I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies.
Several things happened at once. Lucy's mind quickly matched sight with sound, and she determined that three men (the captain, the guard and Peter) had drawn swords, another (Edmund) had issued a command to drop their arms, and the last (the commander) had tapped one of the medals on his chest with his finger; it was emitting a strange, harsh, bell-like sound that seemed to be in the air more than traveling through it. It made Lucy cringe.
Within seconds, the clash of steel on steel had sounded out into the corridor. Edmund's hand wavered by his sword as he struggled to obey Peter's order to stay disguised until the last. The guardsmen were men of strength and training, but Peter was a king and a soldier and a leader and on a level all of his own. With textbook precision he spun to meet each thrust and jab, Rhindon flickering in his hands, which dwarfed its hilt. The commander, watching the fight as Lucy was, though with much more passivity, at last drew his own sword and stepped in.
It was now three against one. Lucy and Edmund stood by, horrified, both aware that the other was struggling with the same question – to help or to stay hidden? Then suddenly, as Peter thrust his sword up to meet one of the commander's attacks, the guard dropped down into a crouch and slashed at his ankle. As he was unable to dodge without losing his balance, a hit scored deeply into his left shin, even though his heavy leather boot, and he was left with but one foot usable. The captain instantly dropped his sword and as Peter struggled to regain his balance, he shoved him against the wall and whipped out a short rope presumably with which to bind him. Lucy held her breath.
"In the name of the Lion, unhand him!" Edmund cried suddenly, unable to hold it in, his sword singing out into naked air.
The black-haired guard had only a second to react before the young king was upon him. Edmund was a dangerous fighter when he was angered, and he was truly angry now, his blade slashing at his enemy as he sought to protect his older brother. Lucy had seen them battle before, but the intensity with which her brothers were fighting testified to their desperation. They had come to help their sister and could not fail. As for Lucy, she could only clench her hands to her mouth in terror and watch on as the three guards worked to subdue them. Peter was hobbling, blood leaking out of the gash in his boot and dripping out onto the stone floor. But Edmund had taken up beside him, and often Peter's hand would descend on his brother's shoulder to balance himself.
Lucy had hoped that once Edmund had joined the fight, the guards could be quickly subdued. After all, her brothers were both extraordinarily skilled in combat. But the guards were well-trained, and Peter's injury inhibited them both, and in addition to all of this, the commander stood a good head taller than both and to parry his blows looked very painful to her. Lucy had just bent down to retrieve her own dagger and join the fight, thinking only a bit more was needed to tip the battle in their favor, when a new sound reached her ears – the pounding of many, many pairs of feet.
She got out of the way just in time, but while her feet moved sideways, her heart fell straight down. A swarm of palace guards erupted from the stairwell, charged down the short hallway and within seconds, Rhindon clattered to the floor alongside Edmund's own blade. Peter fell to the floor of his own accord, the bleeding worse than ever; Edmund swiftly dropped down to ease his landing and the two of them were pinned to the ground and restrained by several guards. Lucy could do nothing.
"Take them away," the commander ordered, sheathing his sword. The kings were roughly yanked to their feet, hands bound behind their backs, and with swords at their necks, marched back towards the stairwell. Peter let out a soft gasp of pain as he limped past her, but neither brother cast a glance her way. Her disguise was preserved. But now, she faced her task alone.
The marching footsteps faded in the stairwell. Lucy suddenly became aware that the commander was watching her, and tried to compose herself. But before she even had a chance to close her mouth, he had marched up quite close to her, staring down in a look of threat.
"What's happened in this corridor is to stay here," he said in a quiet, venomous voice. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes sir," she said, bowing her head and lowering her eyes to the floor. She curtsied quickly. "Understood, sir."
"We can't have our guests thinking our guards are thick enough to be deceived, can we?" said the commander. He took a small step back, but his size still made this uncomfortably close.
"No sir," whispered Lucy. Her throat constricted a little as her mind followed Peter and Edmund, doubtless into some dark prison, where any number of horrible things could be awaiting them. It had not yet sunk in yet. But already she felt the charm of danger fading, replaced by the terror of the reality that she was now quite alone in her quest. Susan could not aid her; Susan was a prisoner in luxury. Now Peter and Edmund could not lead her, could not even help her. Who knew if they would even see one another again? The enormity of her task bore down on Lucy and for a moment, she wondered if there was any way she could even achieve it.
"I'm glad you understand me," said the commander, and steered her to the stairwell. With tears in her eyes that she hoped he assumed were from the ladylike shock of seeing a real battle, she began to descend the stairs. Bloodspots marked every other step.
But Lucy was not of the type to despair long. She did not have Peter to lead her, but she had other ways to be led. She thought of Aslan's words to her brother – that he ought not to underestimate his siblings, that she and Ed were every bit as necessary as he. It was time to prove again that she was the Valiant – though at the moment, she felt not much besides lost.