Disclaimer: The Pevensies and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.

BINDINGS

With a boom and a crash, Peter was jolted from restless insensibility into deep and uncertain darkness, heart pounding, breath coming in painful little gasps. What was that, and where was he? He was lying on his back, stiff and sore, legs pinned together at the ankles, hands and arms, weighted and nearly numb, resisting his sluggish efforts to free them from whatever held them fast. Something hard and uncomfortable was jammed partly under his right side, under his arm and high up against his rib cage, but he couldn't seem to shift away from it. Something was bound around his neck, too, not quite interfering with his breathing, but pulling at him.

Where was he, and what had awoken him? They weren't at war. No one in Narnia had weapons that would make such a sound. No one in Archenland or Ettinsmoor or Telmar either. The Calormenes? They were an ancient and learned people, but he had never heard even a rumor of them having such technology. The sound reminded him more of that Other Place he and his brother and sisters had left behind almost three years ago, a place of war and loss and sudden terror that fell with thunderous, blinding flashes out of the sky.

What was it, and where was he? Still dazed, he scrambled to remember where he had last been. Safe at the Cair, Lucy and Susan and Edmund all soundly asleep in their beds, a gentle, nurturing rain falling from the starless sky as he made his usual rounds to check on them before going to his own rest.

If someone had crept into the castle and taken him captive, mightn't they have taken his family, too? No! He had to find them!

"Aslan!"

Another rattling crash and blinding flash of light filled the room, drowning out his anguished cry. He would have bolted straight up if he had not been held firmly where he was, but then his cry turned into relieved, silent laughter. He felt embarrassment color his face as he nestled again into the familiar comfort of his bed, the vast, downy expanse that was the resting place of Narnia's High King, for the lightning flash had shown him that was indeed where he was, exactly where he had fallen asleep no more than an hour or two before.

If he was unable to move his left arm, it was because there was a little pink-gowned bundle of Lucy tightly curled against him, her head on his shoulder. She had pulled his arm around her and was clutching his hand in both of hers in her deep, desperate sleep.

And if his legs were pinned, it was because Susan's feet were tangled with his in the richly embroidered sheets as she lay sleeping against him. She had one arm around Lucy, the other flung across Peter's middle and her face buried against his chest, hiding, no doubt, from the fury of the storm.

And, Peter realized with a low laugh, if he was unable to move his right arm, it was because Edmund was burrowed halfway under him, only the back of his dark head visible against Peter's side. His bony knees were drawn up and poking into Peter's hip. His left arm was wrapped around Peter's arm, and his right hand was twisted into Peter's nightshirt as he slept, pulling it awkwardly to one side, almost strangling Peter in it.

The three pressed unconsciously closer as the thunder boomed once more, and Peter tightened his hold on them. The gentle rain had turned into the most violent storm they had seen since coming into Narnia. He hadn't noticed when any of them had crawled into bed with him, likely Lucy first and Susan last, but maybe that was because taking care of all of them had been second nature to him for longer than he could remember, and comforting his loved ones came as naturally to him as breath.

No, this wasn't the most comfortable rest he'd ever had. He needed to stretch and turn over and get some blood into arms and legs that were being wrenched a dozen different ways at once, but he knew he wouldn't. He wouldn't disturb the precious three who had come to him for protection and comforting and peace in the storm. If he was bound, then, by Aslan, these were bindings he wouldn't break for the price of his whole kingdom or of all the worlds.