"you're not going to be able to see your friend," someone says, and peter turns around to see abruzzi and three of his thugs. abruzzi has a gun in his hand, pointed straight at peter's head. one of his thugs has cor -- no, corin; if edmund is responsible for this somehow peter doesn't know if he wants to punch his brother or kiss him -- in a headlock, a gun in his free hand. the other one has a distinctly bedraggled looking merlin.

"i thought you said he was unconscious," caspian mutters to lucy.

"he was," she protests.

"you!" merlin spits at peter. "this is all your fault!"

peter ignores him, raising his empty hands. "come on, marco," he says. "they got nothing to do with it. let them go."

"why would we do that?"

"because if you hurt him," peter says, tilting his head at corin, "his dad will have your balls cut off and roasted, and make you eat them before he cuts your head off with a butter knife. and i'm sure arthur here could think of something given proper provocation."

"oh, something all right," arthur mutters, then louder, "who are you and what are you doing here?"

marco doesn't answer, just wiggles his gun at the space between peter's eyes. "patriso or no patriso," he says, "you're going to be dead, pevensie. your brother already is."

-
-

"m-morgana?" gwen coughs as she opens his eyes, seeing a blur of dark hair above her.

"not remotely," a male voice says. "hold still, you've got some shrapnel -- this is going to hurt," he warns, and gwen closes her eyes again and hisses out through her teeth as he pulls a chunk of rock or a shard of metal or something out of her arm.

she opens her eyes as he presses a bandage over the spot, keeping his fingers there. dark hair, blue eyes, sharp face -- she doesn't know him. he's not wearing emt gear either.

"who are you?" she asks, then looks around. the lobby of camelot is covered in rock dust; part of the ceiling has caved in and there's an alarm going off belatedly, shrieking over and over.

the stranger grins at her. "i'm edmund pevensie," he says.