Daughter of Eve, Niece of Thomas

By JalendaviLady

Timeline: A few days post-The Last Battle and beyond.

Disclaimer: The upcoming movie belongs to Walden Media and the books belong to the current holders of the C. S. Lewis's estate.

Note: This flashback was based on the sketchy details of the book, what I remember of the animated version, and the 9-minute trailer of the movie. Any details proven inaccurate by the movie (as they likely will) shall not be changed.

Chapter 2: Battlefield

She was the first one to find him, even before Peter, even before Aslan led Lucy over the hill with her little vial of cordial.

He had managed, somehow, to crawl between two of the great boulders that rested in the lee of the hill. He was covered in blood, and at one glance she knew most of it was likely his own.

She knelt beside him, seeking any sign of life.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she realized he was alive but fading. Torn between being there and seeking help, she froze, staring at his pale face as his labored breathing continued to slow.

There was a clatter of armor nearby and she looked up to see Peter running down the hill, eyes wild and still holding both sword and shield.

She looked up at him, not needing words as Peter nearly threw them to the ground and knelt by Edmund's side. He was stammering something about Edmund having saved everyone by attacking the witch.

Lucy and Aslan topped the hill a few seconds later, with Lucy dashing forward at the booming command of "Now, Lucy!" that reverberated through Susan's spine.

And then Lucy pulled the stopper out and she lifted his head and oh oh after a few seconds his breathing was like it was five minutes ago. He wasn't healed, he wasn't conscious, but he wasn't dying!

The thought brought everything home and tears trickled out of her eyes. Aslan and Lucy were talking, but oh oh the color was coming back to his face, just a little, and that consumed her entire world.

The great lion and her sister ran off to help the other injured. Peter looked up at her and she choked out, "I'll tend to him. Your country needs you." And then she managed a small half-meant smile. "High King."

He dashed off, sword placed back in its scabbard and shield slung over his back.

She stayed there, hands under her little brother's head, until his breathing was nearly normal and his eyes were moving under softly closed lids. Then she carefully scooted back against one of the rocks, finding a spot slanted at just the right angle for comfortable leaning. She took the shoulder plates off his armor, then pulled him up against her, her arms wrapped under his own, his head resting on her shoulder, and his forehead just barely touching her cheek.

They must have been like that for ten minutes, judging by the sun, but it felt like it had been hours when he moaned a little, head moving enough that his hair tickled under her chin. "It's going to be okay, Little Brother."

"Su?" His voice was weak, so weak, but his eyes were open.

"I'm right here, Edmund."

"Why did the Witch have his mane? Why did she say he was dead? Is...?"

Her heart and soul seemed to convulse inside her at the worry in his voice.

"Aslan is undoing the witch's work somewhere over the hill. He's fine, Edmund." She hugged him as hard as she dared. "Just worry about yourself now."

Five minutes later the pain was almost gone. Another five and he was fidgeting.

Fifteen minutes after he woke, he was standing with her mostly unwilling help, limping around the little clearing in the rocks far sooner than she wanted him to try, but oh if she had not helped he could have hurt himself more and who knew if the cordial would still help new injuries without another precious dose.

When Lucy returned five minutes after that, it was almost like he had never been hurt at all.

Everyone praised him when they walked into the remnants of the camp, the four humans and a lion who seemed like quite a bit more than he appeared.

Peter might be the High King, or nearly so without the formalities yet, but Edmund was the hero of the day, the brave little warrior who had destroyed the one thing all Narnians lived in fear of: the witch's wand itself.

It was all very serious, bowing and congratulations and so on. Very adult.

And then a little voice piped up, that of a young faun who had been one of the witch's statues.

"And I shall follow him through the meadows,
And I shall follow him o'er the plains,
His mane golden bright is before me
And the swish of his tail keeps me safe.
If I should lose my way in the tall grass
His roar will lead me back to the way."

The voice fell silent a few seconds after the entire camp did, the great lion looking with big cat eyes at the little faun, horn stubs barely showing through his curly hair.

The warm but hesitant, always hesitant, voice of Tumnus slowly took up the simple chorus a moment later, a child's song nearly as old as Narnia itself.

When Susan felt the great bob of fur at the end of his tail strike her shoulder during the fourth line, she could not help herself but let loose a great gasping laugh.

The great lion was enjoying this.

The little faun's eyes were bright as he joined in as well, he and Tumnus dancing a little goat-footed dance as they sang and within seconds the rest of the camp was singing along, all slightly off-key and no one seeming to care one whit about it. And then they were dancing, Aslan seemingly everywhere at once, tail swishing and mane shaking as he bobbed between the dancers so much more easily than anything that big and that heavy had any right to move at all.

And when they were all tired and fallen down and their voices hoarse, the four children and the fauns and the lion had somehow ended up next to each other, Susan leaning against the lion's side (at Aslan's personal invitation; she never would have dared otherwise) with Edmund close under her arm again, his hair mingling with the thick carpet of Aslan's mane. Peter and Tumnus were on a pile of blankets nearby, Lucy bundled up between them.

And the little faun, whose name was 'Gertwus' when said through his missing front teeth (naturally missing, and he was amazingly cute without them, in the way of six-year-olds), was curled up between Aslan's paws and fast asleep. When his little hooves kicked for a moment and he made a strangled little bleat that made Tumnus snort in his own sleep, Aslan nuzzled him for a second until he quieted, little hands tangling in the great cat's fur.

"Such a trusting child," Aslan purred so low Susan could barely hear it.

She turned to face him, ever so carefully so that Edmund would not wake.

He turned his head to face her as well. "This child was turned to stone for singing that song within the witch's earshot some ninety years ago. It is not your tale, but I tell you for all here but you, your brothers, and your sister have heard the story their entire lives."

Susan shivered and Aslan breathed warm lion breath upon her.

"He will survive all this," he purred, and Susan had the strangest feeling she had just overheard something she was not supposed to, but had been given permission of a sort to. And then there was a big cat smile and a softly booming "Go to sleep, child. Tomorrow will be a battle of another kind for you" that seemed to come through her as much as from him.

She cuddled close and whispered right against his huge rounded ear, "Thank you for my brother" and felt the long hairs move against her face as he nodded once.

Within moments, she was asleep.