AN: Some of the content in the middle of this chapter (namely some drinking, nothing too bad, I promise) is part of the reason this fic is rated T.

Cair Paravel was quite possibly the most awe-inspiring building Lucy had ever seen in her life. It was enormous, loaded with vast wings and chambers; so many rooms that she could never possibly come to know them all. It was home to the king's household as well as to the high-ranking courtiers; a great castle of domes and extra passageways and great towers, some with large bells like in a cathedral.

The dwarf who had waited on the king and his new bride at their wedding ceremony that Lucy had taken a liking to-who's name was Trumpkin, by the way-helped them dismount. He placed a little foot-stool near the side of Lucy's horse so that it would be less of a drop for her. It wouldn't have been much of a drop anyway, since her horse was the littlest of the whole royal party, but it was still helpful, and she smiled kindly at the little red-bearded man as she alighted.

"Come, Lucy, I must show you into your new home." said Caspian, motioning for her to follow him up a set of flagstone steps and through a pair of mahogany double-doors.

Tired from the long trip and overwhelmed by the sheer size of the place she would be expected to call home for the rest of her life, Lucy blinked in a dazed manner and trotted along after him. She was wearing yet another traveling dress, this one dark blue with gold-leaf embroidery, and she was bare-headed with all her long hair loose.

The throne room had a glittering glass roof and everything seemed to be made of precious metals and marble; great columns rising on the sides. Solid gold carvings of the great Lion of Narnia and bright billowy tapestries with Narnian crests sewn into them decorated the walls.

Lucy was far from finished taking all this splendor in when a golden-haired, starry-eyed young man about Peter's age entered through a side door and approached her. His tunic, jerkin, and tights were all ebony black, making him look rather, she thought, like Hamlet; except for his slightly worn, silver-buckle leather shoes, which were brown.

When he reached the young consort, he knelt down, propped on one knee, took one of her hands, kissed it, and said, "Mother, I am your son, eldest and only child, welcome to the family, and please, in the name of Aslan, give us a blessing so that we may be happy again."

More than merely taken aback, Lucy was positively astonished. She understood that this was Caspian's son, Rilian, now her stepson, but she was at a lost for what to say to him. Somehow she had not thought of how strange it would feel to be a mother to someone the same age as her beloved elder brother. What was more, she had not expected him to be so welcoming of her. Actually, if she had thought of Rilian at all, it was only in a distant hope that he might not resent her too deeply and that they could perhaps be friends.

Noticing she was not answering, Rilian said, "My mother, my father's dear first wife, was lost to us tragically, as you know. You shall be the new lady of the family, even before you are queen, so I beseech you once more, mother, bless us so that this court may know what it is to feel joy again."

Lucy glanced over her shoulder at her husband and mouthed, "What do I say?"

Caspian tried-somewhat in vain-to hold back a smile, wanting to be encouraging to his startled new wife. "What ever you like, Lucy, you're his stepmother."

Rilian kissed his stepmother's hand again, more lightly this time.

It tickled and a giggle escaped. "Aslan bless you," squeaked out of her in-between bouts of checked laughter.

At this, Rilian smiled broadly and tucked her hand under his arm. "Thank you, Mother. Father and I will now show you to your chambers."

Looking over her shoulder, Lucy shot Caspian a nervous, "Did I do that all right?" glance. The playful, warm grin that appeared on his lips and in his eyes reassured her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

The three of them wandered down many long corridors filled with pretty looking-glasses, red-and-gold tapestries, purple and midnight-blue curtains, and oil paintings-some of old royalty with very nice faces, and others that Lucy knew she would not have liked to meet in real life.

Finally, after what felt like ages, they stopped at a set of golden double-doors engraved with designs like stars and in-laid with twinkling pieces of rich indigo-coloured sapphires.

"Mother, this is where the queen lives when she is not with the king," Rilian announced in a very important-sounding tone, standing with his hands behind his back.

"As you can see, my first wife," here Caspian paused for a moment, remembering her and feeling pained, knowing still, however, that he must press on-that he had a new wife who needed looking after, a new little bride who needed a place to call her own. He cleared his throat and tried again, "My first wife-she had it decorated to her liking-but if you should like anything altered to suit your tastes, you only need ask."

Lucy blinked to let him know she was listening; she felt very awkward at this subject, seeing the suffering and lost reflected behind Rilian's politeness and welcoming as well.

Without further ado, the doors were flung open and Lucy took a staggering step forward. Such a glorious room she had never beheld before, nor even imagined. It was nearly as large her cottage and Edmund's house combined; painted comets that looked as if they were really moving and blazing at impossibly slow speeds lined the borders, and there was a bed so spacious that-since its comforter was a murky blue-one could easily mistake it for a small lake.

