Peter approached Edmund's room with caution. It was half past ten in the morning, but what was considered early was a matter of contested opinion among the Pevensies. Lucy rose with the sun—sometimes before. Peter followed soon after. Susan rose later saying that she needed her beauty sleep, and Edmund rose even later with the explanation that he considered it nothing more than a good night's sleep. Peter didn't argue with them. They were terrors in the morning.

Raising his fist, he knocked on the door to Edmund's room. "Ed?" he asked warily. No reply came. He knocked again, louder this time. "Ed! Get up!" Usually he wasn't in the business of giving his siblings commands (despite being High King), but he was worried about his younger brother. Edmund always acted off when winter came around.

A head of dark, messy hair poked out the door. "What is it Peter?"

"Let's go riding." He suggested, trying to shoulder the door open a little more. He could feel Edmund putting his weight against it.

"I don't feel like going riding. I just woke up." He yawned as if to punctuate his point. "Plus it's freezing out, Pete."

Peter sighed. He knew he couldn't pressure his brother over this. He tried his best to be gentle with Edmund this time of year, had it been summer he would have jammed his way through the door and dragged him out. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Edmund looked tired, bags underneath his eyes. "Now go. I'll see you later. We'll talk at lunch about travel plans." The door was forced closed on him. "I'll pack in the meantime!" He called through the door.

Peter knew he was going back to sleep.

Staring at the closed door in front of him he went to run a hand through his hair, then, expecting to meet hard metal, jerked his hand back. Remembering he didn't have his crown on, he indulged himself in the full movement of dragging his fingers fully through his blond hair. On days when the Pevensies had no official duties to attend to they tended to leave their crowns in their rooms. It was a rare day in Narnia that the Pevensies weren't welcoming guests or didn't have some matter to discuss with the council. Peter appreciated the weight of his crown on his head. It reminded him of his responsibilities and the trust that Aslan put in him. However, it was nice to be just Peter sometimes. A 24-year-old who could go riding on occasion. Peter decided that even if Edmund refused to come he would get a good ride in before lunch.

He made his way through the halls of Cair Paravel, greeting the subjects and attendants who lived in the castle. They bowed and curtsied to him as he passed, even without the crown. So, perhaps he could never be just Peter as long as he continued to reign over Narnia. For as long as he had reigned he had never gotten used to the stares. He had no desire to abandon his country because of a few stares, on the contrary he loved Narnia more than anything. However, he hadn't exactly had a normal adolescence and sometimes he wondered how his life might have turned out differently.

Before he had gone to Edmund's room he had dressed in his extra thick wool cloak to protect against the cold, and he pulled it against himself as he exited the back of Cair Paravel. If this was the beginning of winter Peter couldn't imagine what the rest of the season held. He worried Edmund wouldn't even bother getting out of bed.

He walked down the rolling lawns of the castle towards the stables, noticing the green grass was beginning to brown. The trees had lost their leaves weeks ago, leaving nothing but bare skeletons against the blue sky. The sun was shining brightly in spite of the cold.

Inside the stables the air was humid and heavy with that sweet horse smell. It comforted him, reminded him of his early days in Narnia when Oreius insisted he spend hours on horseback practicing swordsmanship. He nodded at the attendants as they watered and fed, or brushed down the horses.

"High King Peter!" Squeaked a young looking faun. The faun put down the feed bucket immediately. "Would you like me to saddle Colossian for you?"

"No thank you, Phurnus. I'm going to do it myself." Peter smiled at him, trying to calm the faun's nervous attitude.

He took his saddle and bridle down off of the wall and meandered to his horse's stall. Colossian was a beautiful white stallion. He had been Peter's favorite horse since the beginning of the Pevensie's reign. The horse was calm, strong and reliable, but he had a bit of a wild streak when he was in battle. He didn't speak, which Peter was glad for. He always felt awkward riding one of the talking horses. A problem his siblings didn't seem to have.

Peter greeted him by cupping his jaw and running a hand down his snout. "Hello, old friend. How are we feeling today?"

Colossian whinnied in response, stomping his hooves impatiently.

Peter laughed, "Ready to go, I see."

He slung the saddle over Colossian's waiting back, buckling it tightly. He then eased the bridle over the horse's head. He stood back to make sure everything was in place before taking the reins and leading him out of the stall.

Peter waved to Phurnus on his way out.

When they got outside Peter shivered, the full force of the cold hitting once again. Pulling himself up in the saddle he started Colossian out at a gentle trot. The Great River delta followed the gentle slope of the lawns to the sea while the river proper ran through the woods that lined the grounds of Cair Paravel. Peter used the Great River to guide him most days, staying close to the water. Truthfully he knew the woods like the back of his hand, but sometimes he needed the steadiness of the river to allow him to think of other things.

