To everyone who has stayed with me this long through my story, I thank you. Your reviews and enthusiasm are amazing and I'm thrilled and honored that so many excellent authors took the time to let me know what you think. You folks are amazing!

With that said, on to the final chapter!

Peter again

Darkness.

That was all I saw when I finally opened my eyes, but as my thoughts cleared so did my vision. I was in the pavilion Edmund and I shared while campaigning, tucked warmly into the hanging cot that served as my bed. I was a little stiff and very sore, as was typical of the days after so large a skirmish, but I was so weak I could barely lift my head. I could hear the noise of a busy camp outside and I saw a narrow shaft of sunlight through the front flaps of the tent. I could tell by the angle of the light that it was morning. The voices I heard were excited and happy and I could only guess that we had been successful against the Ogres, though I couldn't make out anything that was being said. When I heard dance music from a Faun's pipe I knew for certain we had been victorious. I sighed in relief and quietly gave thanks to Aslan that Narnia was again secure.

I tried to remember how I had gotten here, but my last clear thoughts were of ducking Methalain's club and Edmund yelling for more covering fire from the archers. Not for the first time, I must have been knocked silly. It was a habit I needed to break if I ever wanted to reach eighteen.

My own armor was not on its rack. I had probably ruined another suit. Yet another bad habit I needed badly to break. The Dwarves would again be muttering under their breath over what I had done to their good work, secretly gloating that they had protected me so well and each of them trying to take credit for such well-made armor. To my relief I did see Rhindon back in its sheath and hanging on the rack, my shield right beside it. Who had retrieved them? I would have to find out and thank them.

A slight metallic sound caught my attention and I realized that Edmund was seated right next to me, fast asleep in a chair, his feet propped up on a folding stool, his head bent down. He was still in his battered armor and I knew exactly what had happened: he had sat with me all through the night after organizing the clean-up following the battle, all without taking a moment to tend to his own needs. I wished he hadn't slept in armor, especially still wearing his sword. I knew from experience it was frightfully uncomfortable, but I suspected he was too worn out to care. Still, I was happy beyond words to see him whole and alive and secure enough in victory to take his rest beside me even if he hadn't made it as far as his own bed. As soon as I could rise from this cot I would make sure he was well and make sure he took care of himself. He no longer complained when I hovered and fussed over him because he knew I needed to do it, just as he had discovered he needed to do the same thing with me. It was almost a ritual between us now.

I reached out and touched his knee. He roused with a start, then saw I was awake. He was pale with exhaustion and his face was bruised, but his eyes were filled with such relief as I had scarce seen before. He didn't say anything. There didn't seem to be any words we hadn't expressed before or needed to express again. Everything was right there, in his eyes. So instead he smiled at me and covered my hand with his own. For a long moment he just looked at me, then he dropped his feet from the stool and leaned over. He kissed me on the forehead as I had done so often to him, giving me his love and blessing and grace. When he sat back he drew a deep breath, stretching a bit like a cat before he settled deeper into the chair, nodding off again with his warm hand still holding mine. I watched him for a little while, overjoyed at his presence and grateful for his devotion, until finally I followed him into sleep, content that all was well.

Fin