A/N: It's February 14, everyone—guess what day it is? That's right! Singles' Appreciation Day, also known as SAD! :D Those of you who've read "A Time for Us" will remember how Schmo and I celebrated this holiday in 2007…and 2008…and now 2009! Though I have news from her that she will no longer be celebrating SAD, due to her courage to tell a certain someone about her feelings. I'm a perpetual spinster. (But I digress—that's what my Livejournal is for, haha!)

Well, hopefully this chapter, coincidentally rather Valentine-y, will make up for my lack of amour! Enjoy!

PS: I rated this story 'T' for intense emotional situations and physical suffering, but I think this chapter, though nowhere near 'M' extremity, leans more toward 'T+' than plain 'T'. Just a heads-up!

--

Ilsta Stalresin was laid to rest somewhat beyond the camp early the next morning. Enna did not attend the brief event, preferring to remain with the Narnians and prepare to set off in pursuit of the fleeing Galmanian army. Lucy begged her to go, to say goodbye to her mother, but she only firmly replied that their farewells had been traded long before.

The army moved at a brisk pace southward, following the tracks left in the soft mud by the preceding host. Peter held Enna tightly in his arms as the sun drifted towards high noon and their shared horse pranced along, but said nothing to her. In fact, everyone seemed unsure of themselves around her, and appeared to prefer to keep their mouths shut than mention last night's affairs. Did the Narnians know nothing of death? It was a regular occurrence, one that Enna was familiar with. She was ready to move on, to seize the opportunity being presented to them, but the army still slogged along at an almost halfhearted, though admittedly quick, given the weather, pace. They forded the southernmost reaches of the Great River a little after midday, the icy water splashing up onto their legs and soaking their boots.

It was not until they had all made it across the water that anyone said anything of consequence to her.

"Look, Ed—I told you!" Queen Lucy cried, pointing towards the River and swinging energetically from her horse. "Did I not say that there is still ice on the surface!"

"It's scarcely April, Lu," King Edmund reminded her. "The water flowing in from the Sea is still bitterly cold, remember?"

"I have never seen it still frozen this late in the year."

"I doubt it is frozen through," Peter put in, swinging down from the saddle and offering a hand to Enna. "Don't get any ideas."

"Ideas? Why would I get ideas?" Nevertheless, Lucy's eyes sparkled impishly.

Peter shook his head and turned to Enna. "Try to rest," he said quietly. "Eat something before we go on. You look tired."

"Aye."

Squeezing her hand, he paused a moment before striding off with King Edmund to eat and doubtless go over more strategies. Enna stretched slowly, feeling her muscles groan with the tension in them, before opening the horse's saddlebag and taking out a handful of the dried berries the dryads called yetmis.

"Enna," said Lucy, coming over with her own food in hand.

"Aye?"

"Won't you come down to the riverside with me?"

"Peter said not to get any ideas."

The queen looked highly affronted. "All I want is to sit on the banks! Why does everyone immediately assume I'm up to mischief?"

Enna did not reply, but looked archly at Lucy. "All right. Just to sit on the banks."

Lucy's annoyance disappeared in a moment, and she smiled, taking Enna's hand and tugging her away from the main army and down the slope to the narrow shore. "See? The ice has crowded all the way to the very banks."

Enna kicked at the rime, and it shattered loudly. "It seems very thin."

"Oh, only because it's in the shallows." Queen Lucy pushed a handful of dried boar's meat into her mouth.

"I'm glad we forded farther upstream."

"Aye—the river is very deep here in this neck of it."

Enna finished her yetmis and slowly sat down on the soft grass, oddly green against the stark whiteness of the iced-over water. Queen Lucy remained standing, tearing off hearty bites of the meat as she gazed across to the opposite bank from which they had just come.

"I wonder what it would be like to cross the river on top of the ice. Peter, Su, and I did that once, during the Hundred Years' Winter when the River was frozen solid straight through to the bed."

"I would not advise it," Enna replied lazily, burying her hands in the grass.

