AN: This is going to be very AU. Pairings to be used in this fic are: Edmund/Lucy and, later on, Caspian/Susan. I'd explain the plot here but I'm hoping the story will sort of speak for itself.

"Do you smell that, child?" Helen asked her daughter, Lucy, as she leaned into the chilly early morning wind and inhaled deeply.

Lucy was too busy blowing on her numb, red-from-cold, and slightly chapped hands to answer. She was simply exhausted and the simple act of huffing on her nipped limbs felt strained.

Helen might have scolded her if she had actually been listening, expecting an actual answer but since she was too caught up in relief and excitement to bother, all she said was, "That is the lovely air of Narnia."

"Is it any warmer here in the afternoon, mum?" Lucy asked, peering up at her mother hopefully, stuffing her hands into the folds of her tattered black dress.

"Goodness, yes!" Helen exclaimed, as though shocked that Lucy didn't already know that. "It's only a nippy autumn morning, is all." She shook her head. "Dear Aslan, child, even now it's nicer here than it ever was in Ettinsmoor-accursed icy land mine which we were forced to call home! Rejoice my daughter, we are free!"

Lucy didn't quite see it that way. In Ettinsmoor, it had been cold and unpleasant but at least they'd had a small two roomed cottage to live in and decent food to eat. Now, they'd run out of supplies having not had enough time nor the recourses to pack quite the amount needed for the whole trip to Narnia. She was absolutely starving and although they were in Narnia now, they were still a good distance from any houses which meant-shudder-more walking on sore, blistered, feet.

All the same, she had to admit the forest they were edging along was very beautiful. It had a quiet sort of green stillness to it, shimmering like thousands of large emeralds in the morning sunlight. And this was Narnia after all; the place she had been told of her whole live. Where Mum had been brought up. Where the awesome Aslan often came to visit.

She'd heard of the great Lion and thought it would be wonderful to perhaps meet him someday. It was too bad that there was no record of him ever coming around Ettinsmoor. Still, many times she'd gazed into icy ponds, her eyelashes heavy with snowflakes, watching the golden sun come over the white hills and holding her breath. For it might, just that once, not have truly been the sun at all. Maybe it could have really been him; Aslan the Lion, King of the beasts, Narnia's lord coming over the hills.

"Are you lost in your fancies again, my girl?" Helen sighed with a somewhat aggravated air. "If you can't dream and keep up at the same time, save your dreams for when we are comfortable at your Uncle Harold's house, next to a warm fire with food in our stomachs."

Lucy nodded and moved her feet with a little more vigor. "Mum?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"Is Uncle Harold's house, is it...near?" She didn't know how much longer she could keep walking now and thought she might collapse at any given moment.

"No, we need to reach the town first." Helen said shortly, more to keep her pace than because she was cross.

"Then can't we rest?" Lucy pleaded, trying to ignore the burn of a blister as it burst open. "I'm so tired."

"Good, if you focus on how tired we are than you cannot have enough thoughts left over for how hungry we will be when we do come to a stop." Helen said practically.

Why did father have to die? Lucy thought to herself, he worked in Ettinsmoor, in the hills, and we had enough to eat then. There was no talk of leaving, not even for this wonderful place, back in those days. Now mum was too poor to buy fish from the traveling vendors and we have to come all this way to find her brother. He can't have seen her in many years; supposing he doesn't remember us and wont take us in?

Lucy shuddered and her stomach growled. Harold would have to take them in, wouldn't he? Had not mother always told stories about the two of them playing happily as little children? He couldn't really have forgotten the sister of his youth, surely not!

An hour later, when Lucy was nearly sleeping and walking at the same time, she felt a light pinch on her left arm.

"Open those eyes, Daughter." Helen ordered, dragging her towards a cobblestone path. "Look, the town!"

"Oh!" Lucy exclaimed happily, nearly bringing her cold hands together and clapping in her excitement.

"Now, if only I knew exactly where Harold lived..." Helen mused, reaching up and rubbing the side of her nose contemplatively.

Lucy's face fell. "You mean you don't know?"

"Of course not!" Helen snapped. "This is on such awful short notice after all, isn't it?"

"Couldn't we have written to him?" Lucy blurted out without thinking her words through. "And then he could have..."

Helen glared at her daughter and Lucy cringed, half-expecting a slap across the face for her insolence. Then her expression softened just a little and she shook her head.

"We'd have starved, just waiting for him to get the letter and to take the time to write us back, I explained it to you long before."

"I know, mum." Lucy hung her head shamefully. "I'm just so awfully tired, is all."

Helen nodded. "We both are, dear." She sighed and looked around at the large beautiful brick houses remembering her younger childhood years. "Oh, how it all comes back!"

"What shall we do now?" Lucy yawned into the palm of her hand.

