Okay, this is part of the hugest, massivest fic I have ever written (apart from the Transformers fic, and that was a collab). There's gonna be eight chapters, and none of them as long as this, though they come pretty close. I know it's not focused on the main characters - sorry about that, but if you don't like, don't read. Flames will be ignored.
Extended Summary - this is like the events missed out in the books and films from another's point of view. Stuff like the Telmarine invasion and the destruction of Cair Paravel. I was very interested in how that all happened, so came up with the story myself.
DISCLAIMER: If this was a real disclaimer, it would be funny.
Jarqual strode down the dirt hall excitedly, snarling under her breath. She had good news to present to the court – a strange, warlike people had come down from the western mountains and were driving past all resistance from the Shuddering Wood.
A male harpy passed her and grinned, showing his sharp teeth. She snarl-grinned back, and he sniffed the air, catching the scent of her excitement and licking his lips. He waited till she was several paces ahead before following.
Satisfaction flooded Jarqual as the male accepted her dominance. Either that, or he was looking for something else. She snorted at the thought. She was not yet ready to breed, and wasn't giving off any of the signs, which meant that he was accepting her dominance because she was the better fighter, which of course was true.
Harpies were similar in appearance to humans, though they were different in every other respect. For one thing, a fully fledged harpy looked to humans like a teenager, only fifteen or sixteen years of age. For another, they were almost immortal. Left alone, a harpy could live indefinitely – their numbers were small because they killed each other on a daily basis in their ritual fighting 'games'.
And then there was the whole fighting thing.
Harpies had no conscience or sensitivity to speak of. They did not need sustenance in the forms of food and water – battle was their meal. They fed off the joy of fighting. Technically, a harpy on its own would starve and die because they could not feed off themselves, but two harpies that fought each other with vicious enthusiasm could live off each other forever, though one of them would die eventually in the fighting that would result of two harpies being cooped up together.
In wars, harpies sometimes fought for both sides, splitting up and attacking each other on the battlefield. None of the other Narnians understood what they meant when they said that it was only in fun, because they loved a decent challenge.
Harpies were ruled over by a King or Queen. The genders were equal – whoever could win the fight won the King or Queenship. The King or Queen could be challenged by anyone, though it was rare, because it was an unspoken rule that a serious challenge was a fight to the death, and although surrender was an option, no harpy would ever take that path. To a harpy, honour and their standing in the court hierarchy was everything, and to surrender was to be branded a coward and treated with total disgust for the rest of their lives, which would not be very long, as no harpy fought a coward.
Harpy children were all equal at birth, no matter what their parents standing in the court. For that reason, there were no princes or princesses or high-born children. No one got a fast track to a high position – it had to be earned in the games. When young, harpies formed groups of friends, often with their siblings, and fought in packs in the lowest levels of the underground realm, known as the jungles. The weak were weeded out quickly, as even young harpies had no queries about killing each other in battle. Wars in the jungles were serious and deadly, and leaders were established quickly.
Whenever the youngsters thought they were ready, they came up out of the jungles, usually in their packs, and had to fight one of the fully fledged harpies in the game pits for their right to own proper weapons. Once they had proved themselves (they rarely won the matches, but the fully fledged harpy they'd fought vouched for their fighting spirit), they were allowed weapons.
Jarqual herself had chosen her twin black knives, slightly curved, the pommel small carvings of a lion – Aslan. Harpies were loyal to Aslan before all others, and in a battle, if Aslan appeared and fought on the opposing side to them, they would immediately switch sides and attack with the great lion.
The art of crafting black blades had long been lost to any but the dwarves, and they kept it a closely guarded secret.
But Jarqual was not thinking of her happy childhood spent fighting viciously in the jungles, but of the court's reaction to her news. After all, scouting was her area of expertise, and it had been her scouts who had seen the strange band of humans as they made their way to the Telmar River. It was her right to tell them what she knew.