Like his impending trip to Archenland. He truly didn't know what he would find there, only that there would be trouble between the northern countries and Calormen. Would it mean war? He only knew what his siblings had told him about last summer. He had been busy fighting giants off in the far north. Susan was supposed to get married and it had devolved into an invasion. He wasn't exactly surprised people were willing to go to war over his sister. He had been fighting male suitors off since she had turned 16. Still, Susan had never shared why she refused to go through with the marriage. He wasn't upset with her decision—Rabadash had proved to be a terrible, bellicose man.

Colossian reared up suddenly and Peter nearly fell off. His teeth knocked together as the horse's hooves returned to the earth. Reaching around to pet his neck, he asked quietly, "What is it?"

He had been so consumed by his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed anything amiss. He scanned his surroundings. Dark earth and dead leaves. But there, by the river, something caught his eye.

He dismounted, one hand on his sword the other soothing Colossian. He squinted to try and make out what had frightened his horse.

It was…a girl.

He took a step closer. She was laying on the sandy shore, thigh deep in the Great River dressed in all black.

Keeping his hand on his sword he approached her prone form. With the report of a Calormen spy he couldn't be too careful. When he reached her he spoke, "Hello?"

There was no response.

She was dressed oddly. It wasn't Narnian or Archenland or even Calormene, but it stirred something in his memory. Something very old.

He crouched next to her, reaching out to place his cold fingers on her neck. If he thought he was cold, she was freezing. He felt for a pulse. It was weak, but there. Her chest rose and fell shallowly. He touched her shoulder gently, "My lady?" No response.

He knew he needed to get her out of the cold and quickly—spy or no. If he didn't he was certain she would die. He unclasped his cape and covered her in the warm material, then slid his arms under her head and knees to pick her up. Her wet clothes soaked through his tunic. Standing, her head lolled onto his shoulder. He could see the frost that had accumulated on her eyelashes.

"Aslan's Mane." He whispered, taking in the full state of her. She was soaked through, missing a shoe, and felt like ice.

He carried her back to Colossian, who nickered warily in response to the new person. Peter pondered how to get both of them on the horse. The girl in his arms stirred so softly it was nearly imperceptible.

Peter tried speaking to her again, "My lady?"

Slowly her eyes blinked open, breaking the delicate ice that had collected there. Her eyes darted around. "I don't know where I am," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse.

Peter didn't want to startle her by overwhelming her with information so instead he asked, "What's your name?"

She tried to twist in his arms, but she was too weak to cause much of a fuss. She looked up at him. "Who are you?"

"My name is…well I'm," High King Peter, the magnificent. "Peter," he decided gently. He didn't feel his full title would be appropriate in this situation, especially if she wasn't Narnian.

"I'm…" She struggled to speak. Her eyes started to droop closed again.

Peter put his hand on her cheek and lightly shook her head. "Hey, hey. Stay awake."

Her eyes opened, but she didn't seem to be seeing anything, her eyes unfocused. "Cold…" She began to shake fiercely.

Peter heaved her over Colossian's back. She slumped against the horse's neck, but stayed upright. Her hands rested against his white coat—they were blue. Peter's stomach flipped. She was in a terrible state. He hopped up behind her pulling the cloak back up over her shoulders. He fastened it on her backwards the clasp around her back. He hoped it would protect her from the wind as they rode back. The girl fell back against his chest, losing consciousness again. He tried shaking her awake, but she gave no answer. Peter cursed to himself and spurred Colossian forward, back towards Cair Paravel.

The ride seemed to last forever. Trees blurred together and the constant rush of the wind filled his ears. He was freezing, but he imagined he felt nothing compared to the girl in front of him. What had she been doing in the river? No sane person would be swimming this time of year. Maybe she had been attacked? But as far as Peter could see she had no injuries.

The castle came into sight and Peter realized he had no plan. He needed to alert his siblings at once. Susan was gifted with medicine. Peter could set bones and tourniquet wounds, but those were battlefield injuries.

He decided to ride Colossian right up to the kitchen doors and enter the castle that way. Several attendants saw him racing up the lawn with a curious bundle and went to meet him at the kitchens. By the time he made it there, a group of fauns and a badger were waiting.

He dismounted, taking the comatose girl into his arms.

One of the fauns, shocked to see what Peter held, took Colossian's reigns and said, "I'll return him to the stables, your majesty."

"Thank you," Peter replied.

