As a pair of cool hands drug her along the stone floor, Ellie felt each and every inch of her skin aching with pain and desire to be free.
"Open the doors," the voice of her captor called.
Shoved to her feet as the wide doors opened, she ceased struggling for long enough to see a great, sprawling hall before her.
"You're back already, Ed?" a voice said from the throne at the top of the room.
Ellie, walking behind the boy in chain mail and armor, fought against her captor. The young, black-haired boy dressed up in chain mail and armor walked before her, the so-called leader of the brigade that stole her from Calormene soldiers.
"Just a brief skirmish from the edge of Archenland that needed taking care of. Nothing to worry about."
Peter nodded and smiled.
"I'm glad you're back safely."
They approached the throne, and Ellie saw the two young men- for they were nothing more than that- embrace. For a few long moments, they spoke politics and the home front with each other, ignoring another presence in the room until a deep voice behind the captive cleared his throat.
"What-"
The Kings turned, and Edmund looked almost surprised at the reminder of the girl he single handedly drug over Archenland. His man, who held grip on Ellie's arm tossed her roughly, throwing her to her knees on the cold, unfeeling floor.
"And we brought you back a present, Pete," the younger said to the older.
Defiantly, Ellie averted her eyes, looking at no one; her chin tilted up, and she gulped. The girl knew full well, even without mirror or anyone's word, that she looked like the White Witch had run her over twice. But she couldn't allow herself to care. She refused to give these Kings any reason to think her weak.
"What is this?"
Outrage colored his tone. The other spluttered and took a step back.
"We-We found her- Calormene caravan-I thought-" the boy stammered as the older drug him away by the arm.
Ellie watched them from the corner of her eye, watching as the older ducked his head and attempted to keep their conversation private.
"Edmund, you know better-"
The other cut in.
"Peter, she was the only woman, and bound and gagged in the back of a cart. You don't think she could be of some use-?"
"No. I don't, Ed. Capturing-"
He shook his head.
"No, Edmund. No."
The younger refused to give up, something that caught Peter almost off guard.
"But what if she is a noble woman and we could-?"
Giving his brother a look, he held out his hands.
"Send her home."
Edmund sighed and looked at his hands.
"Peter, she's a tribute. Old Narnian tradition-"
Peter let the shock that registered in his entire body cover his face.
"A tribute?"
Rolling his eyes, Edmund nodded.
"Yes. It's where you-"
Nearly stomping his feet, Peter ground his teeth.
"I know what a tribute is, Ed. I just can't believe you would-"
The words nearly choked him. Taking a girl, using her, and then throwing her away for some old Narnian tradition disgusted him. And the fact that Edmund could even suggest it disgusted him even more.
"But, Peter, what would-"
A shadow crossed over Peter's face and he felt his hand clench itself tightly.
"We are not in the business of taking prisoners of war, Edm-"
A wry smile cutting across her face, Ellie chuckled dryly to herself. Completely unaware of Edmund's ideas for her, her biggest concern was King Peter's last words.
"Is that what this is? A war?"
Both kings' heads snapped to the girl on the floor. She looked at each of them for a brief moment before chuckling and turning her face away with a shake of her head.
"War is what we're trying to avoid," the High King said diplomatically.
The younger piped in,
"If we can."
Unbeknownst to the girl on her knees, Peter Pevensie gave his brother a sharp look.
"Edmund-" he began, his voice dangerously low and bordering on a growl.
Taking it as his cue to leave before the yelling started, Edmund took his men and left. After a painful silence following the great hall's door slamming, Ellie heard the sound of feet striding across the stone floor. Picking a spot on the tapestry on one of the walls, she pretended to suddenly become massively interested in it, making certain she looked away from the High King.
"You can look at me," he said, bending down to get to her eye level.
Grinding her teeth, she continued to look away.
"Do you want to tell me what has happened?" he asked.
He received silence as a response. The High King, a mere month into his time as ruler of all Narnia, struggled with what to do next. Taking his impulses, he sat on one of the steps that led up to the thrones and sighed. Now, at true eye level with her, he spoke again as he patted the space beside him.
"Sit beside me?" he asked, dropping the formality of his usual kingly speech.
Holding up her hands, she motioned to the bindings that kept her captive.
"Ah. I see," Peter said.
Without another word or a moment for Ellie to react, he swung his sword from his sheath and through the ropes that held her wrists.
"Better?" he asked.
Gingerly, the girl rubbed her wrists and stood to her full height. Peter allowed himself to take in the complete sight of her and shook his head at Edmund's stupidity. No Calormene Nobility would ever dress themselves in the rags the girl wore. The idea that they could pull any information from the girl was moot at that point. He reasoned that she could only be a gypsy or a court dancer, at the most.
But, with a shock that nearly knocked the air from his breast, Peter realized that- without any question in his mind- she was easily the most beautiful being he ever beheld. Her rich skin, a staple of Carolmene women, starkly contrasted her raven curls that framed her beaten face. Though a bit larger in stature than his sisters or the Narnians, her figure shone through the ripped, nearly destroyed dress she wore. Her green eyes shimmered, but she hid them from him by constantly looking down. Again, he offered her the place beside him. Uneasily, she took it, but carefully chose to stay out of his arm's reach.
"Did my men do that to you?" Peter asked, nodding to the cuts and bruises that covered her.
Her eyes sliding closed as she tried to rub out her wrists, she shook her head.
"No, your majesty."
Without a word, he slid closer to her and picked up one of her hands. Opening her eyes, she tried to tug it away.
"It'll hurt less if you stop fidgetting," he said, looking up at her from under his eyelids.
Tensing up at his contact, she allowed him to look at the wounds.
"My sisters should take a look at this," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
She wrenched her hand from his grasp and looked at him.
"What do you plan to do with me?"
Peter stood and looked down at her.
"Well, for now, healing those injuries of yours before they can get any worse."
Standing and looking at the King, she asked,
"And after that?"
He shrugged.
"Wonderful question, m'lady."
