Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't... I also don't own the Narnian Calendar. It belongs to Elecktrum who was kind enough to let me borrow it for my story. Her own stories are awesome and you should go read them too.

Summary: Stitches... And the worst patients the healers of Cair Paravel have ever dealt with are... Part One-Part of the 24 in 24 Authors' Challenge.

A/N: Short story requested/suggested by Lady Firewing. Hope you enjoy it! This is part of my A Light in the Darkness universe but can be read as a standalone.

Part One

ӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁ

1 Fairdawn 1003

Oreius is going to kill me. Considering my current situation, he might be the easier way to go anyway. Two Werewolves, three Ankle slicers, a Ghoul, and a Manticore (I didn't even know Narnia came with Manticores!) were circling me and all had the same singular thing on their minds: Let's eat Katerina Alambiel! I also had a singular thing on my mind: I hate Murphy. How do I end up in these situations?

I was grateful I had remembered Chrysaor when I went riding that morning...because seven opponents with just my knives would have been a tiny bit of a tall order, especially the Manticore (and I didn't want to get any closer to him than I absolutely had to). I shifted my grip slightly as I tried to keep my eyes on the most dangerous of the Fell while also still maintaining an awareness of the slightly less menacing but no less lethal smaller Fell. This was always the trickiest part of a fight with multiple opponents (as opposed to just having one person trying to kill and/or eat you...since that's so much easier to deal with) but since one of Oreius' favorite training exercises was to have his three students swarmed by other soldiers, I was fairly certain I could handle it. That is if I evened the odds quickly.

The Ghoul lunged first. His attack was sloppy. I brought Chrysaor up in an arc, slicing through his rough spear before twisting the blade to ram between his ribs. The Ghoul dropped with a shriek. I immediately turned to the right just avoiding a swipe by the leaner of the two Werewolves. One down, six to go.

For whatever reason the Manticore suddenly fell back allowing the Werewolves and those nasty little Ankle Slicers to take the fore...and I was okay with that (can you blame me? I mean it's a Manticore!). The leaner Werewolf snarled, "Eat you, Alambiel." Lovely, another nutty Werewolf wants to eat me and he knows my name. Is there a Werewolf newsletter that says 'Attention All Werewolves! There's a new delicacy in town called Katerina Alambiel. Eat Her If You Can!'?

He snarled again, "Eat you, Alambiel. Eat you whole." I hate Werewolves. And, for whatever reason the skinnier they are, the crazier they sound. He rushed me and I twisted out of the way, only to wince when the Ankle Slicers tried to live up to their official names (I have my own name for them: evil naked parrots) and grazed their blades at about the height of my Achilles tendon. Fortunately, they didn't land any very deep blows due to my movement and my boot. I kicked one, which resulted in a nasty crunching sound as it crumpled to the ground, then ducked under the Werewolf as he leapt at me. I slid a dagger free and cut the head off one evil naked parrot then pinned the other one to an exposed tree root. Disgusting, just disgusting. But, at least I didn't have to worry about them anymore.

The growl was the only warning I had. Instinctively, I thrust Chrysaor up and over my left shoulder. Oreius would have criticized my form on that one. A lean, rangy, and horrendously smelly body crashed into me. I jerked my head to the right just as I heard the growl changed into a yelp then shifted into a whimper. Teeth snapped together, just missing my head and neck, as deadweight settled painfully on my shoulders and neck. I staggered but I didn't have time to stop. Move! Move! Move! You stop moving, you die. Never stop moving in battle. A mantra I had heard Oreius repeating time and again in the course of nearly two full years of training with him. He was right, I couldn't afford to stop moving (although I usually don't tell him just how useful I have found his training on top of the training I received from Charlie and his men). So, I bucked, successfully tumbling the dead Werewolf off before I whirled to see the other larger Werewolf springing at me.