If there was one thing wrong about it, it was that evidently the last queen had liked the colour blue with a bit too much intensity. There were precious few specks of red or orange to be found, except for the bright painting of what she could only assume was supposed to be Aslan, on the far-off back wall. As most of the sills had been painted sky-blue, it seemed nothing short of a miracle that the large two-door wardrobe was actually still a solid-looking brown. Lucy understood now what Caspian had meant. She didn't want to alter the room too greatly, thinking it might make them a little weary of her, impeding on what had once been someone else's, but she really did see the need to make a few small changes.

"Mother," said Rilian, walking over to the wardrobe, waving his hand for her to come near. "You're going to love this."

She went to him, Caspian right behind her, and watched as he opened the wardrobe doors and pushed aside a rack of dark purple ceremonial robes. Behind the robes was a gaping black space so unending it made Lucy a little dizzy to focus on it for too long.

"It is a secret passageway," Caspian explained, his face forlorn. "It leads right into the apple orchard out back."

"It really is the finest orchard there ever was-the talking moles planted it for us when I was seven." said Rilian; he was bragging, but perhaps that can be excused since it truly was a very fine orchard-everyone who saw it seemed to agree on this.

"Who else knows about this?" asked Lucy, feeling curious now that she knew what the great hole was for.

"Only myself and father." said Rilian; he didn't bother pointing out that his mother had known, since she was dead and the dead knew nothing at all.

"And now you, of course, Lucy." added Caspian.

They all stood still for a moment. Rilian closed the doors again after replacing the robe-rack with a heavy sigh. None of them seemed to know what to do next.

Then Caspian said, "Lucy, there is something I wanted to give you, but you must swear to take good care of it and to never, ever use it lightly."

"I..." Lucy stammered, sensing that it was going to be something very grand indeed, still overwhelmed by everything else. "...I swear..."

"Very good," Caspian lifted a floor-board to the right of the wardrobe and pulled out a small dark purple case.

Lucy watched, dumbfounded, as he opened it and took out a small flask with a shinny dark gold stopper made from the very prettiest kind of glass you could ever imagine-or at least, that was what she thought it was made of at first sight. The flask was full of some sort of blood-coloured liquid that sparkled like watery rubies.

"This is a vial of magical cordial made from the juice of the fire berries on Ramandu's island. It was dowry for my first wife; it belongs to Narnia now, but it is the queen that must always possess it and look after it."

"But," said Lucy, staring at it with wide eyes and a half-smile, "what's it for?"

"It can heal any injury," Caspian told her. "But you can see why-as there isn't an endless supply of the stuff-it's only for great emergencies."

Taking the little flask in her hands, Lucy said, "Is it glass?" She had never seen-nor felt-such glass before, it seemed too perfect to be mere glass.

"My first wife thought it was made from diamond." he said.

"I see," said Lucy, promising to look after it from then on.

Meanwhile, what had become of Edmund after Lucy's leaving the Lantern Waste? Well, unlike Lucy, he had no new sights to distract himself with, and without her he found little pleasure in roaming about the village. He did so anyway, often with a blank expression, marching around with his sword by the brook if he could get up early enough to avoid anyone who would want to make small talk. Otherwise he stayed at home doing absolutely nothing.

At seven he would sit down to work on an improving book; ten of the clock would roll around and he would still be on the first page-any fool able to tell he hadn't read a single word. By noon his father would get annoyed, but Susan and the half-Calormene stepmother always calmed him.

"Oh, do let him be, husband," the stepmother would say with a shake of her head. "It's better for Eddie to do some grounded studies than to run about all day long, wearing himself to a shadow."

It was Susan who became the most concerned over his well-being in the end, though. She was the one who noticed his ghost-like way of going about the house in those days, almost as if he wasn't really there. While he did his best to put on a vague show of at least taking in something to eat each day, he wasn't consistent, and his sister noticed he was getting thinner and paler. What frightened her the most was that he started to have headaches in the mornings; Edmund had never gotten headaches before.

The cause of these remained a mystery until late one night, Susan awoke with a dry throat, needing a drink of water. When she came downstairs very quietly, trying not to wake anyone up, as proper ladies are raised to be considerate of others, she spotted her little brother sitting at the table in the middle of the dinning chamber.

In front of him was a large crystal decanter with the stopper removed. Apparently he had been pouring himself a few glasses of whatever was in there; some sort of strong wine or ale.