Jarqual was a fully fledged harpy, with flaming red hair pinned up in a spiky fighting style, a black corset and purple skirt that fell to her knees. Tight shorts underneath fitted close to her legs and her belt with its two daggers hung easily around her hips. Fishnet clothed her right arm from her shoulder down to her middle finger, held up by a strap around her neck, and more covered her left leg from her thigh to her big toe. Her eyes were outlined in black, with the lines extending halfway either side up the bridge of her nose, in harpy battle style. The White Witch had copied that style in her last battle against Aslan and the four Kings and Queens. She was a female harpy at her prime, and she wasn't afraid to swagger and show it off.
There were several other harpies following her now, and one of the females was crowding her. Jarqual bared her teeth and narrowed her black-ringed eyes, glaring out from their corners at the intruder. She was fresh from the jungles, only a few years ago had her belt been knife-less. Inda, Jarqual remembered her.
All at once, she stopped, snapping her head around and snarling at the younger harpy angrily, warning her to back off. The other harpies growl-grinned as Inda wrinkled her nose and bared her teeth balefully, but still backed up to a safe distance. She was no fool.
Jarqual kept up a low growl till Inda was out of her immediate attack-range before turning sharply on her heel and striding on. Her eyes glowed in the darkness of the tunnels and adrenaline pumped through her veins as she considered the importance of her information – new humans from across the western mountains could mean a war, and if that was at all in doubt, the harpies would unhesitatingly start one. What did they care if the other races were peace-lovers? They had to live off the glory of battle. They had to feed themselves.
The adrenaline demanded to be released, and Jarqual roared, breaking into a sprint. The other harpies behind her snarled greedily and ran after her tossing their heads and barking small growl-roars.
The hall widened and opened onto the council hall. It was huge, large enough for the entire population, which about three hundred strong, not including the constantly shifting population of children, who came in at roughly a hundred. It was undecorated, the walls plain dirt brown, with brackets holding torches at regular intervals. In the centre was a dirt stage, raised to an average harpies' shoulder height. It was rectangular in shape, and the King or Queen stood on it, as well as whomever he or she was allowing to speak at the time.
Jarqual's sister, Rijal, was the Queen. They were identical in all but hair colour (Rijal's hair was coal black) and age – Rijal was a year or so older than Jarqual. No one but Rijal occupied the stage, so Jarqual launched herself forward and cleared the gap in one great leap, swinging her arms to regain her balance as she landed.
She grinned wildly, first at Rijal, then at the court. Pulling her right dagger from her belt, she thrust it into the air with an undulating, screeching, victorious battle cry. The hall fell quiet, as the court trained their keen eyes on her. Jarqual preened – she loved being the centre of attention.
"Harpies!" She cried, keeping her dagger in the air. "News! Humans have crossed into Narnia through a pass in the western mountains and are making their way to Telmar River. They have killed Narnians from the Shuddering Wood, who tried to approach them." Her eyes glittered. "Whenever humans come to Narnia, it means only one thing." She looked around the room for dramatic effect, then spun wildly in a circle, unable to contain her glee. "War!"
The hall erupted, war-cries and shouts of excitement filling the air. Only one harpy did not scream with delight – Rijal. Jarqual was not surprised. Rijal had always been strange. She had gained Queenship in the standard way – killing the old monarch, the King, though she had not gloated or preened as harpies tended to do over their victories. In fact, she never played the games (unheard of) or killed anyone by choice. But her leadership skills were unrivalled, and her jungle reputation preceded her, so no one had openly challenged her for her Queenship. Yet.
There was a chorus of excited yells as a makeshift ring formed in front of the stage with two harpies circling each other, spitting and hissing, their weapons of choice; a sword and a scimitar out. At an unseen signal, they both roared at each other, their faces scrunched up into unrecognisable masks of hate and viciousness. A harpy roar was like the yowling cry of a cheetah crossed with the mewling scream of a griffin. Most harpy fights started out with each harpy trying to intimidate the other with their roar, much like cats screaming in each other's faces.