"The Beavers led us along the shoreline from their dam," Lucy went on, obviously not paying attention to Enna at all. "We just stepped right onto the ice and went along, just like—this! Ta-da!"

Enna looked up, and when she saw Lucy, her blood ran as cold as the ice upon which the young queen stood. The foolish girl had, while Enna was looking away, leapt up onto the ice and was gleefully slipping and sliding farther out from the shore.

"Lucy!" Enna cried, leaping to her feet. She could hear the short snaps as the thin ice buckled under the queen's weight, however small. "Lucy, please come back! You'll fall through!"

"I'll do no such thing, silly," Lucy replied, laughing.

"You will! Oh, Gale—"

"What's the matter, Enna?"

She whirled around to see Aramir unhurriedly sliding down the bank, apparently thinking he'd stumbled upon a silly game. "She's gone mad!"

Aramir looked where she was pointing, and his jaw went slack. "I wholeheartedly agree!"

"Lucy, come back this instant!" Enna's voice echoed across the ice, sending a few waking trees to stirring in displeasure.

"Oh, all right, if you're going to be so clamorous about it," the queen grumbled, and began trudging back towards shore. But this new, decorous pace proved to be the most detrimental thing she could have done. Put under sudden and extended strain, the ice buckled once, twice, and gave way—plunging Lucy into the frigid black water.

Enna's hands flew to her mouth, and she and Aramir stared at the gaping hole in the rime, waiting for Lucy's head to pop up, gasping for air.

But it didn't.

"I have to go in and get her," Enna declared, hoisting her skirts up and running to the waterside.

Aramir caught her just before she set foot on the ice. "Enna, you can't—your clothes will drag you down, and you'll drown along with her!"

"We must do something!" she cried.

"Get Peter!"

"No—by then it'll be too late. If I can't get her, you'll have to!"

He hesitated only a moment. "You're right. I'll do it. Call for help."

Enna did so, shouting with all her might as Aramir kicked off his boots and stepped up onto the ice. It groaned loudly under his much heavier weight, so he quickened his pace, and when he came to the edge of the hole, he took a deep breath and disappeared into the inky black waters.

Meanwhile, a small crowd of near-hysterical Narnians was gathering on the shore. Enna watched the water for any sign of movement, her heart up in her throat.

"What's going on here?"

It was King Edmund and Peter, pushing their way to the front of the crowd. "Lucy fell through the ice," she whispered.

"She what?"

King Edmund ran headlong for the water, but Enna physically restrained him. "Aramir has gone in search of her, sire," she said, pushing back as he struggled against her hindrance.

Peter grabbed his younger brother by the collar and hauled him back, white with fear. "Ed, don't you go into the water, too!"

Suddenly, Enna saw the palm of a hand rush up from the murky depths and press flat against the ice, slapping desperately at it. Her heart pounding away in her ears, she seized a large rock and began cracking the ice at the shore, racing against time to break a path through to the hand. Freezing water rushed into her boots and soaked through her skirts as she drove herself on into the river, the broken ice slicing at her hands as she smashed through it with the rock. It took a moment, but soon the Narnians caught on to what she was doing, and they valiantly took up objects to join her.

Just as Enna's bloodied hands splintered another chunk of ice away, Lucy's head appeared above the water, gasping and sputtering, her face white as death. Enna shrieked and dropped the rock with a splash, grabbing onto the queen's heaving shoulders and struggling to keep her own footing. Aramir surfaced a moment later, his lips blue and hair plastered to his head.

"Thank the Lion!" Edmund burst out, a few meters behind Enna.

She got an arm around Lucy and began to tug her to shore, the water lapping at the two girls' waists. Aramir came slowly along beside her, Lucy's arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

Panting as though he himself had done the rescue, Edmund sloshed through the water to meet them, his own blue eyes glistening with tears of relief as Lucy coughed and began to cry. "Come ashore, quickly," he said to the three of them. "Someone build up a fire!"

