Disclaimer: I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia. C. S. Lewis does.

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'Wake up, Edmund.'

Edmund groaned. He did not want to wake up. He wanted to go on sleeping endlessly, forever. His eyelids felt like heavy bolts of metal, tightly screwed and shut, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he willed they remained closed. It was impossible to even shift his body into a more comfortable position. And to make things worse his head ached terribly, the throbbing waves of pain weaving throughout his entire body.

'Edmund, wake up. Do not be so lazy.'

That voice – he had heard it before. The same comforting voice that spread warmth, a voice that was never raised in disapproval or anger or even maddening fury but a voice that was instantly obeyed without question. It continued to nag Edmund, it's tone slightly amused and as Edmund strained his ears he thought he heard a chuckling growl.

'Edmund.'

'Oh, alright.' Edmund muttered. His voice was hoarse as if he hadn't used it for a long, long time. With some effort he opened his eyes and instantly winced. The bright light was almost blinding and he covered his eyes with his hands, feeling very much like a bat flying around in daylight. After some time, as his eyes began to gradually get used to the light, he forced them open, squinting and rubbing them occasionally.

He studied his surroundings. But his awkward position made it impossible to see farther than his own hand. Struggling he rose into a sitting position,. His nerves were queasy, his muscles felt far too light and his back felt as if he had been whipped badly. He glanced down at his clothes and grimaced at the sight.

The tunic he wore was blotched with blood and through the stripped pieces of velvet he saw a festering gash stretching over his chest. Moaning softly he fingered the wound. It looked bad and no doubt felt bad too- that was confirmed as soon as his fingers made contact with the bloodied and bruised skin.

Hissing he withdrew his fingers, his pupils diluting in agony. Oh dear, sweet God what had happened to him? For one stunning moment he feared he had forgotten everything – had lost his memories. But the more he focused, the more came rushing back to him. He remembered fleeing for his life through the bitter storm, the men chasing him viciously, the hidden passage through the cave and finally collapsing, wearied, bitter and tired to bone.

Edmund looked around him. He was surrounded by thick swirling mist, dense fog that caressed his face tenderly, it's touch cold as ice. Now that his sense of feeling came back to him, he realized he was shivering. His clothes were torn and the freezing cold was clear against his bare chest, arms and legs.

Very slowly, so as to not open his wounds again he rose to his feet, somewhat unstably. Hunger and fatigue made him light headed but he was able to maintain his balance.

Then his eyes caught the warm cloak he had been wearing and relief rushed through him. Kneeling down he grasped the smooth cloth and draped it over his shoulders, savouring the warmth. So, he was on some altitude. Probably a cliff or a mountain top judging by the intensity of the fog and the icy temperatures.

The thought depressed him. There was no way he could climb down from an altitude as high as this – not with his wounds, his utter lack of strength, his-

'I see you are well enough to stand, son of Adam.'

Edmund whirled around, mentally praising himself for his ability to turn around so quickly all the while cursing himself for not having a weapon to defend himself – not that he would be able to yield a weapon had he one. An enemy behind him, an enemy probably armed and healthy and –

'So now you consider me your enemy, Edmund?' The voice asked again. He thought he heard the faintest trace of a growl.

And then it struck him. Behind him wasn't an enemy but Aslan himself. Aslan, standing proudly with all his golden glory. Aslan, the Great Lion, his mentor, his protector. Aslan was here.

'Aslan!' He choked out and fell to his feet, glad to give way for his limp body. 'You are here!'

'I am always here.' The Lion replied, a shadow of a smile crossing his kind, wide eyes. 'But now, we have very little time and much to talk about. Do you have enough strength to walk around.'

'Yes, Aslan.' Edmund pushed himself off the ground and stood up, Aslan's presence giving him both strength and resilience.

'Come then. Walk alongside me.'

It was difficult to keep up with Aslan's swift, graceful pace but somehow Edmund managed.

'Where are we, Aslan? Are we in Narnia?'

'No child.' He said solemnly. 'We are far, far away from Narnia and the rest of the world. This is the Isle of the Lion.'

Edmund was quiet for some time. Then the question he had been aching to ask shot out. 'Am I dead?'

'That depends on what you want to believe.' Aslan sighed and stopped suddenly. Edmund who had been too engrossed in studying Aslan's expression paused as well, a second later and saw that they had reached the very end of a hanging cliff. 'You are not dead, child. You have yet to live a very long life- both in Narnia and in your own world. I have brought you here to tell you of a grave danger that shall shatter your family.'

'What?' Edmund asked, his eyes wide. 'But why me, Aslan? Why not Peter or Susan or Lucy?'

'Do not lack faith and confidence in yourself.' Aslan said sternly. 'I have faith in you, Edmund. Do you have faith in yourself?'

'I-Yes, Aslan.' He replied, feeling a rush of warmth and pride.

