A/N: This is movie-based with research from the books thrown in. While the beginning is a bit Edmund heavy (given how much happens in Narnia than in real time), the children will soon reunite and the real adventure begins.


Edmund could feel Philip tiring beneath him as they raced through the woods. By mutual consent (though neither spoke) they slowed their pace until Susan, followed closely by Lucy who gave a delighted laugh as she galloped pass, overtook them.

Once the girls had pulled ahead, Philip came to a stop, breathing hard. Edmund briefly glanced up to note the direction his siblings had taken before leaning forward to address his friend, concern radiating from his words. "You all right, Philip?"

Panting, Philip replied, "Not as young as I once was."

Edmund smiled at the frank answer, slightly wistful, and didn't disagree. The Talking Horse had been a mature, battle-tested adult when he first met Edmund, who was then only a young boy (so very young, he thought with a tinge of regret.) They have shared many years, and even more battles, since then.

Their moment of quiet reflection was interrupted when Edmund's siblings came riding back, questioning him on the delay even before coming to a halt. Although Edmund couldn't deny that Philip had grown old, he was reluctant to acknowledge it to the others and instead said, "Just catching my breath."

That, of course, inevitably led to some light teasing from his sisters, and Edmund grinned in good humor without offering a word in defense. Peter just gently laughed along but otherwise remained neutral – experience had probably taught him better than to step in and open himself up as a target for the young queens.

In the years after, once the rawness of the pain had diminished somewhat with time, it'd be these last few minutes – minutes of lighthearted joy that had seem unbreakable – that Edmund would often think of, when he allow himself to think of his siblings at all; for these memories carried with them such a heavy bittersweetness that it threatens to suffocate. However, it was the crippling sorrow that was the true reason he dare not let himself dwell on thoughts of his brother and sisters.

Here, their moment of levity pass when Peter caught sight of the lamp post.

"What's this?" Peter asked, quietly as if to himself. The High King swung off his horse to get a closer look of the flickering lantern light.

The lamp post immediately caught all of their attention, stirring up memories that had faded and been forgotten – like a dream that can't be recalled after one wakes, though feelings and images still linger. They all dismounted, staring up at the light as they tried to remember. Lucy was the first to act; her face broke into a wondering smile as she caught up her dress and ran off into the woods, seeming to follow a trail only she could see. Susan muttered, "not again," as she took off after their wayward sister. Peter and Edmund shared a look before they, too, ran after the young queen.

However, Edmund had taken no more than three steps before Philip's suddenly labored breathing stopped him short. He spared his fast vanishing siblings a glance before running back to his friend, who was trying to make a slow descend onto the ground. It looked more like a controlled fall than collapse, but only just.

"Philip?" Edmund asked, voice tight, as he dropped beside the horse. He placed one hand at the soft quivering spot just beneath Philip's jaw while his other reached behind the ear to gently guide his head onto his lap.

Philip didn't answer; he only continued to lay there, his breaths coming in harsh and short and his whole body shook with strain. The whites of his eyes were showing.

"All right, Philip, it's okay. You're okay.. just take deep breaths," Edmund said, for lack of a better suggestion while desperately wanting to help. Then he added in a whisper that sounded more like prayer than request, "please."

The old horse nodded to let his young friend know he heard. It was an obvious effort for Philip to take slower, deeper lungful of air, but he kept at it as if for the sake of the panic-driven man. They stayed tense and still for a few minutes before any improvements in his breathing could be gleamed.

"See, I told you you'd be okay," Edmund said a tad shakily. Even though young, he had dealt with his share of deaths – through war, illness and, yes, old age – still, he wasn't prepare to accept this eventuality of his friend just yet.

It took another few minutes before Philip managed to regain his feet, albeit a little unsteadily. Edmund's focus was so tuned to the horse that he didn't realize the stillness of the woods around them until now; his siblings' voices very obviously lacking in filling the strumming silence.

"Peter?" Edmund shouted, turning in a circle. "Susan! Lucy!"