A few Dwarfs scrambled up the bank to do his bidding. The very thought of a fire made Enna want to cry with relief—she had spent mere moments in the water, but she was already so cold she could barely move her legs. How did Aramir and Lucy feel? One glance at their ashen faces told her more than she wanted to know.

Immediately upon their arrival upon shore, Edmund swept Lucy up into his arms and carried her up the bank, leaving Aramir to climb it himself, panting and his dark hair dripping steadily into his eyes. Enna's heart wrenched with pity and she went to help, but before she could, Peter had put his arms around her and swept her up.

"Peter!"

"Ssh," he said. "Try to rest."

She struggled uselessly. "Peter, I'm fine—really! Aramir needs help, not I."

"Aramir is being cared for. You're freezing."

By this point, they were at the top of the bank and she could see the blazing fire, so she decided not to argue any more than she needed to. Peter set her down close to the hearthstones, draping his cloak over her shoulders, and she instantly began to feel warmer, a deep shiver settling into her bones.

"Where is Lucy? And Aramir?" she asked.

"They are exchanging their wet clothes for dry ones, milady," said a naiad nearby.

Enna nodded. "Oh, Peter—I'm so sorry. If I had only been watching Lucy better…"

"It's not your fault, Enna. Really. I realize very well how difficult my sister can be to manage, sometimes." Peter sat by her and drew her close. "But I love you the more for your valiant attempts to tame her."

Enna knew he was looking for her to return the affection, but she didn't, only held close to his warmth as her skirts began to steam. "Aramir was very brave, you know. He ought to get something for his valor. He jumped right into the water to save her."

Peter made a noncommittal noise.

After a few minutes, Lucy, swathed in thick blankets and shivering fiercely, was brought to the fireside and propped up nearby.

"How do you feel, Lu?" Peter asked.

She sniffled and wiped her nose on the blanket. "Oh, Peter…I'm so dreadfully sorry. You were right! I am a fool."

"You are not a fool. What you did was foolish."

"You are just lucky Aramir and I were nearby when you fell through," Enna said.

"Aramir was there?" Lucy asked, sounding puzzled.

"Aye—he came by just before you fell in. He dove in and saved your life, you know."

"He did? Why, Enna, I thought it had been you!"

"Me?" Enna laughed in surprise. "No—it was he."

"Really?" Lucy snuggled deeper into her blankets. "Oh, how much I owe him…"

"Well, here he comes now," Peter said. "Thank him."

Aramir, similarly bundled up, approached and painfully lowered himself to the ground, his hair just beginning to dry slightly in the cool afternoon air. As soon as he was settled, Lucy shifted slowly to his side and put her head on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Aramir, for saving my life."

"'Twas nothing."

"It was something, I think," Lucy replied stubbornly.

Enna smiled to herself, snuggling closer against Peter's warmth. How sweet Lucy looked, gazing up at handsome Aramir with her big blue eyes!

Peter responded to her proximity by kissing her ear. "You ought to change your clothes, love. There is much we need to speak about, and I have decided not to travel on until tomorrow. Your things have been unpacked already."

Enna's heart sank. Something told her she was going to be reprimanded, but she nodded slowly. "Aye."

"Then dress, and come to my tent when you are ready."

Reluctantly, Enna stood and went to the tent she shared with Lucy. It was neatly arranged, though slightly untidy, as if someone had entered and quickly changed clothes. Dropping the flap behind her, Enna slipped off her gown and traded it for a dry one, shivering as the cool spring air slapped at her damp skin.

She could not help but feel a little knocked about by fate as she combed out her tangled hair. What had she done to deserve all her misfortune? Her mother was dead, her uncle trying to conquer Narnia, she was struggling unsuccessfully to fall in love with a kind and handsome king who loved her, she'd let the queen nearly drown, and now she was about to be admonished for something—she didn't know what.

And so it was with hesitant steps that she went to Peter's tent. He was seated at his cartography table, gazing blankly at the canvas wall, when she peeked inside, his chin resting in his hand.

"Peter…?"

He looked up. "Come in, Enna."