Horrified, Susan felt her shoulders shudder violently. What Edmund had in the mornings weren't headaches after all-they were hangovers. She watched aghast as he finished a glass, reached for the decanter with shaking hands, and started to pour himself another one.

"By Aslan!" whisper-cried Susan, rushing to his side. "How long have you been doing this?"

Edmund turned to face her, a frown etched between his brows. "Leave me alone, Su, will you?"

"Ed, how on earth did you get this anyway?" she demanded, reaching over the table and taking the decanter out of his reach, noticing he was half-way through his glass again. "Father keeps the wine cellar locked."

"Ooh, the key behind the bookcase, great hiding spot-I would never have thought to look there!" Edmund exclaimed sarcastically, putting his forehead down in his right hand. "Just go away."

"Edmund, it's time you went to bed, I'll put this beastly stuff away." Susan told him, trying to get the nearly-empty glass out of his hands.

"Oh, go to bed yourself!" he snapped, rolling his eyes.

"You shouldn't drink..."

"Yes, Mum." he sneered, getting up and walking over to where his sister had moved the decanter.

Desperate, Susan grabbed his wrist. "Edmund, I know you miss Lucy dreadfully, and I'm sorry she's married now and gone away, but if you do this...if you ruin yourself...I am going to miss my little brother just as much."

"Susan..." he whispered, reaching up to brush away his sister's tears; "...don't cry."

"Promise me you wont drink anymore, Ed." Susan grasped his hands and squeezed them so tightly that they nearly lost all feeling.

"I can't." he said, shaking his head. "I can't promise that."

"Oh, Lion have mercy on us, Ed!" wept Susan, still clinging to his hands. "You can promise, I know you're strong enough."

"I cannot," said Edmund.

"Anyone can do anything-so long as they really want to."

"Really?" he said with an eyebrow raised. "Could you go to Peter and ask him if he still wants to marry you?"

Stunned, Susan let go of his hands. The little stinker had made his point, though in such a very beastly manner that she thought she should very much like to box his ears for it.

"Edmund, how dare you-"

"You were right," Edmund got out of her grip and started walking towards the stairs. "It is late, I'm going to bed after all."

Understandably, Susan found it impossible to fall back asleep herself that night after she put away the glass and the decanter. For nearly a half-hour she debated putting the key in a new place so that Edmund couldn't find it again, but she thought her father would be suspicious if the key were not where he'd left it. Besides, she knew her younger brother might very well find the new hiding place just as quickly as the old. After all, Susan was not very creative when it came to secret nooks and the like, which was why she'd always lost at hide-and-seek as a child.

When she went back upstairs, she stopped by Edmund's room, just to be sure he really was asleep and not just waiting for her to go to bed before sneaking downstairs for another drink. His sleep was genuine, yet not at all restful. Tossing and turning fitfully, a few moans escaped him. While not exactly drunk, Susan was well aware that he was not entirely in his senses just then, even after sleep had claimed him.

Seeing him like this made her realize something: one day, she might be very nearly that hopeless herself. She wasn't at all sure she would react the same way after Sir Peter married someone else, never having been much of a drinker-except at events-and rather too practical to waste her days away, but the general sense of sorrow day in and day out was what scared her. She and Edmund were siblings after all, more alike than most persons realized. Was this her future, too? Oh, Aslan, please no! To sink so low as that...the horror!

Susan was then snapped out of her thoughts because she thought she heard Edmund say something to her. For a moment she squinted at him, waiting for him to repeat himself, until she remembered that her little brother often talked in his sleep when he was upset. No surprises there after all.

Now here is a matter of uncertainty; Susan always said to anyone who asked that Edmund had, without shadow of doubt in her mind, murmured Lucy's name. Edmund, though, denied it adamantly throughout his life, much as his sister insisted that he wouldn't know, seeing as he'd been in a borderline-drunken slumber at the time.

It was then, after hearing this, that Susan came to a resolution. Nothing would bring her to such a state as her brother was in; she would take the matter of her future into her own hands even if it ruined her. And it very well might, she thought fearfully, seeing as there seemed only one horrid way to go about it. Worse still was knowing that she must do it at once; for she knew in the morning light she would lose her nerve completely and do nothing of the sort. Her only comfort was that if she did nothing, judging by Edmund, she was just as ruined as if her plan failed her; if he said no.

In a hurry, Susan ran to her room, threw a dressing-gown over herself, dashed quickly and quietly down the stairs, and went straight out the door.

The night was cool and the air felt moist; but as there weren't a lot of clouds blocking the stars and the half-moon's glow, it didn't seem likely to rain.