Taking some pity on her daughter, Helen said, "You can find a comfortable spot to wait for me in the market place, I'll ask around about Harold's whereabouts and you just sit there and rest up, alright?"

Lucy was so happy she thought she might faint from sheer joy. Oh, to sit down and rest without moving for a little while! Maybe even a short nap!

"Now, the market place is down that way." Helen went on, pointing Lucy in the right direction. "Don't speak to anyone on the way, don't linger, and don't go off with anyone."

"I wont, mum." Lucy promised.

"I mean it, Lucy." Helen said firmly. "I don't care what they say. Even if they say they know Harold, or that I sent them, you are to wait right there until I myself come back and get you, is that understood?"

"Yes." Lucy assured her. "But mum, who would come for me? Do poor people ever get kidnapped?"

Helen thought it over. "You may have a point there, child."

Lucy smiled weakly.

Her mother patted her on the cheek lightly. "That's a smart girl, now get going and do watch for traffic."

As Lucy walked down the wide, beautifully paved, roads and alleyways she admired all of the pretty carvings on the side walls and door knockers of the houses she passed. Heeding her mother's warning, she took care not to linger in any place and to keep her feet moving.

One of the grandest houses on the street, had such perfectly polished bricks that it seemed to fairly glisten in the light of the sun as it rose higher, closer to mid-day now. What Lucy liked the best of this house was that it had large bay-windows with little clasps designed to look like lions heads holding it shut.

Gazing up at the window that over looked the lane closest to the market-place, Lucy noticed a lily-white hand lifting the lion-clasp and sliding the window open. There, taking in a breath of the now comfortably cool air, was the most strikingly beautiful lady Lucy had ever seen.

She was fair-skinned with long black hair and such delicate facial features that she seemed to be more of a work of art than a person.

What was most surprising about the beautiful girl was that she herself couldn't have been so very much older than Lucy was (nine years old, almost ten). Only a few years, surely she was no more than an adolescent. She peered out at Lucy curiously for a moment before there was a voice from inside the house and a knock on the door in the room behind her.

"Susan!"

The girl-Susan-leaned back from the window and told whomever was there to go away.

The person behind the door said something back which Lucy could not understand because it was in old Narnian and although she had learned to speak both Narnian and English from infancy, it had always been the modern terms because her practical mother thought old flowery verses would never come in handy. And of course, English was what the first Queen of Narnia, Helen, whom Lucy's mother was named after, had spoken.

Susan shut the window and fastened the clasp with a heavy sigh, drawing the thick curtains behind her.

Realizing that she had been lingering, however unintentionally, Lucy dashed into the market place as quickly as possible to make up for lost time.

As soon as she was in the mist off all the hustle and bustle, Lucy felt rather faint. All of the rich smells of breads and fruits and fish for sale made her mouth water. If only she could afford just a little something; she hadn't eaten a thing for nearly two days now. She thought about begging for a throw away scrap from one of the venders but then the image of her mother's scowling face popped into her head. She would be furious if either of them were to be seen begging on their first day in Narnia. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Aslan himself came into the marketplace and gave her something to eat?

Trying very hard not to cry from yearning both for the unknown Aslan and for food, Lucy took a seat in a reasonably comfortable corner than none of the vendors were using and folded her hands in her lap, waiting for her mother to return.

Just then, she noticed a dark-haired boy a year or two older than herself whistling as he walked passed her. There was something about his manner and the fact that he was-to her taste at least-rather handsome that made Lucy actually smile at him in spite of her exhaustion.

He noticed her smile, returned it, and winked at her.

She felt her cheeks flush; no boy had ever noticed her before. Not even in a friendly way. In Ettinsmoor, she was just that dirty cottage-wench who's mother shooed the husky dogs and wolves off the broken porch with a big stick and all of the children, boys and girls alike who lived close enough to know her, made her a sort of mean joke amongst themselves.

Maybe, Lucy thought hopefully, we can be friends; that boy and me. I know I look like a street ragamuffin, what with my crummy dress and all that, now but after I move in with uncle Harold, surely I'll make lots of friends here.

Suddenly without warning, a street vendor ripped over her slightly-out-stretched foot and dropped a basket of bread onto the ground. The cobblestone was so clean you could practically lick it and yet not taste much dirt but that didn't seem to make much difference to the vendor.

"You stupid girl!" He bellowed loudly, making quite a scene, thrusting the empty basket at her upper leg. "Look what you made me do."

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to..." Lucy's eyes filled with tears. Wouldn't mother be so terribly disappointed in her when she heard about this? She scrambled to the ground to help him pick up some stray rolls.

"I'll teach you to ruin my produce for a whole day's wage!" He lifted his hand about to hit her.

Lucy let out a whimper, cringed, and prayed it would be over quickly.

