So I haven't written much in a long while – hope I haven't gotten too rusty : )

Of course the characters don't belong to me...

This fic was inspired by the summer colour challenge from narniafanfiction (.) com.

Now I struggle with titles at the best of times, but to actually have to put a colour in the titles as a challenge requirement, well...just look what I came up with, lol. : - )

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"Peter lookout!" is his warning before a snowball clocks him in the chest.

"Oi!" he cries, laughing, already gathering snow in his right fist, "who did that?"

"It was Edmund! It was Edmund!" Lucy's head appears from over the top of her hastily built fort - which is really just a mound of snow which she is lying behind.

"Hey! Dibberdobber!"

A fat snowball goes flying at Lucy's blue cap and she shrieks and disappears behind her mound.

Edmund is crouched with Susan behind their much more sophisticated fort, which has three walls at about waist height and a beanie lifted by a stick for a flag. The two are huddled together and shaking with laughter at Lucy's cries of dismay as her single wall begins to crumble.

"Peter! Help me!" Lucy struggles with her wall, still laughing, but pleading with her eyes. "They're ganging up on me!"

He can never resist the pleading eyes.

He runs to join Lucy, who cheers him on as he dodges a renewed attack from the enemy. The missiles fly right past his ear and arm, whistling and crunching on impact with the ground.

"Right," he says to Lucy as he skids to a stop at her side, landing flat on his stomach and knocking into her with a huff, "it doesn't look good."

Lucy nods very seriously, her eyes sparkling. "I know."

"I think there's nothing for it, we're just going to have to charge."

Lucy ducks another snowball, and grapples with her own. "It has the element of surprise," she agrees.

"Right and if we stockpile first, I'll go out firing and that will distract them long enough for you to take down the walls."

For the first time she frowns at his plan. "How do I do that?"

They are studiously ignoring their enemy who are giving a very silly war dance, which involves lots of snow tossing in their general direction and a few rude hand signals from Edmund.

He gives her a sly grin. "Jump on them of course."

"Of course." Lucy grins up at him, cheeks flushed in that perfect rosy way of energy and vitality and quite suddenly, without any warning, Peter finds himself back there.

He's sobbing, great, undignified loud moans of defeat. His hands are covered with it, with his sister's blood. No matter how hard he presses, he can't stop the sluggish flow from the arrow wound on her side. Edmund brushes past him, armour clanking frantically as he collapses to his knees on Lucy's other side and immediately begins to search her pockets, her belt, hands running over his sister in a panicked way which forgoes propriety. Around them, the battle is won, but there is no rejoicing, instead he can hear the dogs howling, the centaurs' voices lifted in anguish. They're already mourning the loss of their queen. Lucy's fingers are cold in his own and he can't feel a pulse. Edmund's hands are shaking as he lifts up the small red vial. Peter can't bear to have it confirmed that it's already too late, that Lucy won't wakeup, that she won't heal.

"It's too late, it's too late, Ed," he sobs, raising bloody hands to push his brother away, to let his sister rest in peace.

"Get off!" Edmund's reply is savage, his movements jerky and unrestrained as he unscrews the bottle. "It's not too late, you shut up! You shut up, Peter!"

He can't squabble over his sister's body, he just can't, so he lets Edmund's elbow go and the young boy leans down and lets a single drop land on Lucy's tongue.

It does nothing, as Peter knew it wouldn't. But it still stings, because he had this hope. Edmund is still staring rigidly at Lucy's face.

"Ed –"

"Give it a minute!"

"Ed, please,"Peter hears his own voice crack piteously,"she's dead!"

He wonders how Susan will react. Wonders what they should dress Lucy in for her funeral. He wishes the last thing he had heard from his sister's mouth was her laugh, not a terrified scream of pain. He wishes he had been faster in order to save her, to get there in time. What sort of flowers will they have on her grave? Lucy has – had – too many favourites to pick just one.

Edmund turns to him and Peter decides his brother is mad with grief when Edmund grins maniacally, tears streaming down his cheek and says:

"She's not dead."

"Ed –"

"Peter!" The reply is so adamant, so fierce that he stops and just stares at his little brother. "Peter - stop - just look!"

And Peter makes himself look, looks down at his sister's lifeless body, covered in blood and dirt and watches the biggest miracle in the world as Lucy's mouth opens and she hitches in the smallest of breaths.

"What-"He feels loose, all over, like he's not there anymore. Maybe he's traded places with Lucy and he's the dead one.

She takes a bigger breath, and then a hacking cough erupts and her eyes fly open. Edmund has collapsed with boneless relief and is sobbing with no regard for pride into his sister's shoulder, a thousand thankyous rising from his lips to Aslan, to time, to luck, to the skies. But Peter can't take his eyes away, can't stop looking at the red, rosy flush that is working its way up his sister's neck and into her cheeks. It's so bright, in contrast to the paleness of death, that he can't resist reaching out and touching.

"Peter," she rasps and looks at him with complete trust, like he almost didn't just try and stop Edmund from giving her the cordial because he thought it was too late, like he didn't just let her fight in a battle which left her for dead.

Peter finds he can't reply, instead he leans forward and touches his cheek to hers, eager to feel the burn of her flesh, the guarantee that she is alive.

"Silly Peter," she whispers into his ear, "I'm fine."

And when he doesn't reply, just grips her tighter - "oh, Peter."

"Peter."

"Peter!"

He snaps back to now, and she's still there, right where he left her, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, but eyeing him with concern.

"Are you with me?"

And he's sure she's not just asking about whether he's willing to charge into the snow battle with her.

"I'm with you," he replies and reaches out to touch her rosy cheek. "Are you with me?"

Lucy smiles brightly. "Wherever you lead I will follow, my King.

Susan and Edmund never knew what hit them.

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So it's a summer challenge – which I've set in winter....um...my excuse is that it is winter here...even though it doesn't snow and it's currently 30 degrees Celsius...hmm – there will probably be more chapters with more memories, at least one per sibling, but we'll see how I get along plotting those out amongst assignments...... um...review for luv? Lol.

Crimson