"Sister." Rijal called quietly. "Let me speak to you alone."
Jarqual nodded – she was Rijal's closest friend and advisor – and followed her sister off the stage and through a gap in the crowd to a door on the far side, opposite the main entrance. Rijal sighed as she closed the door behind them, shutting off the noise of the two harpies' roars.
"Jarqual," She sighed deeply. "Why couldn't you have told me before you shouted the news up there?" She rubbed her left temple with two fingers and closed her eyes, dark-rimmed, like all harpies.
Jarqual bristled. "We do not have secrets. What would you have done had I informed you of the invaders first?"
"We'll never know now." Rijal said wearily, sinking to the floor. Jarqual shifted, debating whether to remain standing, but then knelt next to her sister.
"What are you thinking, Rijal?"
Rijal sighed again, her shoulders slumping. "That these invaders should be tested, to find out if they really are dangerous."
"We can make them dangerous whether they are or not!" Jarqual hissed. "Let me take a pack and unleash hell on them in the night. They will retaliate, and we will have a war on our hands!"
"And what will that mean for those Narnians who do not want war?" Rijal lifted her head and looked at Jarqual reproachfully.
"Who cares?" Jarqual's eyes brightened. "We live for war."
"What about the steward?" Rijal shook her head. "He must be informed."
"Pah!" Jarqual spat, leaping to her feet. "You are acting like a coward, sister!" To her surprise, the deadly insult did not rile the Queen.
"I am acting as I must for the good of Narnia." She said tiredly. "That was the duty they entrusted to us."
Jarqual snarled irritably. "They are gone, Rijal! It's been a hundred years since the Kings and Queens went missing, in these very woods! Humans cannot live that long, you know that!"
"I will not believe they are dead until I see bodies!" Rijal jumped up and glared sadly at Jarqual.
"A hundred years, sister." Jarqual implored. "No human can live that long." She leaned closer, her eyes peering into Rijal's. "King Edmund has been dead for many years."
"No!" At last, Rijal pulled her weapon from her belt, her deadly throwing stars. Her hand shook as she clasped it. "I will not believe until I see bodies."
"Believe what you will." Jarqual snapped. "But they are dead. It makes no difference anyway – he never even glanced at you. You are a harpy."
"I know." Rijal sank to her knees, her throwing star falling from her limp fingers. "But…he was only twenty-eight. Time would have told."
"You were a battle ally to him, nothing more!" Jarqual dropped to her knees in front of her sister. "Look at me! You are Rijal, Queen of the harpies. You wear the pentangle necklace from our home world! You have lived for over two hundred years, and have ruled the harpies for over a hundred. You lead when others will only follow, Rijal!" She took her sister's shoulders and shook, forcing Rijal to look at her. "You must let go. Edmund is gone, and as you keep saying – we'll never know now what might have been. It will be less painful to just let it go, let him go."
"I can't." Rijal shook her head and rose to her feet, turning her back to Jarqual. "The memories are all I have of him."
"Then you will die for your foolishness!" Jarqual snapped, her shallow well of patience dried up. "You must stop acting like a pathetic, weak, compassionate human and lead us as a harpy Queen should!"
"And what would you have me do, sister?" Rijal spun, her eyes searching Jarqual's. "Plunge Narnia into a war that will render it destroyed? No! That is not the way!"
"It is our way!" Jarqual could not stop the roar of frustration and anger leaking into her voice. "We need war! We live off it!"
"We can live off each other." Rijal shook her head pleadingly.
"We were kept from the last great battle." Jarqual's tone lowered dangerously. "Because Jadis was too proud to accept our allegiance. These invaders could spark the greatest battle since the Witch's defeat!"
"No." Rijal's face hardened. "Scout. Watch carefully. Nothing more. Do you understand me, Jarqual?" She had transformed into the Queen in a matter of seconds, and now it was her turn to peer into Jarqual's eyes with commanding sternness.