I threw myself to the side, holding Chrysaor out and away from my body so I wouldn't skewer myself (wouldn't that be an embarrassing way to die?). However, the Werewolf was a shade faster and his claws raked painfully down my left forearm. I gasped as I landed on my side then rolled onto my back, barely bringing my feet up in time to catch the Werewolf in the ribs as he leapt on me. I shoved him away and jumped back to my feet with Chrysaor at the ready. The Werewolf peeled his lips back in a vicious-looking snarl before he licked my blood off his claws all the while staring at me with a much stronger hunger than earlier. Eeeewwww. Have I mentioned I hate Werewolves?

Time for a game change. I raised Chrysaor in a mocking salute before I rushed the Werewolf. He looked delighted...how comforting. Then he charged straight at me. I didn't break off my charge. Instead, I ducked under his outstretched claws and thrust Chrysaor between his ribs. Using his momentum, I slammed my hip into him and tossed him over my back, flipping the Fell Beast to land on his back as I twisted out from under him, taking Chrysaor with me.

A thin thread of alarm threatened to choke me as I realized that in the midst of the scuffle with the two Werewolves...I had lost track of the Manticore. I ignored the niggling urge to bolt. There was no way I was going to let the Manticore stay out here loose and alive. This particular clearing wasn't all that far from one of the meadows Lucy frequented. No, I wasn't going to let him get away.

Keeping my movement steady and unhurried, I causally turned in a slow circle. The wound to my left forearm was stinging and I knew I couldn't wait long to confront the Manticore. And, apparently, he didn't want to wait either. "So, you are the defeater of sorcerers? I thought you would be taller."

I turned to my right and the Manticore was less than eight feet away, looking down at me from his perch in the branches of a gnarled old oak (of course, due to Murphy, none of the trees in this area had Dryads, which was a tad annoying). I wasn't certain whether I was glad or not that the Manticore was a highly sentient Fell Beast, plus there was something odd about his accent...he didn't sound Narnian... I didn't have the chance to mull over the puzzle any further as the Manticore leapt down from his perch and stalked toward me. He stopped and sniffed the air, "You do not look very intimidating, but you did defeat six Fell, no matter that only the Werewolves proved much of a challenge. However, you did not escape unscathed, o lady knight of Narnia."

All I could think in that moment was...Greek mythology did not even begin to cover just how ugly the Manticore was! The fangs jutting out from the rather leonine mouth and jaw marred the human face, both the mane and the fur of his leonine body were scruffy and ragged...almost like he had mange, and then there was the menacing scorpion's tail (I had a feeling that the rule about scorpions, you know, the bigger they are, the less lethal their poison is to larger beings, didn't apply to this guy). I ignored the burning protest of my injured arm and raised Chrysaor, "Don't worry, I'm tougher than I look."

He growled. I had to be careful. This was the first time I fought a Manticore and what's more I wasn't sure where his weak points were located and I was injured...this was quickly turning into a worst-case scenario. Aslan, let me get out of this alive and in one piece.

His tail snapped forward menacingly and I focused my attention on it. The scorpion tail and its poison could not be allowed to last any longer than necessary. Now I just needed to get past the equally dangerous front end to deal with it. I approached it as if I was sparring with one of the big Cats...an extremely ugly and unfriendly big Cat. I ran forward then jumped to the side when he tried to swipe me with his claws, but leaving him with a long gash down his side from my blade. Spinning to face him again, I finally allowed myself to enter the warrior's center. Everything beyond the Manticore and myself faded as my awareness focused solely on the immediate threat. I gave a little hop, pushing off with my right foot, and ran forward, swinging Chrysaor with all my might as the Manticore's tail darted at me. The Manticore roared in pain as the blade decapitated his tail just below the stinger. He whirled, aiming another swipe at me. I sidestepped the blow then lunged at him. Confused and distracted from the pain of his wounds, the Manitcore didn't recover in time and I drove Chrysaor into his open mouth. His jaws reflexively snapped shut then opened as he gagged around the blade before he toppled to the ground, ripping Chrysaor from my grasp. The light had already faded from his red eyes by the time his body touched the ground. Oh, thank Aslan that actually worked.