'Very good.' Aslan paused ever so slightly. 'As I was saying soon, very soon in fact, a tragedy shall occur between you, your siblings and Isabela – one that threatens to tear Narnia's peace and the unity between you all.'

'Don't tell me.' Edmund blurted out, his eyes wide with anxiety and dismay. 'Peter and Lia will kill each other won't they? That's the tragedy, isn't it? Oh dear me-'

He was interrupted by Aslan's warm chuckle. It rang around the cliff, the echo intensified because of the height and mountainous terrain.

'No, Son of Adam. I assure you. Peter and Isabela will not kill each other. Not physically at least. But emotionally and mentally they will strip each other to pieces.'

'They already do so.'

'No. Nothing like this.' A sigh escaped from Aslan's firm jaw. 'Dark and difficult times lie ahead Edmund. I see only misery, heartbreak, terror and pain. Very difficult indeed.'

'But Aslan what problem is it? Surely you can stop it?'

'No one can tamper with fate and destiny, Edmund. No one. Not even myself. Fate runs on it's own accord and destiny plays with all of us according to her mood. I cannot stop fate but I can change or alter it. Not completely.' He added. 'No. Only slightly. And that's why you are here Edmund.'

'What will I do? How will I even know whether it is the great tragedy you are speaking of?'

'You will know. All of you will know. But you, Edmund, you must gather together all your wits, courage and strength to fight against it. Mayhap you will also play a great part in it.'

'What? Me? Aslan what will I do? Tell me now so that I do not do it in the future.' Now Edmund was all but begging, his voice haggard.

'I cannot tell you.' Aslan said with an air of finality. 'All I can tell you is that you will carry a large blame, mainly because of false accusations and the propaganda of your enemies.'

'What will I do, Aslan?' He asked quietly, his voice soft and his face hung slightly.

'A king always knows what to do. As will you, son of Adam. Now it is time for me to go.'

'Already? But you haven't even told me about-'

'I have told you enough. Now you must act on your own. But remember, I shall always be here with you. Always.'

'Where do I go now, Aslan?' Edmund asked, confusion and bewilderment lining his features. 'I don't even know where I am.'

'This is only an illusion. Nothing more. You must wake up in your own world. Your sister Susan is worried for you.'

'Susan?' Edmund exclaimed. 'What is Susan doing here? She was in Cair Paravel last I saw her. Oh no. She's not right beside me is she?'

Aslan nodded, a glint of humour in his eyes.

'Oh No! Aslan! She'll kill me for riding out to the Western March alone!'

'No she won't. She's your sister and she loves you so.'

Taking deep breaths Edmund turned around preparing to leave and bracing himself for Susan's scowling face.

'And Edmund, one more thing. Trust Isabela. And support her against all of Narnia, against your own siblings if the need arises.'

'I will, Aslan. I promise.'

A trace of a smile lingered on the corner of Aslan's mouth and he gave a great roar: the cliff quivered. Edmund felt as if the very wind around his face had been blasted away.

'Go now then, dear one. And remember, I am constantly by your side. All you have to do is look.'

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'Send out a search party to the Western March. I will search around the borders of our estate with six men. I know it is well past midnight and the sun will not rise for at least another six hours but we do not have any other choice. Edmund may well be dead by then.'

Isabela studied Peter's face, shadowy and inky in the faint traces of candle light. His expression was dark and in his eyes she saw, for the first time, fear and terror.

He was desperately worried for Edmund.

Anyone could see that with just one glance at his face.

The soldiers and watchmen gathered around their High King exchanged glances. Some apprehensive, some worried. They were obviously uncomfortable about having to go out in the middle of such a violent storm.

But none of them said anything. Shuffling their feet they stepped out of the room searching for their cloaks and weapons.

As Peter turned away, Isabela heard him mutter under his breath.

'Damn that little scoundrel. He should be tied to the dungeons by hammered nails.'

Isabela smiled, stifling a laugh as she turned her head away. But Peter was too skilled an observer to miss it.

'Anything humorous you would like to share with me, Isabela?' He asked bitingly. 'Perhaps to raise my spirits?'

'No. But I am sure you do, my chivalrous, gallant king.' She shot back sarcastically, trying not to cower under the glare levelled her way. 'Stop that.'

Peter shook his head and turned away from her, his face haggard from sleep. After shuffling through a group of maps on the table he strode out of the room, collecting the ebony cloak that lay on a rocking chair.

In the doorway he stopped, pausing momentarily and said hesitatingly.

'Are you ill, Isabela?'

'Why do you ask?' Isabela asked, quirking an eyebrow.

'It's just that you did not force me to let you go with us…. It's not like you at all. Wait a minute.' He glanced sharply into her bland face. 'You were planning on sneaking out weren't you?'

'Me? As in I?' Isabela asked, her tone indignant. Mentally Isabela cursed herself. How could he read her so easily? 'Why Peter, I would never-'

'Well you would so don't pout up at me.' He remarked smugly. 'Get your warmest cloak.'

'What?'

