enough, a few minutes after the bartender had shouted something unintelligible into the side room, a plump, smiling woman with long red hair braced the door open with her hip and made her way towards their table, bearing a tray with three bowls, a pot, and a loaf of steaming bread upon it. She hovered over them a minute as Lucy attempted to prod Edmund off the table and into wakefulness ("five more minutes…") until Peter finally one-handedly pushed him backwards; the younger king slid off his chair, struck his head upon the edge of the table and woke up with a start. Then the bowls were placed in front of them, the pot (which turned out to contain a thick stew) was set in the center of the table, and the bread split between them. Edmund clambered back into his chair, shooting a grudging look at Peter and rubbing his head.

They ate in silence for a while, watching the people slowly trickle into the tavern as the day grew closer to its end. After a moment, the woman who had brought them their food returned, her hair now tucked up into a net and her sleeves rolled up.

"Would you be liking anything to drink, dearies?" she asked with a dimpled smile. She was much older than them, probably somewhere in her forties, but looked as though she would have little trouble holding her own in a brawl (which was probably a good thing, thought Lucy, noting the rather seedy appearance of the establishment).

"Oh," said Peter, taken somewhat by surprise. "Yes, please. Ale is fine for me, and I think water for…"

"I'll have a mug of ale, too," said Edmund pointedly, doing his best to look older than his sixteen years. Their server chuckled.

"Are you sure about that, lad?" she asked. "This stuff is a right bit stronger than most of what you'll find."

"I'll be fine," Edmund replied smoothly. Peter opened his mouth to object, but the women had already swept off, leaving him to look at his brother in disapproval. Lucy smothered a giggle in her hand. Of course, it worked out well for her, since ale tasted stronger than water, and they would be less likely to notice her trick before it was too late.

When their server returned with their drinks, an amused twinkle in her eye, Lucy surreptitiously unscrewed the lid of her cordial beneath the table and waited for an opportunity. It came when an enormous man staggered into the tavern, heading for the red-haired matron who had only just been waiting upon them; Peter and Edmund jumped to their feet, ready for a fight, but the robust woman just laughed and ushered the man into a seat. While her brothers were distracted, Lucy quickly poured a drop of the fireflower cordial into both their mugs, quickly recapping it and returning it to its case. Apparently satisfied that a fight wasn't necessary, the kings took their seats. Lucy silently prayed that they would take a drink at the same time – luckily, they did so, reaching for their mugs and bringing them to their lips almost in unison. She noted amusedly that Edmund grimaced slightly at the taste, but as soon as Peter glanced at him, took on a cool face and drank more deeply, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he'd finished. Peter raised an eyebrow – then both.

"You…" he began, alarmed, staring at his brother. The discoloration on Edmund's cheeks had begun to drain, as too were the marks upon his neck; the scabs and cuts were closing, replaced by smooth, freckled skin. Lucy watched as Peter's wounds, too, began to heal, the barely-scabbed gashes in his sides meshing and smoothing until there was only blood-crusted skin. The two brothers' heads shot to the side, staring fiercely at Lucy, frozen.

"Lucy!" Edmund barked.

"Yes?" she replied evenly.

"You…you…what were you thinking?" he demanded, flustered.

"I was thinking that you were both too thick to take it naturally," she said. "I'll clean you up later, before we go to bed. How's that?"

"Lucy!" Peter protested. "I told you it was only to be used for…"

"…emergencies," she finished. "We don't know where we're going or what we'll encounter. You two weren't in any shape to hold up your end of a fight. Look, Peter, Father Christmas gave the cordial to me, not to you. I decide how it's used."

"Now look here," he began, sitting up straight. "I'm High King, and…"

"Oh, stuff it," Edmund grumbled, leaving a rather startled Peter blinking with his mouth still open. Edmund took another deep swig of his ale, coughed a bit, slammed the mug back down on the table and ripped off a piece of bread with his teeth. Still chewing, he told his brother, "Can't change it now anyway. Too late."

Peter slumped, defeated, and picked at his stew. A few minutes later, in which there was only the noise of the increasingly crowded tavern, their server returned with two pitchers, refilling their drinks and asking them if there was anything with which she could help.

"Yes, actually," Peter said. "Could you tell us where we are? We're travelers, you see."

She fixed them with a bit of an odd look.

"Why, you're in the great city of Tamitha, of course," she told him. "It's the only civilization you'll find this side of the Void."

"Of course," Peter said diplomatically. Lucy wondered what the Void was, and also wondered why Peter didn't ask – the woman, seeing they had no further questions, hurried off to help her other customers. Edmund stared dimly into his ale before taking another long drink.

"Edmund?" Lucy asked gently, putting a hand on his arm. "Are you sure you should be…"

"I'm fine," he slurred, blinking blearily. Peter raised an eyebrow and reached over to take the younger king's mug away, but Edmund clutched it tighter and wouldn't allow it, muttering, "Bugger off."

"Language, Ed," said Peter warningly.

"I'll…I'll say what…I wanna say," Ed protested, his tongue apparently too much for him to wield. He began to slip to one side, almost falling off his chair, but Peter's hand shot out and steadied him.

"Oh, Ed," Lucy sighed. "You've gone and had too much ale, haven't you?"

"M'not drunk!" he protested, struggling to his feet, brow furrowed in the effort of it. Lucy glanced at his empty mug, glad that at least he'd eaten his supper before becoming inebriated.

"It'll be time to turn in, soon, anyway," Peter muttered to Lucy. "Are you finished? We should probably take him outside."

"Are you t…talking ab…bout me?" Edmund asked, face flushed and angry. "M'not…m'not…"

He toppled to one side. Peter shot out of his chair, swiftly catching him before he could hit the floor. A few of the men at the tables around them laughed good naturedly. Peter gave them a thin, apologetic smile before hefting his now unconscious little brother over his shoulder and extending his hand to Lucy. The three of them made their way out of the room and into the night, which was pleasantly cool in contrast to the warm room, the unfamiliar stars above gleaming brightly. Peter led the way around the side of the wooden building and over to the staircase that would lead to their room for the night, but Lucy caught sight of a fountain in the square that the tavern bordered, and pointed. Her brother nodded gratefully.

Lucy sat on the edge of the fountain as Peter laid Edmund down next to her, sitting at his brother's feet and leaning over to scoop some water from the fountain's basin. He brought his cupped hands over Edmund's face and let the water trickle between his fingers. It ran in little rivulets across the younger king's freckles, dampening the curled edges of his bangs that hung over his eyes and wetting the collar of his cloak. It was another three tries before Ed came to, spluttering and looking murderous. Lucy quickly pulled his head into her lap before he could do anything rash.

"Lu?" he mumbled groggily.

"Yes, Ed."

"Mmpf."

"Let's go to bed," Peter said tiredly, getting to his feet and wiping his wet hands on his tunic. Lucy nodded and gently slipped the younger of her brothers' head off her lap, stepping aside to allow Peter through. Ed groaned.

"I can walk," he growled. Peter ignored him and eased him into a sitting position so that he could pick him up, carrying him over to the base of the stairs and beginning his ascent. Lucy followed, slipping past him at the top to open the door; they had one room with two beds, the third door on the left. Inside, it was cozy and though not entirely clean, certainly not dirty. Peter gently set his brother down on one of the beds, and he and Lu together removed Edmund's boots, sword belt and cloak, despite his faint protests. In a few minutes, they too were ready to retire; Peter came over to tuck his sister in, whispering good night before sliding into bed beside Edmund, who would probably hurt him for it in the morning. Lucy whispered her own good nights, then blew the candle out. And they slept.