I was still in the warrior's center, which is probably what saved my life. A soft thud was all I heard and then I instinctively threw myself backward and to the right. The whistling sound of a blade cutting through the air where I had just been standing accompanied my movement. I landed on my back and rolled out of the way as my attacker jumped at me. I unsheathed my sai knives and caught the descending blade between them then thrust up, knocking the blade away. Scrambling back to my feet, I was a little surprised to see a Satyr. But, he wasn't one of ours, no this Satyr was Fell (after a while, you can tell who's turned Fell or not).

He glared at me and spat, "Die Witch!" Again with the name-calling, how rude (not to mention it was completely unoriginal). He lunged forward, swinging his curved blade at my torso. I caught the edge of his sword with my knife and shoved up as I stepped forward and slashed at his exposed side with my other knife. He wheeled away clutching the bloody gash through his fur, but then he tossed his head arrogantly and attacked again. I took advantage of the difference in our builds and kicked his leg then shoved his blade aside, allowing me to duck inside his guard and bury both knives in his upper rib cage. It was an instantly fatal wound...and far more merciful than anything he would have done to me.

I stepped back from the body and released my hold of the warrior's center. I was panting as I stood in the middle of the clearing, adrenaline still coursing through me. Eight Fell and I was still alive. I breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Grabbing a cleaning cloth, I quickly wiped the blood and fur from my knives and slid them back into the sheaths under my tunic. Next, I collected and cleaned the dagger I had used to skewer the Ankle Slicer before I pulled Chrysaor free of the Manticore. I paused before cleaning Chrysaor and instead took the added step of making sure the Manticore and both Werewolves were completely dead with a single stab wound at the base of their skulls. An unpleasant but necessary task.

The adrenaline rush abandoned me just as I finished sliding Chrysaor back into its sheath and I sucked in a breath as pain seared its way up my left side and arm. I raised my arm slightly and looked to see that a dark stain was lining the edges of a long tear in my tunic...one of them had landed a blow. I glanced around and spotted the Satyr's blade...there was blood staining the blade. I ran over my memory of the fight and decided he must have landed the blow in the first initial attack. Well, that was inconvenient since I suspected I would have to allow one of the healers to look at it.

I stubbornly ignored the pain as I walked (a couple wobbles do not count as limping) away from the clearing. It took roughly forty minutes for me to retrace my steps back to the stream where I first noticed the odd tracks. Thankfully, Sasha was patiently waiting where I had left her. The mare sidestepped and tossed her head nervously when she smelled the blood, but calmed as I murmured to her in Irish, "A bheith fós, ná bíodh imní ort, a bheith fós, a bheith socair. A bheith fós, hush, a bheith socair, a bheith fós, tá gach maith." (Be still, do not worry, be still, be calm. Be still, hush, be calm, be still, all is well.)

I fished a spare dark cloak out of the saddlebags and wrapped it around myself, hoping it would be enough to deter any curious or unfriendly eyes from determining that I had been injured. I hissed from the pain lancing up and down my left side as I awkwardly pulled myself into the saddle. Oh yeah, I was definitely going to have to see a healer once I reached the Cair. It was a two-hour ride to the Cair, but I kept Sasha to a sedate walk so the sun had nearly set by the time we rode through the main gates. A young Faun ran out and led Sasha to the stables the moment I dismounted.

I took care to only use the halls where none of the Talking Beasts were present...last thing I needed was for one of them to smell the blood on me and then raise a big to-do about it. Entering the healers' wing, I was slightly surprised not to see Alithia around, but that was actually in my favor since Alithia always reported my injuries (and those of the kings) to Oreius even if it wasn't that bad. Instead, one of the junior healers waved me over to the cot nearest him. I didn't recognize the Faun, "You're new."

