He was drowning.

The thought came to him quite simply, just like that, and – oddly – he didn't panic but simply weighed this fact in his mind with an amount of measured interest. The sea was very blue was another thought, and very dark. Edmund, like many other similarly-aged boys, had been swimming at the local baths and hadn't cared for them much. The chlorine stung his eyes and offended his nose. However he'd never swum in the sea – at least, not like this – and he would rather have enjoyed it if it weren't for the fact that:

He was in very, very deep.

There was a disturbing lack of oxygen in his lungs.

He'd bashed his head against something, and his lip felt uncomfortably fat.

He should have been quarrelling with his cousin Eustace in a small terraced house in Putney.

And then, suddenly, a mere few seconds after the thought occurred to him, the ocean was much lighter and his legs worked much faster. Before his mind even had time to disregard his initial statement, his head was breaking the surface and he was wheezing, drawing oxygen into his lungs with huge, greedy gasps. Flicking his hair to free it from some of the seawater he spun around, noting the bobbing heads of Lucy and Eustace, mouths gaping like fish. But perhaps more importantly, he noticed a huge ship – surely the one from his aunt's treasured painting – sailing magnificently a mere few metres from him. And before he'd even seen the prince – Caspian – waving to them from high up on the deck, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he and his sister and indeed his cousin had landed themselves back in Narnia.

A few minutes later, Ed was being hoisted up onto the boat he now knew to be the Dawn Treader. Caspian embraced him almost immediately despite the fact Edmund was dripping; the crew cheered as the prince announced the title of the King and his sister. It was only after thin white towels were being draped across their shoulders that anyone drew attention to the fact Edmund's lower lip was split and dribbling blood down onto his chin.

Caspian, throwing an arm round his shoulders, clumsily grabbed the edge of the towel and dabbed at his friend's chin, shaking his head. "How did you do this?" he asked, smiling. "Never mind. We have a healer, of sorts, on the boat. Down below deck. Last door, on the right. Be back soon." Waving slightly, he turned to Lucy and struck up a conversation; Edmund was left to wander over to the trapdoor and descend into the depths by himself. The last thing he saw – well, more specifically, heard – was the thump of his hapless cousin falling onto the deck in a dead faint, and the uproarious, minotaurial laughter that followed.

The sound became muffled as he carefully replaced the heavy wooden door and slowly descended the rope ladder leading to the lower level of the ship. It was darker down here, and measurably quieter, although he still heard the merrymaking of the deck quite loudly. Turning to his right, he walked the length of the ship and paused before knocking on the final door, then pushing it open.

The first thing he noticed was how contrastingly light this room was; there were two wooden walls, one curved, which was peppered with portholes. There was also a light blue curtain separating this part of the room from another, unseeable, section. The walls were lined with rickety shelves complete with makeshift barriers to prevent the various jars and phials of liquid and plant matter and ointment from sliding off. There were cupboards, too, lining the walls, and along one curved edge was a long sofa-esque thing; more like a padded bench than anything else.

"Hello?" called Edmund, grimacing at the pain in his lip. On one wall was a small mirror and he caught sight of himself, just briefly, and started at his reflection. Still dripping wet, with a chunky, split lip dripping blood over his chin; his white shirt was stained with blood already.

"Coming!" Through the curtain stepped a girl, dressed lightly in a purple velvet dress. She had long dark hair, and dark eyes, and (Edmund saw once she faced him fully) she was really rather pretty. Her dress, too, showed off a figure attractive to a boy of his age, and there was a brief struggle in which he forced his eyes to meet hers.

Upon seeing him, her eyes widened. "Oh – hello. I don't – I don't believe I know you."

Edmund shook his head. "I just, ah, arrived. I came under unforeseeable circumstances." He stuck out a hand, which she shook. "Edmund."

"Edmund." Her face contorted into a frown of concentration. "Your name sounds rather familiar."

"Well, I'm more commonly known around here as, ah, Edmund the Just," he explained, scratching the back of his neck with one hand.

"Oh! Oh, my go-you're the king?" she gasped, and for reasons unknown to Ed, pulled back her hand as though it had been burned. "I'm, ah, sorry."

"For what?" he frowned slightly.

"For, uh, not getting to work on your lip soon enough. Please, have a seat, your majesty; I won't be a minute, sir." Almost tripping over herself in haste she stumbled back through the curtain and, bemused, Edmund sat down.

"What did you say your name was?" he called through the curtain.

"Eni," she murmured back distractedly.

"Eni?"

"Yes. Sorry." She was back through the curtains, now, with a large jar of creamy blue ointment. "If you could sit, still, your Highness, this may sting a little for which I'm very sorry."

Edmund was about to open his mouth to tell her to address him by his first name; however, he decided to cooperate and obediently sat still, as she knelt down beside the bed and unscrewed the lid of the jar. Dipping in her fingers, she leaned forward and gently dabbed a little of the stuff onto his broken lip. Wincing in pain, he exhaled sharply and she mumbled a nervous apology.

"It's quite alright," he replied, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She looked pale and drawn, and regarded him as some sort of wild animal that would leap out and attack her at any minute. "There's no need to look so - afraid."

"Yes, sir," she muttered without looking him in the eye. He sighed.

"Call me Edmund, please. Eni."

She glanced up at him and he chanced a smile, to which she replied nervously, but with less of the acrid fear of before. "You'll need to stay put for just a minute or so. Would you like to clean your chin? Perhaps a new shirt?"

"Yeah, that would be great."

"Just a second." She pulled open the door and stepped out into the dark underbelly of the ship, leaving him alone. He leaned his head against the wall and waited, brain replaying sadistically the fear he'd seen in her face.

Presently she was back in the room, with a cloth damp with water ("fresh water", she assured him) and a large, clean, white shirt he assumed to be Caspian's. To his surprise she leaned over him uninvited and began to dab at his chin, careful not to knock the lip. When this was done she handed him the shirt and, blushing, turned the other way.

He changed quickly and slightly nervously, and when the shirt was safely on he thanked her. "Wouldn't you like to come up to the deck?"

She half-smiled. "Well, I've mostly finished what I was going to do today – the sorting-out of herbs and whatnot."

Ed smiled; pulled open the door. "After you."

"Thank you, your Highness."

They walked down the length of the boat in silence, and when Eni began to ascend the rope ladder, Edmund forced himself to look down at his feet. Finally they were both back on deck, and almost immediately Caspian fell on Edmund with open arms, shepherding the younger boy into the cabin where his sister and the captain awaited.

"See you, Eni."

"Bye," she muttered.

As Caspian pulled him away, already chattering, Edmund glanced behind him and caught her eyes. They were wide with a cocktail of what looked like nervousness and something else – something far, far, stronger – that he couldn't put his finger on. Then she was pulled into a conversation with one of the younger members of the crew, (whom Edmund noticed she spoke to warmly and openly) and the moment was lost.

Edmund looked out to sea.