A/N:Chapter 6 is live

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Chapter 6 – Into the Infirmary

Edmund's POV

The infirmary was a storm of noise, movement, and pain.

The scent of blood, herbs, and smoke clung to the air, thick and unshakable. Every cot and every space between them was occupied—soldiers groaning, healers moving in a blur, bowls of water spilling as hands worked frantically to stop the bleeding.

I quickly scanned the room.

Lucy had already settled into the chaos, kneeling beside a centaur, pressing a cloth against his shoulder with quiet reassurance. Her hands were steady, quick, like she had done this a thousand times. Across the room, Susan stood with an older healer, listening intently while gripping the fabric of her skirt.

Peter and I didn't need to speak. We moved.

We helped where we could—lifting the injured, clearing space, supporting those who couldn't walk on their own. This wasn't new to us. War never ended when the swords were lowered.

I was reaching for fresh linens when someone crashed into my shoulder.

I barely caught my balance before turning to see James, struggling under the weight of an injured soldier.

The man's breathing was uneven, one arm clutching his ribs. James gritted his teeth, shifting the weight as best he could, but I could see it—it was too much for him alone.

Before I could step in, a woman brushed past me, moving toward them with swift, precise steps.

"By the window," she instructed. "Careful with his ribs."

James didn't argue. He adjusted his grip and helped the man toward an open cot, where an older faun—one of the healers—immediately stepped in to assess the injury.

James exhaled heavily, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the strain.

"Are you hurt?" the woman asked, her voice low, but clear over the noise.

James shook his head. "I'm fine."

She gave a short nod, already turning—and then her eyes met mine.

She didn't hesitate.

"You're bleeding."

I frowned, about to argue, but then I saw it.

My sleeve was soaked through, deep red spreading down my arm.

Pain crashed into me like a delayed strike. My knees wavered, the world tilting slightly as I blinked through the haze.

Peter must have seen me sway because his hand caught my good arm. "Ed—"

Before he could do anything, she was already there.

"Sit," she instructed, guiding me toward a cot.

She pressed a fresh cloth to my wound, and the warmth of her hand startled me. Her touch was firm but careful, as if she had done this a thousand times.

I sat before I fully processed why.

The cloth dampened instantly, deepening in color as she pressed down.

"Right," she murmured, tilting her head slightly as she studied the injury. "That's not good."

"Thanks," I muttered, gritting my teeth. "Hadn't noticed."

She didn't react, just reached for fresh bandages. "Can you move your fingers?"

I flexed them, wincing. "Yes."

"Good. No severe nerve damage."

"Fantastic," I sighed.

Peter huffed beside me. "You really are an awful patient."

I scowled, shifting slightly as she poured something over the wound—and suddenly my arm was on fire.

"Bloody—" I bit back a curse, sucking in a sharp breath.

"You'll live," she said simply.

I exhaled through my teeth, throwing her a look. "You'd be a miserable nurse."

"Good thing I'm not a nurse, then," she replied, tying off the bandage with practiced ease.

I opened my mouth to respond when she glanced up then, and for the first time, I really saw her eyes.

A sharp, striking green.

Something about them made me immediately shut my mouth.

She finished wrapping my arm and tied off the bandage with a practiced knot. "That should hold."

And she was gone—moving on before I could say anything else.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulder slightly as I watched her disappear into the fray.

Peter was still standing beside me, arms crossed.

"Try not to get injured again, would you?" he muttered, nudging my foot with his own.

I shifted to stand, but his hand landed on my shoulder, pushing me back down.

"Not yet," he said, shaking his head. "You'll tear the bandage off like an idiot, and I'm not dragging you back here."

I scowled but didn't argue.

The room around us was still loud, still tense, but the movement had changed. It was less frantic, more structured, like a barely contained storm settling into its rhythm.

Lucy was still working, bent over a wounded soldier's arm as she wrapped fresh bandages near my cot. Susan had moved to assist her, sleeves rolled up.

I glanced at my newly bandaged arm, feeling the exhaustion settling in now that the worst had passed.

"Your Majesties?"

I turned at the voice, spotting James Stoll weaving through the infirmary.

His strawberry-blond hair was tousled, still damp at the edges. He had changed into a clean tunic, looser than the armor he'd worn earlier, but still in Narnian fashion.

Susan straightened, her sharp eyes sweeping over him, taking him in with the same calculating glance she gave anyone new.

"James Stoll," he introduced himself, giving a polite bow. "It's an honor to meet you."

Susan nodded slightly, as if confirming something. "Erasmus' ward, yes?"

James' lips twitched. "You could say that."

Lucy, standing beside Susan, offered him a warm smile.

"Lucy Pevensie," she said, extending her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

James took it, shaking it briefly, his grip firm but light.

And Lucy, ever so slightly—turned red.

It was quick, barely noticeable—but I saw it.

Her fingers twitched when she pulled away, and she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Pleasure's mine," James said, easy and good-natured. "I saw you helping earlier—you've got a steady hand."

Lucy blinked, lips parting slightly, as if she hadn't expected the compliment.

"Oh, well—thank you," she said, clearing her throat.

Peter, who had been silent until now, let out a soft hum.

"James," he said, and there was something light but knowing in his tone. "There's no need for 'Majesty.' Just Peter. And Susan, Edmund, and Lucy."

James hesitated, but nodded. "Of course—Peter."

Peter smirked slightly, then glanced toward Lucy—not directly at her, but just enough for her to feel it.

Lucy shot him a look.

Peter's smirk grew.

I bit down on my own grin.

As James spoke, something pricked at the back of my mind.

The girl who patched me up had disappeared into the crowd, but I could still picture her.

The way she moved, the way her gaze darted—constantly reading the situation before reacting.

And James... had that same awareness.

It wasn't just the way he carried himself. It was his expression. The way his brows pulled together slightly before he spoke, as if weighing every word.

And then—I saw it.

His eyes.

Not the same striking green, but a warmer shade—brown laced with green, like the forest before dusk.

I glanced toward where the girl had gone.

Then back at James.

And suddenly, it clicked.