Poor thing turned into a bundle of nerves when he got a good look at me and realized who I was, nearly dropping his supplies when I spoke, "Oh y-y-yes, D-d-d-dame S-S-S-Sepphora, I-I-I am. I-I-I j-j-just arr-arrived l-l-last Sixthday." If I had said "boo", he might have fainted. I was good and resisted the temptation to see if my theory was correct (shocking I know). He gulped then motioned for me to slip out of my cloak, I did and he immediately whispered, "O-o-oh d-d-dear."

I sighed, "That bad, is it?"

He gulped again then managed to say without stuttering, "I need you to slip out of your tunic so I can get a better look." He paused and the stutter reappeared, "W-w-what d-d-did th-th-this?"

"You tell me. Or better yet, you can tell me your name."

He blushed as he mumbled, "L-Linus." By then, I had slipped out of my tunic, ignoring the painful protests such an action earned, and continued sitting patiently on the cot in my cropped undershirt. He lost his stutter again as he leaned forward to stare at my wounds, occasionally prodding them (until I hissed at him and he nearly fell over in an attempt to put space between us) as he examined me. "Oh dear, oh dear, I do think this gash down your side needs stitches and the middle gash down your left forearm is in need of stitches as well."

I was afraid he would say that. I scowled at the thought of how this could affect my role in the upcoming battle with the Calormene encroachers rumored to be harassing Narnia's southern border. If Oreius even caught a hint that I might be minimally injured, he would forbid my participation in any capacity, not even assisting the healers (probably because he knew I would find my way into the thick of things one way or another). However, stitches didn't necessarily mean that I would be unable to fight. "Stitch me up."

Linus gulped again and nodded before he handed me a rolled up cloth (after I gave the drugged drink a death glare...I couldn't afford to be unconscious in the healing wing...it's how you get caught) to clench between my teeth. It was a painful process and I was thankful, okay make that extremely thankful, it was over once he finally finished. I pulled the cloth out and asked, "Now tell me, can I still train?"

Linus started badly, nearly dropping all his supplies again, and his stutter was back in full force. The temptation to say "boo" and see if he fainted was also back in full force. "O-o-oh w-w-well, I-I-I s-s-suppose y-y-you c-c-can i-i-if y-y-you t-t-t-take pre-pre-precautions. Y-y-yes, a l-l-light t-t-tr-training r-r-regimen sh-sh-should s-s-suf-f-fice f-f-for the r-r-rest o-o-of the w-w-week." I nodded and carefully slipped my tunic over my head again, hiding the bandages from view (good thing it was a dark brown tunic so the blood stain wasn't instantly obvious, especially from a distance). Linus raised a hand and added, "U-u-unless of c-c-course y-y-your st-st-stitches p-p-pull m-m-more th-th-than th-they sh-should, th-then y-y-you sh-should s-st-stop w-w-what y-y-you are d-d-doing im-m-mediately."

I nodded again, "I understand, Linus. Good evening." I escaped from the healers' wing before Linus could call me back. I used one of the secret tunnels to make the trip from the hall outside the healers' wing to the hall my quarters were situated on (only way I could be certain of not running into anyone who would report my less than meticulous attire to the paranoid Kentauri who would overreact if he knew). Finally reaching my room I was extremely grateful to just change, clean up, and slip into bed ignoring the minor twinges from my left side and arm. So long as I was careful there would be no reason to do anything different from my normal routine.

Next morning I received a sharp reminder of the presence of my stitches when I sat up a tad carelessly, but I carefully checked under the bandages and there wasn't any blood, so I hadn't popped any stitches (just tugged them a little). Other than a couple more twinges, I managed to get ready for the day without any difficulty. The one concession I made was to make sure I wore one of the tunics that laced up the front so I wasn't reaching over my head anymore than absolutely necessary...well I also had to wear a different pair of boots thanks to the evil naked parrots (also had a narrow cut across my ankle due to their handiwork). Of course, I hardly ever wear anything but long sleeves even in the summer (so I can stash an extra knife or two), so no one would suspect anything by the fact I was wearing long sleeves (and hiding the bandage on my left arm). Susan was taking advantage of the fact that Lucy was in the Lone Islands, tending to the Lord's wife who had become deathly ill and was in sore need of the cordial, to plan a large party in celebration of Lucy's eleventh birthday (which wasn't for another two weeks exactly). As a result, the halls and the main courtyard were nearly empty as I made my way to the training yard, which meant no one was around to tattle on me if they had somehow figured out I wasn't exactly in tip-top shape at that particular moment.

