"Lu," Edmund rasps. She whips around as soon as her feet touch the ground and his eyes are drawn to the swirl of her skirt as she rushes across the clearing.
"Don't," she says, already peering at his stomach. She drops to her knees, just missing crushing his left hand, and leans over him. She reaches cautiously across him and gently touches Serena's wrist. "I need to see," Lucy tells her, just as gently. He moans when Serena slowly releases the pressure she's been applying and lets her hands slip away. There's an immediate wave of nausea that rolls through him, and he squeezes his eyes closed again when Lucy reaches for the hem of his shirt. The sticky, peeling sensation is almost more than he can stand.
"Crossbow," he croaks, trying to ground himself in the past instead of right here and now. The sound of Lucy unbuckling the cordial at her waist is her only response. Through the riot of pain and queasiness radiating from his stomach he can still feel the tiny plop of the single drop and then the brief cooling sensation before the slow spread of warmth. There's always an uncomfortable tugging sensation too, just barely discernible if one can focus past the heat. Edmund clenches his hands into fists, his back slightly arching off the ground, as the wound rapidly knits itself closed.
"Edmund Pevensie," Lucy sighs once the warmth has ebbed away, "where in the world have you been?" And that's the only warning he has before Lucy crushes him, wrapping her arms around his neck in an almost strangling embrace. Edmund pushes off the ground, half bracing for a lance of pain that doesn't come. He wraps his arms around his younger sister, trying to avoid getting blood all over her, and the tension in his chest finally falls away like a chains dropping to the ground— with an almost auditory clank of finality in his head. I'm home.
He feels Lucy quake as she drags in a long breath, and he knows then that she's more shaken than she's let on. He tucks her head under his chin and squeezes her tighter. She's nearly sitting in his lap by the time Peter thunders into the clearing, Orieus just behind him.
"Edmund," Peter gasps, flinging himself off his horse and running the last few steps toward him. Edmund can't help the smile that spreads across his face as he looks up at his brother, but he sees Peter's eyes flick to the side as he kneels beside him.
Edmund had nearly forgotten, and when he looks over Serena is sitting motionless with her bloodied hands in her lap. Her cheeks still shine and her mouth is pinched shut. Edmund loosens his hold on Lucy just as Peter crashes into them. This pulls his gaze from Serena, and he leans into his brother's embrace briefly before removing his arm from around Lucy.
He isn't sure what he means to do when he reaches for Serena, but before he can figure it out Lucy twists around toward her. If he hadn't already been healed, the sharp jab and the fierce scowl Lucy sends his way then would have him doubled over in agony.
"Are you alright?" Lucy asks, hesitantly touching Serena's shoulders. She slides her hands down to Serena's wrists when she doesn't respond and she pulls the other girl's hands aside.
"It's not hers, Lu," Edmund says quietly. Serena's eyes dart to her side then, where a crimson stain covers a good bit of the loose fabric of his spare shirt. Her hands are covered too, and her thighs where her hands had been resting until Lucy pulled them away. Edmund's stomach turns over uncomfortably. He'll never get used to seeing his own blood outside of his body, but seeing it all over someone else is even worse.
"We need some water," Lucy orders as she scrambles off Edmund's legs. She takes a firmer hold of Serena's wrists and pulls her to her feet. As soon as she's up, Lucy loops an arm around Serena's waist, as heedless of the new stains on her own clothing as when she'd hugged Edmund. Lucy guides her toward where Orieus is already loosing a water skin from Phillip's saddle.
"Phillip!" Edmund gasps. When he tries to push to his feet Peter quickly grabs his forearm and hauls him up. There's no dizziness from the blood loss— so complete is the cordial's ability to heal— just the disorientation of suddenly moving without pain. It only lasts a moment, and then Edmund drops his brother's hand to rush across the clearing.
"Your majesty," Phillip says with a bow and a Horse-ish grin. Edmund laughs, wrapping an arm over his friend's neck and leaning his forehead against Phillip's mane. The scents of summer and sunshine and meadows of grass still cling to him somehow, and Edmund breathes deeply.
"You made it in a day after all, didn't you," Edmund marvels, finally lifting his head. Phillip shakes out his mane and stands straighter, looking every bit the proud charger Edmund rode into battle at Beruna a decade ago.
"I wasn't sure how long you and the Wolf could hold out," Phillip declares. After a second he ducks his head, though, looking around the clearing. Edmund draws in a sharp breath and pivots to face Peter. He hadn't yet considered Adan, and his eyes widen as he grips his brother's arm.
"I've already sent Cellox back," Peter assures him. Edmund nods, silently asking Aslan to lend speed to the Eagle's quest. Adan can, of course, handle himself, but there were too many humans for him to take on alone. And it's been so long already since he'd gone back to buy them time. Keep him safe, Aslan, safe between your paws.
Peter's sudden grip on Edmund's shoulder draws his focus back, and he sees his brother's gaze drop to his now-healed side.
"I'm sorry, Ed. I should have-"
"That's not your fault, Pete," Edmund says quickly, but Peter continues frowning at the bloodied fabric of his shirt.
"You can fight about who to blame later, I'm sure," Lucy interrupts then. Edmund looks to his left and sees she's packing the empty water skin into one of Phillip's saddle bags. Just past her, Serena is wringing out the bottom of her wet shirt, but there's still an obvious tinge of red to the fabric.
"A good counsel, my lady," Orieus says. His dark eyes scan the woods, and Edmund turns enough to follow his gaze. Rising above the trees, not nearly distant enough for Edmund's liking, is a steep cliff face.
"We're still in the Giant Territories!" Peter and Oreius exchange a worried look over his head, and Edmund turns back toward the cliff and the mountains. "How far in are we? And how many are with you? We can't violate the treaty, it took months to broker that truce and now–"
"Just hold on, Ed," Peter says, grabbing his arm to stop the pacing he hadn't realized he'd started. "I think we need to get a few things straight first." Peter looks again at Edmund's bloody shirt. "Those soldiers will be hours trying to get down anyway." Edmund stares up at the cliff face for a long moment.
"Those weren't the men Phillip will have told you about."