Small village somewhere near the Cauldron Pool.

Edmund.

Edmund glared down into the earthenware tankard, which had but a mouthful of the honey-mead in the bottom. He swirled it around; the food piled before them no longer appetizing as he listened to the talk around him. The mead was exactly what he needed especially since Arianna had abandoned him, having been whisked away by the dryad who reminded him ever so slightly of Lucy.

Perhaps it would be good for her, to cool the rage that had been simmering in her eyes.

He snorted, remembering a time when he'd thought her emotionless; fooled by the mask she so perfectly wore at times. She was like an ice-capped volcano – a cold exterior, but molten flame beneath. And he almost felt pity for the silver-haired hunter who had drawn her ire, though he was quite sure the man deserved it. The villagers that gathered before him, hanging on to his every word, did nothing but spur him on.

Arrogant.

He reminded Edmund of the cocksure young lords that came to the Cair just to be Knighted – so sure in themselves that they would get exactly what they wanted. What they believed they were owed.

More fool to them when they realised they had to make it through multiple years of gruelling training, overseen by either himself and now Arianna.

Edmund schooled his features as Cyrus boasted about one of his most daring feats years passed, during the Long Winter. A dangerous beast he had caught, he said, with eyes that shone like to moon and talons of silver. Those same talons that he had strung upon a thread and hung on the wall behind him. A werewolf, who he claimed had been in the service of the White Witch. Though they were very well looked after if indeed they were that old.

While other village inns would boast stags' heads or occasionally wolves – as Edmund had seen in his travels – it was Narnian body parts that decorated the one he sat in. For Cyrus liked to remind everyone exactly what he could do; and those gathered around him hung onto every word he uttered; every syllable was honey that dripped from his tongue.

Edmund scowled into the tankard once more, using the rim to hide the expression that he couldn't quite control. Though he was not one prone to outbursts of emotion, he did not wear the emotionless mask as well as his wife.

"One would think you don't like our resident hunter," it was a new voice, deep and rumbling, that startled him from his thoughts. He glanced upwards as the village smith seated himself across the bench with a thud, mead sloshing over the side of his own tankard as he shrugged off his cloak. The man's almost-black eyes were dancing, set in a face that was darker than anyone he'd ever seen, even the tanned merchants of Archenland. Skin that spoke of endless dunes and harsh sun, of a land to the south where the sun always shone. From Calormen, Edmund thought warily. He wore his tools at his belt still, and his boots were dusted with soot; a blacksmith then. There was no soot streaked across the blacksmith's swarthy face that eve; instead, there was jovial teasing and laughter. He did not seek to lift his spirits in his tankard, he did not need to. "And where has your sweet little lady wandered off to?"

Edmund snorted. No one in their right mind would call Arianna sweet, nor would they call her his out loud. No one in their right mind would call Arianna anyone but her own person.

"Be careful, lad," the smith's eyes sought his own, pinning him in place and Edmund did not look away. "He is the idol of this village, you do not want to make him an enemy."

Edmund recalled Arianna's burning gaze.

It was definitely too late for that.

"Will you join us in lighting the fires, lad?"

Well why not, he supposed they would not be retiring any time soon.

…

Arianna.

A hunter.

Of all things other during the reign of the White Witch.

He was not Narnian, and though he looked like one born of the north, the dryad had said she knew he was not of this land. Perhaps not of this world. She knew, she had said in the way that the nature beings of Narnia knew those things; and she glanced at Arianna side-long.

The frost-fae were dangerous he had said.

Harbingers of death and bad luck.

The wings were old – from his grandfather he had said. His family had been hunters for generations.

"There, perfect," the dryad grinned over her shoulder, grey-green eyes shining.

She looked at herself in her reflection – the leaf-green gown and unbound curls lending her a far softer look than she was used to. Would Edmund mind? That she did not quite look like herself? At least the fastenings on the gown were not intricate – it would not be hard for him to divulge her of the garment. She smiled, a small smile that she could not quite help.

"You look so beautiful. I hope your man appreciates it." The young dryad spoke about it with a shy smile.

"Had you ever lain with another, before him? Is that how you knew he was the one for you?"

Arianna blinked.

And blinked again.

Pardon?

But the dryad was looking at her with wide hopeful eyes and she had to remind herself that dryads were very much known for their sharing, and sometimes over-sharing natures.

"Uh, well, I had another lover before him." A dryad man, but very much unlike the bubbly girl before her – he had been taciturn, with amber eyes and wiring brown hair, very much like his tree. Gone was his face and the memory of the ash on her hands, the flint at her feet as his tree burnt, as his body had turned to ash as she'd come back to herself.

"Was your husband better?"

Arianna snorted. She was very much sure her cheeks were aflame as she thought how to best answer. Never in a million years. The conversation certainly had taken a turn from her thoughts. And told her very much where the dryads mind was.

Hoping to find someone for herself that May Day.

"I've never thought to compare then" Arianna answered her honestly with a small shrug, fanning her face with her hand to cool herself down. Oh, Edmund definitely would have enjoyed her discomfort in that moment. "Tell me more about your village."

"Beyond the clearing lies the Cauldron Pool. They say the churning water there speaks secrets."

Ah, a great waterfall. That explained the soft pull on her magic. But Arianna just raised a dark brow.

The dryad flushed. "Not that I've ever tried to listen. It's just what they say."

"And what need have you for so many hunters and warriors? Are you not protected here?"

Lia gave her a little smile. "Oftentimes border villages such as ours are forgotten. We are not on any maps, so why would the kings and queens send us aid. Our caravans are raided sometimes. And so no matter how uncomfortable Cyrus makes me, we cannot get rid of him."

Arianna nodded.

Something she made note to rectify.

Their maps needed updating.

"Come, let us join the menfolk and dance the night away."

Dusk had fallen; the last sunrays of the day kissed the trees and the greens and browns had begun to melt into moonlight grey as Lia led her through the village.

They heard the music and Arianna felt the heat long before they reached the clearing.

It is a celebration in every sense of the word – but not like the perfect parties of Susan's Season. The clearing was lit by huge bonfires – the maypoles from earlier in the day stood tall like the trees around them – rowan, birch and hawthorn. But whilst those poles now stood still, the trees did not. They danced with the villagers to the music of the fiddle and pipes – swaying in a wind that was no there.

It put Arianna in mind of the celebrations of the north – primal and true.

Night had fallen, but it was not dark. No, the night was aflame with the light of the bonfires.

"Ah, might I steal away my wife?" Edmund's colour was high, a smile upon his face as he took her hands. Someone had place a garland of birch leaves upon his head – the resemblance to his true crown almost uncanny.

How much mead had he consumed since she had been with the dryad?

But she did not care, not when he was looking at her like that.

Lia laughed and let go of her hand.

And Edmund pressed a tankard of the honey-mead into her hands, as he pressed a kiss to her neck, just below her ear. "Enjoy yourself. Just let go for once."

Shivers run down her spine and she turned to him with a smile.

Edmund's eyes turned molten with heat as hunger flared, dark and hot, his eyes went dark as he looked down at her. He pulled her to him in a single movement, crushing her body to his, crushing his mouth to hers. Claiming, bruising. With no care for the villagers who stood by a stones-throw from them.

Heat pooled through her as his hands spread down her back and she wished there weren't so many layers of clothing between them. She wished he would rid her of her gown and take her then and there, pressed up against the stones of the wall. And from the way his fingers sunk into her waist she knew he was feeling the same.

A groan tore through him, his panting heavy as she dragged his lower lip through her teeth.

"The dress must be returned."

"Easy enough," he simply lifts her skirts and grips her thighs.