Entering the armory, I was somewhat surprised to find Oreius was not already waiting for me. Training was going to be rather uncomplicated since Oreius and I were the only ones of our small group of teachers and students who were even in the Cair at the moment. Peter and Edmund had ridden out two days ago with Ardon and a small escort to meet with Cletus near the last sighting of the Calormene soldiers, while Oreius had only just returned from tending to a pressing matter with his tribe yesterday morn. Otherwise, he would have been with the Kings and I would have been...still stuck here at the Cair waiting for word that the rumors were confirmed before moving out. I carefully stretched, taking the measure of how far I could move before I felt the stitches up my side tugging in an ominous warning of 'popped stitches ahead'...I had more range than I had originally thought. I slipped on my leather jerkin (carefully of course) and was getting ready to put on my vambraces and cuirass when Oreius finally walked in. I smirked as I teased him, "Have a late night, Oreius? Or, by some unfathomable event, did you actually sleep past dawn this morn?" What? I'd been waiting almost two full years to tease him about being late...did you really think I was just going to let this golden opportunity pass me by?

He gave me the look that said he thought I was being a bit of a pest (okay, maybe more than a bit), "Are you this impertinent to your enemies, Katerina Alambiel?"

I grinned, "Nope. I'm only impertinent to my friends. I'm rudely sarcastic to my enemies. There's a difference, Kentauri."

He raised an eyebrow at me, "Oh, such as in your treatment of the Calormene ambassador last month?"

"He deserved everything he got and then some. I refuse to be lectured again for the matter." I shook my head as I tried to clamp down on my irritation, "You know as well as I that that ambassador was nothing more than a spy sent by the Tisroc to find out if it was true about the Four being young. Besides, he was rude."

"So, you're saying you pushed the Calormene ambassador into a fountain because he called you a demon?"

I ducked my head as I tried not to laugh at the memory of that pompous blowhard of a jerk floundering in the fountain. "Oh come on, you act as though I was trying to drown him! I shoved him when he got too close, but the falling into the fountain because he tripped over the train of his robes...that was a bonus. Not to mention there were maybe three inches of water in that particular fountain...of course, after he fell in, it was more like an inch maybe. By the way, he called you a demon, I'm the barbarian demon witch. Although that's not what he called me before I shoved him, it was more insulting since he called me a w-"

I abruptly cut myself off once I realized Oreius was no longer looking amused and more like he was waiting for me to give him a good reason to go down to Tashbaan and do something unpleasant and permanent to the ambassador. Yeah, there was a reason I never told him or anyone else for that matter that the ambassador impugned my honor in a decidedly nasty and lewd manner. Oh yes, the paranoid and overprotective Centaur looking at me definitely did not need to know the details of the ambassador's insulting proposal, and Oreius was now trying to figure out what I had just barely kept myself from revealing. Oh well done, Katerina Alambiel. I needed to distract him and quick. "Oreius, have you ever dealt with Manticores?" I should have finished my cup of coffee before coming down to the armory because I just distracted him by bringing up the other subject I wanted to avoid. And, it did distract him.

He gave me a surprised look, "I have only ever seen three Manticores in Narnia and two were before the Long Winter. Why do you ask?"

Yes, why do I ask? Other than my powers of distraction went all willy-nilly at the most inopportune time. I shrugged a little, "They were mentioned in one of the books I was reading last night, but there weren't a lot of details." Of course, I had been looking in that book because I remembered seeing the little blurb and wanted an accounting of someone else's dealing with the Manticore, so not a lie...just not the full, detailed, and completely mapped out truth.