'Get your cloak.' He said impatiently. 'Unless you are planning on freezing outside.'

'You're letting me come along? Willingly?' Isabela glanced at him through her tilted eyes, surprised. 'Have you gone mad?'

'Are you coming or are you not because i-'

'I'm coming. I'm coming. Hold your horses.' Hastily Isabela stood up and gathered the only hood she could find in the darkness.

'Hold my-' Peter raised his delicate eyebrows. 'A very interesting choice of words.'

'Oh shut up.' She replied irritably. 'Not everyone has your gift for charming, diplomatic speech.'

'You least of all. Pity. I had hoped spending time with me would have increased your vocabulary.' Peter remarked, smirking as both of them strode down the hall to the doors that led outside to the stables. Gently patting a horse that neighed at him, he extended his hand to Isabela. 'My queen, may I assist you on your mount as we go out in search of my dear, royal brother?'

Isabela mock curtsied and batting her eyelashes at her husband said sweetly. 'Why thank you, dear sir.'

Both of them burst out laughing despite the grim situation.

'Ah, Isabela. You truly are a fine young lady.' Peter said with fond approval in his eyes. 'Shall we get going then?'

Isabela jumped on the horse Peter signalled towards, her expression serious. 'I hope Edmund didn't get into too much trouble.'

Peter grimaced, his grin dissolving. 'Knowing Edmund, that is the greatest understatement of the year.'

'But what I don't understand is that why did Edmund leave Cair Paravel? What on earth made him come to the Western March in such haste?' Isabela eyed her husband who was suddenly very interested in his riding boots.

'How should I know?' Peter snapped irritably. 'Now are you planning to go out or not?'

As he turned around to jump on his horse, he thought he heard Isabela mutter.

'What a grumpy old grandpa goat I am married to.'

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Isabela sighed, irritably brushing back her long hair that stuck wetly to her neck.

Almost five hours and still nothing. No Edmund, no Susan, not even some small sign to suggest that they had been here.

Of course there was no proof whether they were even alive at all.

Her mount was almost as sleepy as her and it trudged slowly over the mossy ground. Bitterly hungry achingly tired and soaked to the bone. That was an adept description of their current situation.

Pangs shot through her stomach and she half groaned, forcing herself to sit up straight and look around. All of a sudden the mount gave way to its trembling steps and crashed to the floor. Herself along with it.

Muddy water splashed all over her , ruining the rich velvet cloak she wore and staining her face, hands and riding boots. Cursing lightly she stood up, trying not to topple over on the slippery ground. By now the horse had raised itself to stand up somewhat.

Isabela moved forward gently patting the animal's mane almost as sloppy as her own hair. It's body heaved against her own from the struggle to keep itself upright.

'You've done enough already.' She murmured, her eyes filled with pity. 'Rest. I'll go about on foot. It is no problem.'

Collecting the draping folds of her cloak to keep them from getting more soiled she stepped through giant puddles of water, folding, knotting and unfolding her cloak to seep out the water. To top it all, a cold wind was beginning to blow through the grounds of Peter's estate making her shiver violently. The cloak was no good at all.

It was downright miserable.

For a moment she was tempted to go back, back to the warm house, aback to the comfort of a roaring fire and Heulwen fussing over her. But she wearily rejected the idea.

She would not give anyone, anyone the comfort of calling her a weakling, driven back simply because of a small cold and extraordinarily wretched weather.

The emerald green grass, so well tended by the gardeners, was a great hindrance to her not constantly toppling over. The droplets of rain made it all the more smooth and slippery. Muttering to herself she forced her way through the artificial river covering the red earth of the grounds.

Oh dear Aslan what have I sold myself to?

Probably danger, trouble, dilemma and the likes. All the things she was adept at entangling herself in.

As she took another wobbly step, narrowing her eyes to look for any signs of life she heard a crunch sound – the sound of something breaking. Isabela froze.

Straining her ears she paused to listen for the noise should it come again. Several seconds passed and she did not hear it. Probably she had mistaken it for something else.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

'Stop!' She cried, catching sigh t of a faint shadowy figure amongst the trees. The figure stopped at her sound, flinching back. Mustering all the strength she had left in her, Isabela called out. 'You are trespassing on a private property. Who are you?'

No answer.

'Answer me!' She shouted, drawing her sword out from the sheathe hanging by her side. 'Who goes there? Answer me or I shall attack you!'

'No…please…' Came a croaking voice. Isabela stared at the dark figures moving toward her. One limping, the other steadying its fellow. 'Help us…..Please….'

Straining her eyes she tried to make out the face of the people.. Suddenly light fell upon the faces of the two intruders.

Lurching forwards, Isabela cried out, her eyes never leaving the faces of the two people. Apparently they recognized her too for one whispered hoarsely.

'Isabela!'

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And…. Another chapter finished, posted and hopefully reviewed by all of you! Keep the comments coming guys, I really appreciate it!

A. L. Potter