Author's Note: This is actually a collaboration project with kitsunchan - who decided I needed to write something longer than 500 words for once! This should have 7 chapters (they're already planned out, too!) Much thanks to her.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine. All that belongs to C.S. Lewis.


There. His target.

Dray slunk closer through the shadows. Closer, he needed to be closer.

Tales of the High King's swift reactions and keen abilities to sense danger had already reached legendary status. If this attack were to go as planned, he needed to be close enough that when the time came to strike, the human king would have no chance of escape. Dray had decided that now was his best opening – now while the king was unguarded and unawares, dining merrily with his siblings. He edged closer through the flickering candlelight.

This was the culmination of days of tracking the High King on his return from the Archenland border, days of tension in trying to avoid the heightened senses of any of the king's companions. Dray knew that the large cats had a greater awareness of Wer-Wolves than many other animals and the ruling monarch had been traveling with two. Now, though, the great cats had left for their homes as the High King had reached his. A joyful reunion between the four human rulers had occurred under Dray's skulking eyes. And now that they had been seated to dine, all defenses had been lowered.

Dray crept forward.

No one would expect an attack in their own home, least of all a king with loyal subjects surrounding him.


Peter sighed happily and glanced around the table again. There were Lucy and Edmund, heads bent together no doubt over some new nefarious plot to drive the castle staff mad; there was Tumnus the Faun, enjoying his dessert as usual. Further down the table were Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, chattering excitedly with the visiting Badger from Archenland. On Peter's other side was Susan, smiling gently back at him, her relief at his safe return obvious; just past her were several satyrs conversing cheerfully with the noble Mice of Brackenwood. Everyone looked to be enjoying themselves greatly, and for this, Peter could not imagine a place he would rather be.

"Surveying your minions?" Susan teased him gently.

"You may jest, sister mine, but you know I am merely glad to be here." The High King returned, happiness shining through his eyes.

Susan laughed merrily and added another strawberry to his plate. "I know, dear king, I could see it when we greeted you in the courtyard. Everyone can see how pleased you are to be home at the Cair again – and we are twice as glad to see you return because of it!"

Peter chuckled as Susan turned to listen to the satyrs banter with the Mice, two of them laughing raucously at a story the Mouse King was currently recounting.

"-and that's not the half of it! Five days, I tell you…five days! That's how long I was stuck down there. 'Twas the hardest time of my life," King Nippertip sniffed and wiped a fake tear from his eye. The satyrs were doubled over in hilarity and Peter was a bit disappointed he had missed the joke.

Seeing the High King taking an interest in the conversation, Nippertip gracefully leapt onto the table making his way carefully around the platters of the feast.

"Ho, Great King! Do you enjoy my grand tales of Adventure?" Nippertip piped cheerfully.

Peter smiled broadly at the brave Mouse before him, "Alas, I'm afraid your satyr audience made the details rather inaudible."

The two of them laughed together as Nippertip took up a perch atop an empty wine goblet, intent on regaling the greatest of his escapades.


Dray was poised at the edge of the shadows - he was close, so close. So close he could smell the stench of the witless human king. As he tensed his muscles to spring, one of the Mice wandered down the oak tabletop.

NO! The Mouse would ruin it! Ruin it!

It had to be now. He flexed his yellowed claws.

Now.

He leapt.


Nippertip had just begun retelling his exploits, when his nose twitched. As the Mouse leapt from the goblet and drew his sword in a flash, Peter's split second of confusion was immediately replaced by battle-hardened instincts. He dove to the side, shielding his sister from the unknown menace. Susan yelped in surprise, her eyes wide in fear as droplets of Peter's blood dripped onto her dress.

A Wer-Wolf had lunged from behind the tapestries of the dining hall, overturning the King's table and sending its contents crashing to the floor. The wolf bared cruel, blackened teeth, and prepared to attack again, his claws stained with fresh blood. Peter, bleeding profusely from the terrible wound across his back, groped for the dagger he kept strapped to his boot. Fleeting thoughts of his sword Rhindon, safely stowed in his room three flights of stairs away, were torn from his mind as Nippertip loosed a battle cry and jumped onto the back of the Wer-Wolf.

Dray howled in pain and rage as the Mouse King launched a flurry of attacks into his flanks. Peter yelled for Edmund to get Lucy and Susan out of the Hall while the other guests who had no weapons fled to the edges of the room. The other Mice scrambled for their swords, desperately trying to join their King in battle. With a roar, Dray twisted around, grabbing Nippertip in his mouth and flinging him to the side. The other Mice squeaked in despair as Nippertip hit the grey stone floor with a sickening snap. They rushed to his aid; the gallant mouse lay gasping for breath, ripped to shreds by the dire jaws of the evil wolf.

Peter's vision was blurring, his blood loss making the dagger in his hand seem made of lead. As if in slow motion, he saw the Wer-Wolf leap once again at him, the dripping, crimson maw agape. He felt a terrible pain erupt in his left shoulder; the horrible sounds of a muddled howl and the rending of flesh became his universe.

Everything went black.