In front of the Pevensie's cottage, Dame Macready, cursed with a case of insomnia that made her even more cross and strict that usual, was outside with a wash-basin cleaning clothes and hanging them up on the line to dry, figuring it would be best to put her restlessness to good use until she could do something about it.

Susan approached the front door just in time to hear the woman say, "Who's there?" She was tried and it was very dark out in spite of the moonlight.

"It's only me," said Susan, holding her breath, unsure if she would be allowed to pass. Would there be a row kicked up? Would the whole village know of her disgrace before morning dawned?

Dame Macready could tell it was a lady, and in her weariness she mistook Lady Susan Philippe for the Countess, out for a late night stroll, perhaps unable to sleep, too. Nodding, she turned back to her basin and scrubbed at a stubborn juice stain on one of Count Pevensie's doublets with all her might.

So Susan went inside and quickly navigated through the small cottage, finding Peter's room (strange to think it was only his now, no longer shared with Lucy) without any trouble.

The door wasn't open; but it wasn't latched either. In a moment she had let herself in and sat down at the foot of the bed, staring at the sleeping lump buried under the covers that she knew must be Sir Peter.

"Peter," she whispered, lifting the covers at the bottom and touching his left foot lightly in an attempt to wake him up.

In his sleep, he kicked her hand away and muttered, "Hang it all, Lu, do go back to sleep-we can talk in the morning." He thought it was Lucy, having been used to sharing the room and bed with her for so long (the beavers had not gotten the new wall up after all, it had just been put off until even Count Pevensie forgot all about it).

"Peter," she said again, swallowing hard. "It's not Lucy...Lucy's gone to Cair Paravel, remember?"

He remembered all right. Instantly wondering who was sitting on his bed talking to him, he woke up completely and lit a candle on the night-stand.

"Susan?" he gasped, recognizing her. "What are you doing here?"

A sob escaped her throat. She hadn't meant to come over and start crying, but she couldn't help it. Everything was too horrible for words; and she had no one else to turn to.

"What's the matter?" he asked, thinking for a moment that maybe she was hurt or that something had gone wrong in the village.

She shook her head.

"If nothing's wrong, then why are you here? So late at night..." asked Peter, still concerned.

"I don't know what to do anymore," she wept, putting her hands over her face. "Don't hate me for coming to you like this, I've nothing else for it."

"Susan," he said, scooting closer to her. "I could never hate you, surely you know that. But, I say, what's happened? Is there no one left for you to turn to anymore?"

She put her head down in his lap. "Who can help me now, Peter? Am I not ruined if you send me away?"

He understood. Reaching down and stroking her hair, he whispered, "Oh, Susan, why did you come now? You might have come to me about this long before."

"I don't want to end up like Edmund." she cried softly. "If you saw him now...it's so awful..."

"From the little bit I've seen of him lately, he does look unwell." Peter admitted.

"He drinks, Peter, I saw him with the decanter earlier tonight."

Peter winced. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

Susan sat up and gazed at him in amazement. "Would you?"

"He is my squire," he reminded her. And, he thought but didn't say out loud, I hope, my future brother-in-law.

"Come on, Su," Peter stood up and offered her his hand. "I'll take you home."

"You'll-" Susan's voice faltered; "You'll come with me?"

"I don't see what harm it could do. If, Aslan willing, someone sees us and there's a scandal, we might just stand a chance after all."

Putting his arm around her, he led her down the cottage stairs.

"You should know, the Macready saw me come in." Susan confessed in a hushed tone.

Peter's eyes widened. "Did she recognize you?"

"I don't know," said Susan, "she's seen me often enough to know me by sight."

"Peter?" someone behind them said, sounding confused.

They turned to see the Count and Countess standing there in their nightclothes looking alarmed, all the more stunned as they noticed his arm around Susan.

"What the devil is going on here?" the count asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Susan came to talk to me, and now I'm taking her home." Peter explained shortly, not sure if it would work.

"What will the neighbors say if they see you?" Helen muttered, tugging anxiously at her husband's sleeve.

"If this gets out you'll have to marry her," said Count Pevensie palely.

The Count had never disliked Lady Susan, not even a little bit, he had simply been annoyed with her parents. Now that he had shown them a thing or two by marrying his daughter off to a king, and it had left him feeling a little empty, he wasn't truly opposed to the match. He was much too proud to go back and ask for her hand in marriage for his son, and too proud to accept it if the family gave it of their own accord, but if it were simply done reluctantly on both sides to avoid giving a good knight and a fine lady a bad name, dragging their honours in the mud, well, then that might be all right.

Peter hid a smile. "Well, I'm a man of honour, I'll marry her if it will keep us both out of any disgrace."

AN: Please review.