As he waited for an answer, a cold dread slowly filled his heart. Logic told him they had probably just wandered too far to hear his calls, yet a part of him – a part unnamed but real all the same – somehow sensed that his siblings were not only beyond the reach of his voice, but of his reach at all.

His hand settled once more on Philip, but instead of conferring comfort he now sought it from the Talking Horse.

The minutes stretched. No stifled laughter within the trees reveal his siblings playing one of their old games on him, nor merry conversations to break the quietude of the woods. No indications of his siblings were forthcoming.

Edmund was utterly alone.


The once King and Queens of Narnia tumbled into an undignified heap as they fell through the wardrobe doors. They looked to each other in bewilderment and not a small amount of shock to find themselves not only back in Professor Kirke's mansion, but back to their adolescent selves as well.

Before anyone could say anything regarding this startling turn of event, Professor Kirke walked into the room, the cricket ball in his hand. He raised a brow at the children sprawled on the floor, surprise evident on his face, but there was also eagerness and hope in the way he looked at them.

"What were you all doing in the wardrobe?" asked Kirke, with a kind of excited expectation in the way he voiced the question.

The siblings exchanged a look before Peter turned his face up toward the older man. "You wouldn't believe us if we told you, sir."

Kirke smiled and looked ready with a retort, but Susan's sudden exclamation stopped him.

"Where's Edmund?" she said, scrambling up toward the still open – and empty but for the coats – wardrobe.

The others hurried after Susan, who was already back inside the wardrobe and pounding on the wood backing to no avail. "Edmund!" she demanded seemingly of the otherwise deserted closet, looking quite silly if not for the way her eyes tightened in the corners and the genuine concern that shook her voice.

Professor Kirke took a couple steps back, subtly chewing his lips in anxiousness. Lucy caught the look on the older man and mistook his expression for worry over Susan's suddenly inexplicable behavior. She hurried to assure him with all sincerity: "Edmund was in there with us, sir. Honest! He should have came through with us."

Kirke said nothing, not even to scoff at Lucy's overactive imagination. "Do you know something, Professor?" Peter asked, suspicion raised as he connected the way Kirke greeted them and the way he was acting now.

He looked at the children, who all – including Susan – looked back with varying degrees of confusion and hope. And hesitant trust that he somehow held the answer.

Kirke turned his gaze from the children to the wardrobe, his eyes trailing the details of its designs. For a brief moment he seem unaware of his audience. Then he came to himself with a sigh, once again his attention rested on the Pevensies.

"How does the saying go?" Kirke asked himself as he turned to lead them all to the window seat, where he took a moment to settle himself before continuing. "Oh yes, I remember. Once upon a time..."


"Lucy!" Edmund yelled at the top of his lungs as he galloped through the forest, repeating the names of his siblings at regular interval even as his voice grew hoarse. The steed under him was unfamiliar, but what he needed was a strong horse rather than a strong friend, and thus had left Philip to the care of his subjects at the base camp.

It had been days since the last Edmund saw anything of his siblings, and he never once stopped looking. Never left these woods.

The courtiers that had accompanied the young royalties on the stag hunt found themselves on a very different hunt once they caught up with Edmund. Their king had immediately took charge and swiftly organized searches of the surrounding areas while giving very little detail of what happened. A message was dispatched with all haste for reinforcements.

They were at a lost in the face of Edmund's quiet desperation and dwindling hope, so unlike his usual self. He would rarely take rest and could only be talked into getting some sleep once daylight failed, where even he could see the logistical problems of continuing the search in the dark.

Whispers began to stir on the third day of this fruitless endeavor, when it was becoming clear the toll this was taking on Edmund's health, mentally and physically. The rest of the company fared little better, running themselves ragged trying to keep up with Edmund's demanding pace.

So his friends and courtiers could only watch on as their king withdrew more into himself when each hour failed to bring even a hint of his siblings' whereabouts. His entire focus so centered on the search for his vanished brother and sisters that it appeared he cared for little else, even to the running of his kingdom. When anyone voiced their concern, their only answer was a cold glare and colder rebuff.

And so this state of affair continued, until at last Oreius arrived, bringing with him a small contingent of troops.