Uncertainly, she did so, dropping the flap down so that the tent was illuminated with red light from sunlight streaming against the scarlet walls. "Did I do something wrong?" she burst out after a moment of silence. "Because if I did, I am sincerely sorry, but am unaware of any wrongdoing, and beg your forg—"

"Enna, Enna," Peter laughed, standing up and taking her hands in his. "You have nothing to worry about!"

"I—ah." Enna blinked a bit stupidly. "Then…what is there to talk about?"

Peter touched her chin, chuckling fondly. "Much, my love. Much more than you'd think."

"Oh?"

"Aye. For instance, how dearly I love you."

Enna's cheeks flared red. "I don't see how that could be the topic of many scintillating conversations, to be frank."

"But, if you listen to what I have to say tonight, we will have the rest of our days to discover other thought-provoking subject matter."

"What do you mean?" Enna asked warily, scanning his fair face for a clue.

Was he blushing? "I mean, Enna…"

"Mean what?"

She spoke too soon: he was already lowering himself to one knee, the sanguine light falling across his impassioned face as he took her hand.

"Enna…I do love you dearly. I cannot imagine living in Cair without you at my side—I value your company, your insights, your dear smile…Marry me. Today. Consent to becoming my beloved queen."

Enna shook her head, her heart racing with the intensity of her own feelings—queen! Of Narnia! "Peter—"

"Listen to me, Enna," he replied, his blue eyes flashing with strength of emotion. "I burn with love for you. I yearn to call you my wife!"

"But—"

"Think of it, Enna." Peter stood up and took her arms in his hands, the heat of his palms searing through her sleeves. "Queen. Our children would be princes and princesses of Narnia, and you would never want for shelter or food or love."

"But I cannot love you," she said helplessly. "I have tried, Peter—but I simply can't."

"You have not been given enough time," Peter replied. His eyes flickered over her face once before returning to hers. "I know you will learn to love me. You already love Narnia, Cair Paravel, her people. How can I be far off?"

Enna bit her lip, looking away. "I am hardly worthy of being crowned queen."

Peter in return turned her face back towards his. "Enna, do not doubt yourself. I have seen within you the depth of strength and honor that the role of queen requires—we all have."

"What would your siblings say?" she whispered.

"Lucy adores you—of which you are well aware."

"But what about your royal brother?"

"I…he would not disagree."

Peter's brief hesitation was not lost on her. "Peter," she sighed, taking a step back, "I don't think it would be right for us to marry. We are very different, you know, and I am a Galmanian…"

"That does not enter into it," he said firmly.

"Perhaps not," she admitted. "But I cannot shake the feeling that it would be ill-advised to marry so quickly—today, of all times!"

"At night, when I try to sleep, I feel as though I will die for the want of you," Peter said ardently. "Would you prolong my suffering?"

Enna rubbed at her temples. "Not today." Not ever.

"Tomorrow, then. I love you, Enna, and it is my heart's desire to wed you!"

She looked up into his stormy blue eyes, that golden hair falling across his forehead, the faint yellow beard on his strong jaw, and the impassioned flush on his cheeks. Marry him, Mammata had said—Peter was handsome, well built, and noble. If his treatment of Lucy had been any indication, he would be a doting, yet cautious, father to any children she might bear him.

That single thought gave her a thrill that she did not expect. If children resulted from their union…she had always wanted a chubby-cheeked babe to call her own. And if it was a boy, a prince of Narnia, with his grandfather's sturdy shoulders and father's flashing eyes…she could bear it for him.

"Very well."

Her voice sounded loud, but she repeated the words, still not quite believing she'd said them. "Very well. I will wed you."

Peter's face brightened, and a grin burst out across his face. "You will not regret this, Enwynna!" he cried, throwing his arms around her and twirling her around the tent.

Enna smiled, but the glee she was supposed to feel upon such a joyous occasion was nowhere to be found. She felt defeated, rather, and trampled down. There was no escaping being chained to this man, not any longer.

I will make the best of it.