Oreius shook his head, "I doubt you'll find many detailed accounts concerning Manticores. They don't often come into Narnia since they actually live in the deserts south of Calormen. They hate it here in the North, too cold for them. The one that Jadis kept with her after she ensnared the country in her endless winter allowed himself to be killed during a skirmish with the Resistance."

Interesting. That would explain the accent and he had spoken in a very similar manner to the Calormene dignitaries. I didn't get the chance to ask another question, which was probably a good thing, because Oreius gave me an impatient look as he walked over to me then took over lacing up my cuirass (which was good since things were starting to tug...more), "You are stalling, Dame Sepphora." Was not...oh wait, yes I was.

"No, I was waiting on you to finally show up." And, stalling a little, but only a smidge...not enough for me to admit to it. I finished fastening my vambraces right after he tugged on the back of my cuirass then tightened the laces again. "Chrysaor or knives?"

He pushed me toward the door, "Knives will suffice for today." Thank Aslan since I strongly doubted I would have been able to wield Chrysaor without pulling something. I looked over my shoulder and rolled my eyes at him as we entered the training yard. My silent mocking was met with a stern look as Oreius pointed the way to the exact area he wanted us to spar in (I still don't think this makes any difference on how well or not well we spar during training...I get knocked over at least once no matter which area we're in).

We started off slow, taking our time to build up to a faster pace. I kept my eyes on Oreius, always watching for an opportunity to slip past his guard. My awareness of anything beyond the fight faded as I entered the warrior's center for the second time in as many days. There was nothing beyond the flashing blades, quick turns, strikes and parries, and the pounding beat of one's own heart. I spotted an opening when Oreius stepped to his right leaving his left flank vulnerable. I abandoned all caution and charged, slashing at him with my knives. Oreius countered by grabbing my left arm. I automatically twisted, trying to force him to break his hold and slashing under my raised arm toward his vulnerable middle. He blocked my strike. I kicked at him, causing him to chuckle as he easily avoided my kick. I scowled and focused again on attempting to twist my hand just enough to hit his vambrace with the point of my knife in order to force him to cease using that hand according to the rules of training. He countered by slowly increasing the pressure on my arm until I was finally forced to drop my knife or risk injury. We were moving faster and faster as I finally lunged forward ignoring how Oreius was still holding on to my arm and attempted to slap my hand against his chest plate, declaring him "dead." It was a desperate, last ditch effort, and it didn't work. Instead, Oreius yanked me around, spinning me so my left arm was pulled across my body with his right hand still firmly clamped around my forearm as I now stood with my back to him as he tapped me between my shoulder blades, declaring me dead and the sparring match ended.

I was still in the warrior's center when I first stepped away from him, but I lost it as I turned to face him and a burning flash of pain arced through my arm and side. I couldn't keep from gasping at the pain. Oreius was looking at his right hand in alarm before his eyes shot to mine after I gasped. I stumbled back a step as the pain flared again and again. The danger of slipping into the warrior's center when injured was the risk of overdoing things and worsening one's injuries to the point that a soldier could even bleed to death before realizing what had happened. Our training session was not light...we had been going full-force. I raised my left arm and could see the blood staining the edges and lacing of my vambrace. I looked at Oreius when he called, "Sepphora!"

I blinked and staggered back another step when I saw him. It was still Oreius but he was wearing Mr. Rogers' red sweater (if I hadn't been injured, I would have burst out laughing). That was probably the weirdest thing I had ever seen and I had the epiphany that I was growing delirious from the loss of blood. I must have lost even more blood than I had originally concluded... I whispered, "Bad."

I heard Oreius' alarmed shout, "Alambiel!" But it echoed oddly. The last conscious thought I had was that this was probably the stupidest thing I had ever done and Alithia and Oreius are going to kill me...then the world tilted on its head and I saw the sky spin before blackness enveloped me.

ӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁ

A/N: Please Read and Review! Okay, so here is part one of the infamous Stitches incident... Any guesses as to what will happen in part two? Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.