The other faun opened the kitchen door ahead of Peter, allowing him to slip into the castle's warmth. The faun, Famir, stuck by his elbow, "Your majesty, who is that?"

"I don't know." Peter answered evenly.

The Narnians in the kitchen were surprised to see their High King burst in carrying a dripping girl and some let out shrieks of shock.

"Your majesty!" A beaver by the ovens cried. "What's happened?"

He ignored the question. "My siblings." Peter's voice cracked. "Someone find them!" A faun scrambled out of the kitchen. Peter spied a long table that was used by the kitchen hands to prepare for large feasts. "Clear off that table!" The attendants rushed to accommodate him, pulling various pots and pans from the table.

Peter carefully laid the girl out. She looked worse, if it were possible. Her face was as white as snow and her hands and lips were a shade of blue Peter wasn't sure he had ever seen before. At least the ice was beginning to melt from her hair in the warmth of the kitchen.

A few attendants shuffled around the table. Finally one of them, a brunette faun, spoke, "What should we do, sire?"

Peter resisted the urge to bunch his hair up in both hands. He took a calming breath. "We need to warm her up."

The faun nodded curtly. "I'll find blankets," and with a clacking of hooves against marble, disappeared out of the kitchen.

The first to arrive was Susan who immediately started interrogating Peter while fussing over the girl. "Peter, what in the name of Aslan is going on? Where did you find her?" Gentle fingers probed the girl's neck for a pulse. "Her pulse is barely there. We really ought to get her out of these wet clothes." She started to pull at the girl's dress.

"Susan! You can't just take her dress off in the middle of the kitchen! We don't even have blankets to cover her," Peter exclaimed, a blush rising in his cheeks.

Susan sighed through her nose. "Grow up, Peter." She lifted one of the girl's stiff hands. "She's frost bitten. Even if we do manage to get her temperature back up we might need to use Lucy's cordial."

As if speaking her into existence Lucy entered the kitchen closely followed by a concerned looking Edmund. "We were in our rooms. What's going on?" Lucy asked.

Peter let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm not even entirely sure. I found her on the bank of the Great River half frozen, and I brought her back here. End of story." He made a cutting motion with his arm.

Lucy rushed over to the girl and shared a concerned look with Susan while Edmund held back. He stared at the girl. Something about her shook him. He brushed it off, assuming it was simply her sickly appearance.

The faun (Fomnia, Peter remembered) returned, arms laden down with blankets she had no doubt raided from a closet somewhere upstairs.

"Thank you," Peter said.

Susan pushed her brother out of the way and he fell back to where Edmund was standing, allowing his sisters and the faun to take the situation out of his hands.

Together Fomnia and Susan slipped the girl's dress off as Peter and Edmund looked away, thoroughly disgruntled. They then tucked the blankets around the girl. Lucy pushed the girl's dark hair away from her face, pulling tresses away from where they stuck to her cheeks.

Suddenly the girl took a choked, shuddering breath. Everyone turned to look at her. For a second no one moved. Then, Susan whispered, "She's not breathing."

Peter panicked. He had been trying very hard to stay calm, but he now felt responsible for this girl, and if she died—

Susan turned to her sister, "Lucy your cordial."

Lucy touched the bottle at her waist that rarely left her side. She lifted the flap of the pouch it was held in and took it out, unscrewing the top.

Lucy carefully tipped a single drop of cordial into the mouth of the girl. For a second, everyone held their breath.

Slowly, a healthy rose began to bloom in her cheeks. Her lips returned to their normal cherry. Fingers curled gently and the girl let out the smallest sigh, as if having a wonderful dream.

The Pevensies smiled; she would live. The fauns clicked their hooves against the hard floor of the kitchen in celebration.

Then, to everyone's astonishment, her eyes fluttered open. She looked around, a little confusion showing in her face. She started to sit up, but Lucy tenderly reached forward and pushed her back, "Not yet. You should rest."

The girl looked more confused at this.

"Sleep." Susan said, petting the girl's dark hair soothingly, "It's alright. You're safe."

Peter felt a wave of relief crash over him as the girl laid back down, closing her eyes.

A/N: Thanks so much for the lovely reviews! If you read this chapter I would certainly appreciate feedback whether it's in depth or just 'good!' or 'bad!'. Apologies to my Edmund lovers this is a Peter-centric chapter, but fear not Ellie and Edmund will return in the next chapter. I apologize for updating so late. I usually try to have the next chapter on stand-by before publishing the current one, but I've been struggling with chapter 4. I've made some headway though, so I figured it would be okay to post this. Lots of love!