AN: Hi all, it's been a while since I last updated this story. A lot has happened: I graduated, moved, found a job and have been working for a year now. Work's really tough and I've got lots on my plate. I managed to churn this chapter out over lunchtime one day and guys! I've forgotten what writing for fun feels like! It's a pretty wishy-washy chapter and there's not much going on so I'm really sorry for another non-update update. I've left this story for far too long that I lost the thread so here's hoping I can keep up after this chapter.

'Will you hover there all day?' Lucy inquired, rousing Tomas from his indecision. 'Or do you have a message for me?'

Tomas cleared his throat, grateful that the Queen's back was to him as she busied herself with vials of healing concoctions. Her voice, especially when it was directed at him, never failed to make him blush like a silly schoolboy. He cradled his wounded palm to his chest and picked through his words carefully. Your Majesty, I've come to you…No…Your August Majesty, while sharpening my skills with a blade…

'Well?' Lucy turned around. 'Are you injured? Do you need a healer's attention?'

To hell with it. Tomas held out his palm in its bloody glory. 'I fell,' he explained, his voice flat and devoid of any attempt to dress his injury up with a heroic tale.

Her blue eyes widened, and she wiped her hands hastily on the rag that hung from the golden braided belt around her slender hips. 'How on earth did you manage that?'

'On earth?' Tomas repeated, frowning at the unfamiliar phrase.

'Never mind.' Lucy waved him towards the vacant patient's cot. 'Sit down. Cloudbirth's busy in the orchard so I'll have to dress your wound myself.' She halted, a roll of clean white linen in her hands, and threw him a fleeting glance as he sat on the bed. 'You don't mind, do you?'

'Course not!' he exclaimed as he sat on the bed. His legs were so long his feet actually touched the floor where Lucy's toes would barely graze it. 'It's an honor to have the Queen attend to my wounds.'

A light blush stole over her fair cheeks and she looked away, hiding her pleased smile. 'I hope you'll still think highly of me after I'm finished.' She held a small jar up into the light and the amber balm within shone with a sinister gleam.

'What's that stuff?' Tomas asked.

'Disinfectant and it will help with the scarring.' At his wince, Lucy smiled and made a show of stirring the gelatinous ointment. 'It won't sting. Much.' She cleaned the blood from his palm, carefully picking out the bits of gravel stuck in the shallow cuts. His arm tensed when she hit a particularly raw spot, but he remained quiet as he watched her. The infirmary grew quiet with only the occasional tinkling of gravel dropping from pincers onto a metal bowl.

'It must have been a particularly bad fall,' she murmured as she dipped a clean cloth into a porcelain basin of water. 'How did it happen?'

'I fell…and managed to cut myself on my training sword,' he admitted as he watched her carefully clean the blood surrounding his wound. In the basin, the water was slowly tinged with red. Her blue eyes flitted up to meet his, urging him to continue. 'I'm not a…competent swordsman,' he continued, his voice gruff.

'Me neither,' she confided with a wry smile. 'I prefer throwing knives and daggers.'

His eyes widened. 'I'm not competent at any sort of weapon, really. Not swords or…or throwing knives or daggers. I prefer…I prefer…' He trailed off, hoping she'd ignore what could have been an embarrassing confession.

For a moment she did, and he contented himself with watching her dip a square of cloth into another bowl filled with more mysterious, thick substance and press it into his open wound. The wound stung, and he gripped the cot beneath him, trying to stifle any embarrassing sounds. As she affixed the cloth into place, she rinsed the bloodied rag and cleaned any remaining blood stains on his skin. 'What do you prefer?' she asked him.

He glanced at her, suddenly wary of her questions and interest, but her gaze was firmly fixed on his palm. Seated above her, he had a perfect view of her long, golden lashes and the smattering of freckles across her ridiculously perfect nose and smooth cheeks. 'I prefer…music.'

Her careful movements paused almost imperceptibly. 'Do you play any instruments?'

'The lute. And- and I'm quite good with the flute as well.' When she said nothing, Tomas felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment. The Queen would have had the finest musicians in the land and beyond come to play for her. She'd even had songs sung about her! He grew quiet and sullen, a victim of his own fearful thoughts.

'Will you play for me one day?' she inquired, her soft voice falling over his palm like a caress.

He started, almost jerking his hand out of hers in surprise. She made a small sound of disapproval and tightened her grip on his wrist. 'Play?'

'Of course. I'd like to hear you play.' The square of cloth was removed, discarded, revealing a clean, dry wound. 'Unless you'd rather not…'

'No!' he declared, startling the Queen as she was reaching for more of the vicious ointment. Disinfectant, he thought with distaste. 'No, it would- I would be honored to play for you.'

She smiled in response and scooped a dollop of the ointment and applied it to his injury. The balm now felt cool against his cleaned wound and she massaged it into his skin, careful to keep her movements slow. Her touch soothed him, warmed him to his core. In the quiet of the infirmary, he could feel himself growing drowsy. As she continued working the balm into his palm, Tomas became aware of another unfamiliar yet wicked sensation stirring in his stomach, slowly growing hotter and hotter. His eyes shot open, horrified, and darted to Lucy. Seeing the occupied expression on her face, he casually shifted his legs together, trying to hide from her when she turned to collect strips of linen, but doing that simply intensified whatever cruel feeling was coursing through his blood.

'Avoid water or anything wet,' she informed him as she began to wrap the linen around his palm and over the thick layer of salve. 'The ointment needs to dry for it to be effective.' Tomas nodded and flexed his palm, testing his mobility. 'Will you be able to play?'

'Play?' he repeated blankly.

She nodded, drying her hands on her smock. 'I'd like to hear you play. The lute is one of my favorite instruments to listen to, but I've never learned.'

'I could play it for you now,' he offered, eagerly scrambling to his feet in his excitement. 'I could just go and take my lute. I left it in the stables and it's near and I could play some ballads for you-'

'I really don't want you overexerting yourself,' Lucy replied hastily.

'It's nothing!' He was bouncing in his excitement. 'It really isn't!'

'Well,' Lucy deliberated. 'I suppose it's fine for you to play, but will you be playing in here?'

'Why not?' He inched towards the door, eager to collect his lute.

'The infirmary is not quite…a favorable location to listen to music,' she explained delicately. 'Perhaps we could meet in the pavilion in the gardens by the lake, you with your lute?'

He bowed, walking backwards towards the door in his hurry. 'Then I shall see you there, Your Majesty!'

The door swung shut behind him and Lucy smiled, listening to his running steps fade. When the hallway outside grew quiet, she whirled around and poured fresh water into a clean bowl. Her fingers fumbled with the various rags and pouches hanging from her belt, yanking them and dumping their odds and ends on the table. With the bowl filled, she tied her hair back and proceeded to plunge her face in the bowl of cold water. When she resurfaced, she felt around the nearby table for clean rag, the infirmary never seemed to run out of these, and scrubbed her face clean. Her cheeks stung and felt raw, but she simply patted her face dry and untied the ribbon in her hair. Her fingers combed through her unruly strands, regretting not washing her hair the previous night.

When she finally felt cleaned and fresh, Lucy closed her eyes and tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. A friend. He is a friend. A very charming and handsome friend. A friend with a very nice smile, and deep voice, the sort that you swoon over…Goodness, do you suppose he sings? She waved her hands, frantically trying to swat the treacherous thoughts away. It doesn't matter if he does, Lucy Pevensie. You will not become weak-kneed at the first note he plays.

Lucy exhaled and slapped her cheeks lightly.

Fine. She was fine.