A/N: Oy! This is a short chapter. Sorreh! But y'all got two in one day again (thank you, Presidents' Day!), so it can't be all bad. Hopefully the next one will be longer (and come quickly, too!).

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Enna wished that she could be like the damsels written about in poetry, fainting away whenever pain or distress or just the stress of living bore too hard on their delicate souls. But she was not a heroine of old; rather, she found herself fully conscious and mindful of the acute pain reverberating though her whole body from that seemingly shallow wound, the sounds of battle echoing loudly in her whirling head.

At first, she had attempted to keep any sounds of discomfort to herself, but as Aramir, still bleeding from the ear, tried to help her stand and falter towards Peter and a riderless horse, it became impossible, and Enna, once proud and aloof, lay curled in the bloody grass, half-sobbing in pain and pressing her face to the cold ground as the world spun.

"Oh, Enna!" came Lucy's distant voice. "Aramir!"

Their voices melded into each other's until Enna could no longer tell who was who. Someone lifted her in their arms and shushed her as she wailed in pain, but she made no attempt to see who, exactly, it was. But this person carried her stumblingly towards the waiting horse and set her atop it, holding her up as she sagged over the saddle horn and clutched at her oozing stomach.

The next thing she was fully cognizant of was the interior of a Narnian tent, Lucy's white face looming above her. "Try to relax, Enna," she soothed.

I must not frighten her. Enna nodded abruptly, clutching silently at the blankets as dryads and she-centaurs cautiously began to remove her blood-soaked frock. "Where is Aramir? And—Edmund?"

"They are both alive," Lucy hurried to reply, clutching one of Enna's white-knuckled hands in hers. "But Aramir's ear is severely injured—he might lose his hearing in it."

Enna closed her eyes in pain. "And—what of the Galmanians?"

"They have been routed, and are fleeing south again. Peter and Edmund have taken a contingent to pursue them. Aramir is with them."

The centauress began to wrap a thick bandage around Enna's ravaged stomach, and she clenched down unthinkingly on Lucy's hand. "Ahh—I see."

Lucy winced at the sudden pressure, but pushed a sweaty strand of hair off of Enna's forehead. "Try to rest easy. You're making the bleeding worse."

"Easier—said than done," she replied, trying to chuckle.

"That's the spirit," Lucy said, and a wan smile flickered over her white face.

The creatures finished wrapping the wound a few minutes later, and, feeble and drained, Enna finally slipped into a tortured, restless sleep. That rest was interrupted numerous times over the next few days, but any memories Enna had of being woken and given water, or perhaps spoken to, was foggy at best.

On instance, though, stuck out distinctly in her mind. Whether it was night or day, she had no recollection, for it was always half-dark in the tent, but Lucy looked particularly drawn.

"How do you feel, Enna?" she asked, taking her hand.

Enna managed a smile that was more like a grimace and lied, "Well."

"That's good." Lucy pushed uncomfortably at her crown—with her two brothers on the battle trail, her sister back in Cair Paravel, and the newly crowned queen bedridden, the weight of commanding the small fraction of the army left behind had fallen on her shoulders.

"Is there something you wish to say?" Enna murmured.

Lucy cleared her throat. "Well…I…it's a bit…"

Enna felt her eyelids drifting downwards again—even just listening to Lucy was wearying. "Just speak it."

"Well…Enna, dear…I'm afraid there isn't much else we can do for you…"

She stirred and blinked a little, rousing herself with an effort. "What are you saying?"

Lucy rubbed at her eyes and sniffled slightly. "Enna…you're dying."

The words startled Enna, but only momentarily. It actually made a kind of morbid sense: it was the only logical reason Enna could think of that would explain her constant pain, her growing exhaustion, the dimness of her vision. "I see."

"I'm so sorry…I don't know…what I can say…"

"There isn't much to be said," Enna sighed. "Do you know…when?"

Lucy wiped a tear off of her cheek and tried to look brave. "Doubtless within the next few days…I have already sent a letter to my brothers."

"I see." Enna tried to smile for Lucy—there was no reason for the young girl to worry more. Already, she was thinking of what would happen after her death, rather than before it. Mammata would be there…and Pappata, Laeia…all those who had gone before her, loved her, and yet forsaken life prematurely.

And so, as Lucy turned away, Enna slipped into muddled dreams again, telling herself, not unhappily, that soon, she would never have to worry about Sabsestrin, or Peter, or this wretched war ever again.

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A/N2: Woohoo! Three cliffies in a row! Makes you reconsider your idea of what my decision regarding a sequel is, don't it! ;D