I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. Wish me luck, guys, here I go.
This news was so thoroughly startling to Lucy that she couldn't even say anything to it, so her sister took the opportunity to continue, her face serious and grim.
"I am merely an excuse, Lucy," said Susan, putting her hand on her sister's shoulder and looking her in the eye. "I am a trophy. He cares much more for the wedding than he does for the marriage. I am his symbol of triumph, because he took me from Narnia, which he intends to conquer after he's presented me as evidence to the people on our wedding day. Narnia is in grave danger."
Lucy finally found her voice, the gravity of the situation still somewhere far above her. She couldn't quite process this terribleness.
"But…we can't let that happen," said Lucy, horrified.
"No," Susan agreed emphatically. "We can't, Lucy. But if you hadn't noticed, I'm under constant guard, my weapons have been confiscated and I've no means of escape that won't result in death. I'm not exactly in a position to do anything. But you are."
"What do I do?" asked Lucy, a bit weak in the knees. Susan must have some idea. The hope that that thought gave her quickly slipped away at the blank look on her sister's face.
"I'm sorry," said Susan. "I don't really know. All I can tell you is what I know and hope you find a way. Trust your instincts, Lucy. You've always been good at knowing what to do. If it helps, King Valin has my horn. He wears it on his belt. He believes it's a medal he's won from me for standing by and letting his guards arrest me. He can't make it sound, though; I've heard him try and all that comes out is this pitiable little whine."
"Well good, it oughtn't do anything for him," said Lucy. She sighed and rested her head against Susan's shoulder, seeking a temporary solace from all the trouble. "I'm glad you're not dead anymore, Su."
Susan let out a bemused laugh as she stroked her sister's hair.
"Dead?" she said confusedly. "I was never dead, Lu, what gave you that idea?"
"Aslan said you'd passed on from this world," said Lucy, frowning in perplexity. "And Peter said he saw you die."
"You know how melodramatic Peter can be," Susan smiled. "He probably thought he saw something he didn't. And Aslan didn't tell you I was dead, did he? I just passed on. Not willingly, but I did. But right now, Lu, you need to focus on saving Narnia. Don't worry about saving me."
"We'll do both," Lucy promised. Susan gave her a little squeeze.
"You should go," she said gently. "They'll get suspicious. It's so good to see you, Lu. Good luck."
Lucy nodded and reluctantly stood up. She kissed her sister's cheek and at last moved back towards the door, pulling it open and casting one last glance back at Susan. Then she had shut it, and she was once more within the tiny antechamber, in the darkness. She pulled open the second door.
"Excuse me, but will you please tell me what's behind that door?" said Edmund to her, looking very frustrated and regal in fine and fresh clothing. He gestured to the guards uncaringly. "These fellows won't even give me the courtesy of an answer."
"It's nothing of your concern, milord," Lucy said, curtsying quickly. She could sense Peter off to her right, and marveled at how close they all were, yet how far that truly was. Edmund must have come up on a pretense of exploration; they all obviously knew where Susan was being kept.
"You heard her," said the captain, frowning threateningly. Lucy began to move off towards the stairwell, but someone else was coming up it – she could heard the footsteps. Seconds later, a very tall, broad man had stepped up, dressed in guard's armor but with several flashy medals and badges pinned on the left breast of his tunic. He was advancing towards the other guards.
"Ah, the Royal Commander," said Edmund, turning towards him with an air of disdainful relief. "Your guard is quite rude. I merely asked what lay behind this door, not to see it, and have been treated most discourteously by your post. I presume you'll amend this straightaway."
The commander raised his eyebrows. Lucy felt she ought to leave, but couldn't bring herself to do so. The moment was tense.
"Certainly, my lord," he said after a long moment. He turned to the guard, who seemed intimidated by him, and all but Peter shrank back a bit. Lucy cringed, wishing her brother would put aside bravery for conformity, if only for the moment. The commander advanced towards them, pacing a few strides before he came to stand aside from any of them. He looked to Edmund.
"Which of these men has so aggrieved you?" he asked. His voice was deadly calm.
Edmund, torn between endangering his brother and endangering the innocent, switched courses immediately.
"I am not a cruel man," he said quickly. "I should be much more satisfied by the answer to my question than by seeing any one of these men punished."
"The answer to your question is one I am sure you already know," said the commander coolly. Lucy did not see Edmund waver, but she sensed it. The commander began to pace again. "The question I have has an equally obvious answer. What would a young man such as your self be doing, hanging about a young lady's chambers?"
"I assure you, I knew nothing about any young lady," said Edmund, and in character, indignant color pooled in his cheeks. "And now that my question has been so kindly answered, I shall…"
"I have another question, though," interrupted the commander, stroking his short beard as if he had not heard a word Edmund said. He looked over at the guards, two of whom visibly shivered.
"What's that, sir?" asked the captain nervously.
The commander's eyes moved slowly, and Lucy's breath hitched in her throat as they settled on Peter.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" he asked, his eyes narrowed and dangerous. Everyone seemed to stiffen.
"New on the guard, sir, just came in for the wedding," said Peter smartly. "First day on the job."
Lucy relaxed, but the commander did not, and neither did the captain.
"Who trained you, soldier?" asked the commander, stopped in front of him. Lucy could see her brother slowly being drawn into a trap.
"Can't remember his name, sir," said Peter, improvising, and badly. "A short chap, with black hair and a moustache."
"Carrigan, perchance?" said the other guard uncertainly. "Sounds like him."
"That's the one," said Peter in relief, but the commander was not finished.
"Show me the king's salute, soldier," he demanded. And Peter could only stand, dumbfounded. Lucy and Edmund watched on in horror as the commander's eyes narrowed in satisfaction.
"Just as I thought," he said, sneering. "Guards – arrest this man."