Title: Fallen
Day/Theme: 11. Groan
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan/Caspian
Rating: PG13



The fallen bough nearly caught her in the legs, sending in a painful sprawl, but Susan jumped it, briefly missing shorter skirts, feeling the branches drag at the fabric before she tore free, her feet gouging into the damp earth and mulch.

It would be no use to cry out. It might gather enemies, and cold practicality closed her throat, choking off any sounds of distress. She skirted fallen men and dropped to her knees beside the last, struggling to roll him over. For a long, agonizingly frustrating moment her nails skidded helplessly on his armor, but then she locked her fingers against his arm and heaved, tipping him over onto his back.

Lucy-- It was a frantic, flickering thought, and of no use. Lucy was far away and safe, and Caspian's face was terrifyingly still.

The last man lay disgustingly close, his sword half buried in leaves--was that blood?--her arrow straight through his neck, scarlet fletchings brushing his skin.

She whispered something indistinct, an incoherent gasp of denial, and slapped his cheek sharply. Distant lessons from England drifted across her mind, clinical adult terms like rescue breathing, but his armor formed a shell she couldn't see a way to breach, not with him as such a dead weight, and if he--

"Caspian, breathe," she begged him, bow tapping against quiver as she leaned over him. No use, his eyes didn't even--

He shuddered and groaned, a deep ragged sound of pain, and Susan felt all the air leave her lungs in a whoosh, like the breath had been socked out of her. She made a small helpless noise in the back of her throat.

"Your Majesty," he whispered, eyelids flickering fitfully.

What she said next wasn't terribly polite or correct, and he managed to open his eyes and grin up at her, mouth curving in that slow, surprisingly familiar way.

"I told you you'd need to call me," she said shakily, wiping at her cheeks. His eyes fixed on her damp fingers and a strange, intense look drifted across his face, but he said nothing. I am not really crying. He did not really scare me. Damnit.

He gave a soft hiss of pain as she tugged him upright, but otherwise made no sound of complaint, and she lifted his sword for him and reversed it to proffer the hilt.

He accepted it with a curious expression. "Are you a swordswoman as well, High Queen?"

"I'm Susan, actually," she replied evenly. "And no; only an archer."

His horse milled nearby, restlessly pulling at leaves. "Would you--" She began, but he was already pulling himself astride, jaw tightening but no other betraying sign of pain on his face. Men.

She led it to a stump so that she could swing astride, even though he offered her his hand. It was a good thing, she thought crossly, that woman had more than maps and pride in their heads.

Tags: susan pevensie, susan pevensie/prince caspian x