So swearing to herself, Enna turned her head and kissed Peter fervently, his beard scratching uncomfortably against her cheek. He reciprocated briefly before setting her back down on her feet, his face red.

"I must go make arrangements," he said, sounding a bit breathless himself. "We must ready the Narnians for a wedding!"

And thus he kissed her hand and hurried from the tent, leaving Enna alone to contemplate her temerarious decision and mull over the potential consequences.

--

Enna and Peter were wed the next afternoon by Glenstorm the centaur and a silken cord that bound their hands together. The people made merry and cheered when their king pronounced the quiet islander their queen, though it was wondered about and discussed in low tones as to how strange it was that the great Lion, Aslan, had not been present. Had he simply been busy? Or had he not been invited at all?

Whatever the cause, the curiosity about the situation was brief, for wine flowed freely and the naiads and dryads made river and wood music for the rambunctious group, the Dwarfs told stories of Queen Swanwhite the Fair and the defeat of the White Witch by the resplendent groom.

Enna threw herself into the whirling activities with everything she had, hoping that her zeal for the festivities would somehow translate into zeal for her new husband. Dressed in the finest gown that she had thought to bring and Lucy's thoughtful additions from her own wardrobe, she smiled and chatted cheerfully with the well-wishing Nymrunians and Narnians alike, the weight of Peter's wedding gift—a pendant of gold in his oak tree motif that replaced the simple necklace of sea glass that Aramir had given her for Christmas—bearing down on her neck.

Edmund, her now-brother-in-law, was as uncharacteristically quiet as she was uncharacteristically ebullient, and Enna knew that it was only by the power of Peter's lordship over him that he did not publicly object to the union. He and Aramir both, it seemed, disapproved of the haste with which their brother and king had gone about marrying his sweetheart.

The festivities wore on until late in the evening—the moon was rising in the place of the sun before Peter finally took notice of Enna's concealed yawns.

"Are you tired, my love?" he said softly, under the cover of a particularly boisterous outburst of laughter as a satyr took a naiad by the hand and attempted to dance with her.

Enna nodded apologetically. "Aye."

"Should we retire?"

"Are we allowed to?" she asked, looking around at the guests. "Wouldn't it be rude…?"

"Hardly." He slipped his hand into hers. "Let's go."

And so they slipped away from the merry-makers, unseen by all except for a few knowing-eyed Dwarfs. It was a very strange sensation for Enna, indeed, to pass her own tent, now emptied of all her belongings, in favor of her new one, the grand imperial tent that Peter had once shared with Edmund. Now, the younger king would take her place in Lucy's tent so she and Peter could have one to themselves.

She swallowed convulsively as Peter pushed the flap aside, looking at her over his shoulder. It was much too dark inside. However, when he lit the lamp and she saw the wide cot, she decided it was much too light. She had no idea what one did at this point in a marriage—why must the light reveal all her uncertainties?

"I must get into my nightdress," she declared nervously after a moment.

Peter made no move to leave.

"I wish to have privacy," Enna clarified, fighting a flush.

"Very well. You shall have a moment." Peter was obviously hiding a teasing grin, but he ducked out of the tent.

Finally alone, Enna scrabbled at her things, trying to find the demurest nightdress she could. But she only had the two, one just as immodest, in her opinion, as the other. Biting her lip, she removed the many layers of wedding clothes and tossed them in a corner before pulling on the nightgown and tying the ribbon all the way up to her neck. If only it didn't show so much limb! Her arms were exposed from her elbows to her wrists, and her legs were bare from just below her knee to her toes!

Enna had never felt so vulnerable.

When Peter dared to venture back in, she had calmed her riotous emotions and was perched on a chair, combing out her loose hair with slow, deliberate motions. "The food was excellent tonight," she commented as he let the flap fall shut behind him.

"Aye."

"And the dancing quite spirited." She gave a yawn, setting the comb down.

"Quite."

Enna looked at him, standing there in his kingly finery and looking rather out of place. "Won't you get ready for bed?"

"Of course."

