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

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'Edmund!' Isabela lurched to her pale, almost ashen faced brother-in-law and the equally weary-eyed Susan who supported him on one side. 'Susan! Whatever happened to you two?'

'We were-' Susan swallowed and moistened her lips as she spoke hoarsely. 'Edmund was attacked on the outskirts of the Western March.'

'When? How? Why?' Isabela asked, the questions shooting out quickly in a flurry.

'Good Heavens, Isabela do you think we know than any better than you do?' Susan snapped peevishly, her eyes puffy and swollen. 'Edmund's badly wounded. He needs healing quickly.'

'Do you have a mount or a horse?' Isabela asked concernedly ignoring Susan's sharp tone. 'I don't think we can move Edmund to the mansion. He'll lose much blood and his wounds may open up again.'

'There's nothing we can do about it. I don't have any mount with me.' Susan said, gritting slightly as she shifted Edmund's weight to a different position. 'If you done with the enquiries…'

She trailed off as Isabela took Edmund other arm, breathing a sigh of relief as more of the weight from Edmund's sagging body shifted to Isabela's slender form.

For such a slim looking girl she was incredibly strong. But then again it was not surprising considering she had grown up with three older brothers. Still she was glad of Isabela's calming presence and strength.

Honestly she sometimes wondered how somebody as skinny as Edmund could weigh so much. Edmund who bore striking resemblance to a scrawny weed, malnourished and underfed despite his obsession with eating any delicious thing that came his way, but he was a weed that was sure to strike you with a poison dagger when your back was turned.

Isabela was talking softly and she asked: 'I'm sorry Lia. I wasn't listening. What were you saying?'

'I was saying that Edmund's wounds don't look too bad. None is festering and they are just deep gashes. I don't think there is any permanent harm. Except perhaps to his ego maybe.'

Susan stared at her Isabela, her eyes almost owlish and then burst into peals of laughter. 'My God, Lia! You are a wonder! I do not know whether to envy Peter or pity him.'

Isabela raised an eyebrow looking slightly bemused. 'It wasn't that funny.'

'Oh yes it was.' Susan replied clutching her side. 'It was simply hilarious.'

'Sometimes I can see how you, Peter, Edmund and Lucy are related. All of you seem to be curiously attracted to losing your wits when you are hurt.' Isabela muttered under her breath.

'What are you doing outside at this time of the night?' Susan asked finally, pushing her messy locks out of her face.

'Why do you think?' Isabela rolled her eyes. 'Obviously we were looking for you two.'

'For us?' Surprise etched Susan's unbelieving voice. 'How did you know we were around here?'

'I have a shrewd suspicion that Peter knew very well where Edmund was going.' Isabela said wryly. 'Besides that Lucy sent one of the talking griffins to give us the message that you had gone out n search for Edmund. She's more clever than we give her credit for, you know. She too suspected the Peter would know where Edmund was.'

Shrugging Isabela glanced through the dark., narrowing her eyes to seek for the bright lights of the mansion. Finally she spotted them, barely visible, cloaked in the night, dripping shadows and inky darkness.

They were still far away. A long distance off.

'How far are we?' Susan asked. Isabela had to strain her ears to decipher her words. How odd her voice sounded! 'I can't see very well.'

'Not very far. We should be able to make it in a short while.' Isabela replied, trying to be as optimistic as possible. Susan fell silent and they stepped through the muddy grounds in unearthly quietness.

After a short while Isabela, engrossed in her concern over the distance and time it would take to reach the mansion, noticed that Susan stopped speaking. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced at her sister-in-law and paused, her eyes widening with anxiety and dismay.

Susan was pale, her face almost bloodless, her eyes feverish and oddly bright in the darkness. She was breathing quietly but Isabela could hear the violent rasps causing her whole body to shudder.

She reached out shaking her.

'Susan, Susan…. Are you alright? Do you feel ill?'

'I…I'm….' Susan raised her fingers to her head. 'I don't feel so well.'

Now Isabela was worried. How would she drag both Susan and Edmund to the mansion?

'So you feel well enough to stand and walk?' she asked, shaking the pale, pretty figure. 'Because otherwise…'

'I think I can.' Susan whispered quietly. But as she stood up, her legs were shaking violently and she was trembling. Suddenly her legs gave way and she collapsed down if not for Isabela's support. She smiled weakly. 'I guess not.'