"Don't you dare lay a hand on that girl!" A more pleasant, kinder voice from near-by said.

Looking to the left of the angry bread-man, was a tall blond boy with blue eyes about a year older than the girl she had seen in the window earlier. He looked furious, but with the vendor, not with Lucy.

The vendor flushed red with embarrassment. "Good day, Master Peter."

"I came to buy some bread but I see you are too occupied beating helpless children to sell." He said through his teeth, glaring at the vendor. "Perhaps I'll shop else-where from now on."

The vendor apologized and hastily sold Peter some bread in spite of the fact that it had been on the ground a few moments earlier.

"Thank you for your kindness." Lucy bobbled an awkward curtsey. The vendor had called him, Master Peter that must mean he was the son of an important Narnian lord.

Peter waved it off and gave her a concerned half-smile. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, sir." Lucy said timidly as her stomach let out an unpleasantly loud growl.

Peter took out a roll and held it out to her. "Here."

"No thank you." Lucy said politely.

"Why not?" He asked gently. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Well, yes." Lucy had to admit. "But my mum will be angry with me for begging on our first day here."

"You aren't begging, I'm just giving it to you." Peter pointed out.

"If you put it that way..." Lucy couldn't resist any longer; she reached out and snatched the bread away from him, swallowing it in only two bites.

"By the Lion!" Peter gasped, reaching out and touching her shoulder compassionately. "When did you last eat?"

"A day or so ago." Lucy told him.

"You poor thing." He looked so genuinely worried that Lucy almost felt like crying as he handed her another roll. "Here."

She swallowed that one more slowly than she had inhaled the first.

"I'm Peter Pevensie, what's your name?"

"Lucy." She said.

"Is someone coming for you?" Peter asked before turning to leave. "I mean, will you be alright?"

"Mum's coming, then we're going to stay with my uncle." Lucy explained. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure you don't want me to wait with you?" Peter offered.

"Yes." Lucy nodded. "I'll be fine."

"Master Peter!" A breathless-voiced faun wearing a red muffler on his otherwise clothing-less half-goat, half-man body, came rushing towards them.

"Tumnus, what's wrong?" Peter asked him.

"Your father, Lord Pevensie, sent me." He said as soon as he had caught his breath. "We need you at home."

"What did she do now?" Peter groaned.

Lucy wondered what 'she' he meant.

"Locked herself in her room and refuses to come out." Tumnus sighed.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Alright, I'll be right there." He looked back at Lucy. "Be safe now, alright?"

She nodded, settling back into her corner to wait for her mother some more.

Shortly before twilight, Helen arrived and told Lucy that after asking around she had finally found out where the Harold Scubb's house was and that they were to set off for it at once.

It was only three streets away from the market-place and as soon as Lucy noticed the warm-looking gray-brick home, she felt her sprits lift. They would have supper tonight. Maybe Harold would even serve dessert! She hadn't had a real pastry in a very long time. She liked sticky buns the best although cream-puffs were good, too.

Standing tall with purpose, Helen lifted the brass knocker on the door and slammed it up and down twice.

A sour-face woman answered. "Hullo?"

"Is Harold there?" Helen asked.

"My husband has been dead for nearly two years now." The woman said shortly. "And he wouldn't have conversed with beggars at all during his life, so away with you at once."

A boy about a year younger than Lucy came and stood by his mother's side. "Who's the girl in the crummy dress, Alberta?"

"She is your cousin." Helen told him, stretching out her hands toward her nephew. "Harold was my brother, please welcome back what is your own."

"Oh, get away, you things!" Alberta hissed meanly. "Do get!"

"But I am your family." Helen protested.

The boy stuck out his tongue at Lucy.

"Shut the door, Eustace." Alberta said. "They are no family of mine. only beggars."

Eustace closed the door in their faces.

"Well!" Helen spat angrily at the closed doorway, grabbing onto Lucy's hand and leading her down the stairs.

"What now, Mum?" Lucy held back the hot tears of disappointment that sprang up into her eyes.

Helen gulped, forced to let go of her pride. "We must beg for charity."

And so, all that night, huddled up in the little ragged shawls-one of the few things they owned-they went from door to door asking for shelter and a bit of food. Most people turned them away. A kinder soul or two tossed a slice of bread or a small piece of fish to them but still refused to let them into their houses.

Then, when all hope seemed lost and Lucy thought they would have to crawl up and sleep in an alleyway, a familiar face appeared in a doorway.

Lucy gasped when she saw him. Why, it was the boy who had winked at her in the marketplace.

Looking passed Helen, he noticed her. "Why, it's you!"

Lucy nodded and then sneezed.

"Come in," He held the door open a little wider. "I'm Edmund, by the way."

AN: So whatja think? Should I go on with the story? Please review!