She turned away and began fluffing the pillow on her side of the cot, trying to calm her shaking hands. Why was she worrying? All they were doing was sharing a bed. It would be a good deal warmer with him nearby.

When she thought he was about ready to turn down the lantern and retire, she turned around—to her utter surprise, he was standing with his back to her, bare-skinned to the waist as he removed his crown and boots. Why did her stomach threaten to lose all that good food at the sight? She had seen plenty of shirtless men in her life—sailors, laborers, peasants—but never once Peter.

He turned slightly and caught her looking. "You seem a bit pale, Enna. Is everything all right?"

"Oh, oh, yes," she said in a voice that was slightly higher than usual, turning away and vigorously fluffing her pillow.

He came around the other side of the bed and sat facing her, the lamplight flickering on his golden hair. Enna did not dare look up, for fear she would see his broad, bare chest and be sick with nerves. Silently, she abandoned her pillow-fluffing and cautiously edged onto the cot.

"There's nothing to be nervous about," he said softly.

"I'm not nervous," she lied. "Just…tired."

Peter leaned forward, putting one arm on Enna's other side and greatly increasing the proximity of their faces. "I promise you will be quite all right, love."

Enna managed a weak grin, keeping her hands knitted tightly together in her lap. What was she supposed to do? It was the mother's job to teach her daughter about wedding nights, but Mammata had died before then.

The thought pricked painfully at Enna's heart. How much else was she missing out on because Mammata had died? If only she had lived, her stomach might not be in such tight knots now. She might have an idea of what her duties as wife were. How to tell when she was with child. How to please Peter. But she was on her own…

Peter didn't seem to notice Enna's private dilemma, for he leaned closer and began to kiss her gently but firmly. Enna reciprocated hesitantly, the heat from his bare chest radiating against her folded hands. These kisses were different: they were persistent, lingering, and warmer than she remembered. His lips moved more freely across her mouth, too—and, at long last, across her cheek and down the ticklish line of her neck, his beard scraping her collarbone.

Enna held her breath, not daring to move any muscle except to ball her fists at her sides. This was all so foreign and uncomfortable! How could any woman in her right mind willingly subject herself to such discomfiture? She wasn't sure what Peter was aiming to do, teasing her neck like this, but it was only making her want desperately to squirm away.

A roar began to build as he drew closer and loosened the ribbons holding her nightgown together at the collar—it seemed to Enna alarmingly akin to the snarling shrieks of the big cats that plunged into battle with their teeth bare and claws unsheathed. But it was not a sound she could hear: it was inside her head, battering at her skull and sending her stomach churning with tense queasiness. Her hands shook violently, and she was suddenly quite sure she was going to be sick.

"Peter—" she choked, pushing him away. Fresh air rushed against her burning cheeks and into her lungs, and her head began to clear almost as quickly as it had begun to spin.

"What's the matter?" he asked, and leaned back on his heels, his breathing quicker than usual.

Enna couldn't look at him. "I…I feel ill."

"Ill?"

"Yes. It's…I think I have been over-stimulated today."

"But—"

"We ought to sleep. You intend to move the army on tomorrow, don't you?"

"Well, aye…"

"Then you need your rest, too."

Peter sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Enna, it's our wedding night."

"And I feel ill," she replied insistently. "Perhaps it would be better to wait."

"Are you sure?"

"Certain."

"All right, then." His mouth narrowed to a thin line, but he retreated and tugged the covers on his side of the bed down before turning down the lantern. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Enna sighed silently in relief, turning her back to him and wrapping herself in blankets. Oh, Mammata…

Peter tinkered about for a few more minutes, but at last got into bed and drew the covers up. Enna closed her eyes and tried to relax, but after a few moments had passed, Peter settled his bare arm over her and effectively pinned her in place. Any serenity that had snuck over her disappeared immediately, and she stared wide-eyed into the darkness as her husband's breathing slowed and eventually deepened into a breathy snore.

As soon as she realized he was asleep, all of Enna's pent-up emotions came rushing forward, and she hid her face in her pillow and yielded to the tears.