Isabela mentally slapped herself, cursing her luck lightly. What would she do now? Sighing she placed one arm on Susan's back, securing Susan's arm across her neck. With her other arm, Isabela yanked Edmund to his feet, trying not to hurt him too badly. She tugged at his charred collar forcing his weight on her side.

Now. Now for the walking. Taking a deep breath she took one step, pulling Edmund and Susan with her. It was the wrong move. Entangled together all three of them fell to the ground. Isabela heard a quiet hiss from Edmund. Writhing from under them, she scrambled to her feet.

Concern lined her face as she glanced at Edmund's white face, almost bloodless except for where his head had been cut by the fall. A deep gash cut a startlingly crimson line on his forehead and blood, at least whatever was left of it, dripped down on his cheek and the mossy red ground.

With one hand she lifted his head and with the other pulled out the apricot ribbon tied around her dark hair. Clumsily she tied it around his forehead.

No use. Within seconds the bright colour was tinged red and the overflow began to drip again. Isabela looked around helplessly when she caught sight of the oak tree almost next to her. Its leaves were wide and thick, almost gigantic.

Eagerly she snatched them down, pressing them against Edmund's forehead, almost crushing them against his face. Tearing a piece of cloth from her shirt she tied them together against the deep gash.

The bleeding stopped.

Or at least the seepage stopped.

Now for the next part. How in the world was she going to get the unconscious, wounded Edmund to the mansion with Susan who was nearly as useful as a woollen dummy. Maybe even less. At least the dummy was lighter in weight.

Isabela sighed, staring at both of the lying limply on the mossy ground. It didn't help that they were half soaked in blood, muddy water and crawling dirt. What was she going to do? She could not leave them here to go and search for assistance nor could she yell or scream; the others were on the opposite end. She might as well scream from the Lone Islands.

The result would be the same.

She was alone. Alone, tired and chilled to the bone.

Her eyes scanned the perimeter and the near grounds hoping against hope that somebody would venture this way. Why oh why had Peter given her the lamest, most weary horse in the stables? Inwardly she seethed with rage at her husband calling him a number of very unladylike words.

There was nothing. Not a soul in sight.

Her heart sank and she nearly sank along with it. Maybe she could hide them. In the thicket of trees and bushes. It would be difficult to see find them there. Mentally she slapped herself. This was the stupidest idea in the brain storming history.

Edmund would be proud.

Still it was the only relevant idea in light of the circumstances and she had no choice. Debating between the choice of dragging or hiding her in laws she chose the latter.

Yanking herself back to the present she kneeled down forcing her stiff, numb fingers to move. She did not know how long it took. She did not know how she did it. Aslan, she did not even know what she had doe. She just knew that Edmund and Susan were now sleeping comfortably behind the myrtle bushes so zealously tended by the Narnians, their pale faces hidden with her messy, very un-artistic palm leaf camouflage.

Now no one would find them.

Compelling her jelly-like legs to move she walked cautiously across the length of the grounds, careful not to fall down, praying she would not break any bone. Hours it seemed. Or maybe just a couple of minutes that she finally saw the light closing in, the lights of the lanterns, the lights of the search party. Oh thank Aslan.

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What in the world?

Peter nudged the huge mound of leaves that was scattered in the midst of the trees, hiding behind the dark shadows of the forest. His leather covered toe felt nothing. The dark of the night concealed what lay underneath it.

Mentally he debated the wisdom of removing the leaves to see what was underneath. Perhaps it was nothing. Simply a pile of leaves gathered together because of the stormy winds. It could be a coincidence. Perhaps his weary brain was playing with him, toying with his thoughts, vision, doubts, suspicions…

Or it could be a lot of other things. It could be a hazard or danger of some sort. A poisonous animal or maybe some wild creature. It could be a trap. Aslan knew how many enemies he had made.

Countless.

Limitless.

Incalculable.

Come on Peter. You are a knight. He chided himself. A knight and a king. And you have a lot of experience with traps, wild animals, danger and the like.

Cautiously he extended his hand removing one of the leaves. It peeled off the mound and made a slight crunch sound. Peter let it flutter out of his hand and away out of reach. He fixed his attention back on the mound. One by one the leaves came off, some by Peter's hand, some by the gush of wind. Gradually the mound began to lower and lower taking on an entirely new shape.

