Autumn Nights - A Narnia Oneshot Challenge

Boreal Chill

Prompt: Windy

Pevensie ages: 21, 23, 25, 26, respectively. 

The festivities had been going on for a few hours when Queen Lucy stepped out of the rabble of dancers to find refreshment for herself. It was the anniversary of Lilygloves the Mole, and his wife, Bellflower. Nobody could remember how long they had been married, but that had never stopped the merriment.

The refreshment table was 12 feet long, overflowing with all of the goods of the harvest, but most especially a fountain of the best wine Lucy had ever tasted. She grabbed a goblet and filled it.

All day there had been a slight, warm, southerly breeze keeping away the chill of the encroaching winter. While Lucy filled her cup, the wind seemed to still and reverse, the biting chill of the North Wind slicing through her dress. She jerked, arching her back, as ice pierced through her abdomen, sinking into the marrow of her bones. She froze.

Edmund, standing a few feet down by the chocolate, noticed.

"Lu?" He asked. Her face was five shades too pale, eyes unfocused as she stared off in the distance. She collapsed. "Lucy!" He shouted, lunging toward her. He lowered her limp body to the ground, red wine soaking into her silver dress. Her eyes were open, crystalizing, a thin layer of what looked like ice covering her blue irises. She shivered violently. "Peter, come quickly!" Edmund called over his shoulder.

The merriment halted. Peter was by Edmund's side in a moment, dropping to his knees in front of Lucy, scanning her body. Susan hovered behind, looking over Peter's shoulder.

"I don't know what happened—" Edmund started before Peter had a chance to ask. "One moment she was getting wine, the next she looked like she'd seen a ghost and she was on the ground."

"Her lips are blue," Peter's jaw flexed as his mind tumbled through possibilities. "Is she breathing?"

Edmund leaned down, hovering his ear just above her lips. He nodded.

"We've got to get her inside," Peter instructed.

Edmund draped one of Lucy's arms around his neck, her hand brushing his bare skin. Ice sent a shock through his veins, a thousand stinging needles stabbing into his blood vessels. He jerked away, her arm slipping from his shoulders.

The High King's blue eyes danced. "What is it?"

"Her hand," Edmund pointed at the dainty little hand, covered in rings. "It's freezing."

Peter brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, nodding. "We need to move. Now."

A wail came from one of the houses in the trees. A small badger came out of the door in the trunk, weeping. "Grandmother Badger is dead!" It lamented.

A ripple of gasps ran through the crowd. Edmund sent Peter a panicked glance.

"Hasn't Grandmother Badger been sick for months?" A faun asked.

The Badger looked offended. "Yes—but what's that got to do with it? Oughn't we still mourn?"

"No, no, you misunderstand," a birch girl broke in, her shimmery voice simulating the rustle of the trees. "We were worried it mightn't be related to Queen Lucy."

The Badger's eyes grew wide. "Queen Lucy? What's Queen Lucy got to do with it?"

The creatures turned to their valiant queen, lying in the arms of her brother, who was called just.

"The North Wind—" The Badger gasped.

"What?" Everyone asked at the same time.

The Badger shook his head. "No time, no time. King Edmund, follow me." The Badger lead the monarchs into his little home, much bigger inside than it seemed out. "Lay her here," he instructed, "on the bed. We've got to warm her up, and fast as possible."