Just as he moved another leaf he heard a crunch sound. Looking down he saw that the leaf had not broken or cracked as dry leaves tended to do. It was complete, full and unnaturally smooth. Then what?

Something shot out of the mound gripping Peter's legs. With a snarl he yanked his leg out of the iron grip. Surely, surely it couldn't be…..

It was.

It was a pale hand, gashed out with cuts and bruises. And it was reaching out for him.

In utter panic he scrambled away, . Casting a glance back he saw another hand. One with a more slender, rounded wrist and well-manicured nails.

Peter swore. Good Heavens above! What was going on here? Was it some sort of a zombie attack? Or was it some maniacal sorcerer's spell gone awry?

He was so occupied with his blinding thoughts he did not see the figure to whom the hand belonged rise up, stumbling to keep its balance. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the leaves fall away and acting on pure instinct, the instinct of a warrior, he loosened his sword, pointing it straight at the dirty, muddied figure. He was about to lunge, sword first, but a cranky voice came out to him, hoarse and bemused.

'By the Lion, Peter, it's me!'

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Lucy could not sleep.

No matter which directions he turned in, no matter how many times she paced the room the sleep just would not come. Which was exactly why she was sitting cross legged on the mossy ground of Cair Paravel's masterpiece gardens.

Edmund. Susan. Peter. Lia. All of them out there, somewhere perhaps fighting for their lives at this very moment, perhaps bleeding to death…. Lucy's knuckle turned white with the pressure she exerted on it.

It was then she heard the crisp rustling of leaves. Her ears pricked up sharply and she tilted her head slightly, a quizzical frown on her face. For several moments there was no noise. She was about to shrug it off as an animal when she heard a familiar, sultry voice through the thicket.

'Make haste! The moon will be up at it's highest soon! Prepare everything.'

Lucy sprang up from the position she had curled into, concentrating fiercely on the voice, trying to decipher the words which were pitched lower than the initial statement.

'The blood bone, quick!' The same voice that of a female's whispered throatily. 'The feather of phoenix, the milky lapis lazuli and the moonstone. Ah, my beauty!'

The voice was fainter now as if the person had moved away. Quickly Lucy followed, hesitating only a second.

Curiosity kills. She chastened herself. Think of the poor cat.

But the achingly strong tug of curiously would not let her rest. She crouched down, beneath the myrtle bushes, her eyes almost glowing like a cat's.

It was a shadowy dark place; the abundant canopy of the trees provided a welcome cover, she noted. As she surveyed the area, a slender boy covered in velvet bent down and dropped something chanting an incantation under his breath.

Instantly a thin line of fire uncoiled around in a circle, like a snake rising to the tune of a snake dancer.

The firelight illuminated the woman who was standing in the middle, her raven hair floating down her back in fluffy curls. It was too dark to see her face but Lucy saw the fire throw light on her tilted head, lighting up the fine bones.

'Spirits of Old, I beckon thee. I call forth the ghosts of the past; reunite me with the sister's avenger! Arise! Arise to my call!'

Black magic. Lucy felt her blood freeze. She was raising somebody from the dead. She was a sorceress like Jadis.

'I offer thee this sacrifice, this emblem of power, this crest of the home of the witch! The feather of the golden phoenix, your slayer's symbol. The blood bone of those who died for your name! And this moonstone, one which shall give you your human body for life! Rise!'

The woman turned and Lucy saw her face. Heidi! Lucy felt all the blood drain form her face, her face felt numb.

I have to get out. I have to get help. I have to get Aslan. Aslan, Aslan please! Before she could force herself to move she saw a wispy smoke rise from the fire as it extinguished completely. Heidi reeled back, coughing violently.

The cloudy puffs joined together, assembling into a shape. A shape of a man. A dark haired man who was cloaked in the colours of night.

'Heidi, my child.' The voice was cool, cultured. 'A most excellent job.'

'hank you, father.' She bowed her head before him.

'And you, my brave queen.' It took Lucy a moment to realize he was referring to her.

Run! Run you fool! She screamed mentally. But he was at her side in an instant, hand in red locks.

Forget this. Do not remember. Forget.' He waved his hands and she knew no more.

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I'm back! Who missed me? And so we are moving on with the story! Do review and tell me what you think!

A. L. Potter