"Yes, my Queen." Jarqual knelt, lowering her eyes respectfully, and then leapt up and back, her eyes bright. She nodded once, then practically ripped the door off its hinges in her excitement. "My pack!" Rijal heard her yell. "Follow me!" There were roars of delight and glee, then the door swung shut, closing off the sounds.
Rijal fell once more to the ground, then picked up her throwing star and crawled over to her den, a mishmash of blankets and furs piled atop a soft, worn mattress. She burrowed her way into it and revealed the secret that had kept her alive for as long as she had without feeding off the joy of the fight.
She began to cry.
Harpies did not have tear ducts, and as a rule, found nothing worth crying over anyway. But it had not been the tears that had saved Rijal from starvation.
She had been a normal harpy in the jungles, fighting side-by-side with her sister, Jarqual, and the other members of their pack with vicious joy, killing recklessly. But just after she and Jarqual had left the jungles and won their weapons, there was talk of war, and of Aslan's return.
Rijal had gone out alone when the harpies felt the earth starting to thaw. She had followed the White Witch as she followed the son of Adam and the daughters of Eve as the beavers helped them to flee across the frozen river, which, by the time Jadis had arrived, was no longer frozen.
Rijal had stayed hidden even from the wolves, who were close to the harpies in pack attitude, but had pledged their loyalty to Jadis. The harpies had offered, but Jadis refused them when she discovered that they were loyal to Aslan before all others.
She had noticed a second head in the Witch's sledge, shorter, and dark haired, much like their own men-folk. Rijal knew that this was the younger son of Adam, who had betrayed his siblings because of the spell the Witch had cast upon him. The harpies knew more than most because all of this had taken place in the western woods – their home. They knew everything that happened there.
It wasn't long before the snow ran out, and the Witch was forced to stop. Rijal had almost giggled at Jadis' expression as she surveyed the melted waterfall, now uncrossable. The boy had stood next to her, a slight smile on his lips.
Rijal had been entranced. To her eyes, the boy was fully fledged, like her. She couldn't pull her eyes away – there was something about him that drew her. She wanted to help him.
"Your Majesty."
The Witch and the boy turned as six wolves emerged from the trees, one of them carrying a fox in his jaws.
"We found the traitor." The beta wolf told her respectfully. "He was rallying your enemies in the Shuddering Woods." The alpha tossed the yelping fox to the ground at the Witch's feet.
"Ah." Rijal could tell from Jadis' tone that she was pleased. "Nice of you to drop in. You were so helpful to my wolves last night."
Jarqual had told Rijal that a fox had given the wolves false information to lead them away from the son of Adam and the daughters of Eve. This must be the same fox. Rijal felt adrenaline pump into her veins. The fox was not going to leave this waterfall alive.
"Perhaps you can help me now." Jadis' voice was thick with implications. Rijal slipped silently through the trees to get a better view. In seconds she was watching from the branches of a beech, closest to the dark-haired son of Adam.
"Forgive me, your Majesty." The fox bowed his head.
The Witch almost rolled her eyes. "Don't waste my time with flattery – "
"Not to seem rude." The fox's eyes danced. "But I wasn't actually talking to you." He looked at the son of Adam. Jadis' eyes flashed dangerously, and she glared down at the boy, who looked anxiously and slightly disbelievingly up at her, then at the fox.
Jadis strode forward, twirling her wand and giving the son of Adam a testing look before pointing it unhesitatingly at the poor fox. "Where are the humans headed?"
The fox took a step back, his expression resigned. Rijal had seen that look on the faces of Narnians before they died before. The boy looked back and forth between the fox and the Witch, his expression hesitant, but desperate.
Jadis' expression didn't change as she raised her wand high. The fox steeled himself –
"Wait!" The boy ran in front of the fox, his eyes pleading. "No! Don't." Jadis lowered her wand. Rijal knew that she had known the boy would throw himself in front of the fox. That was the testing look she had given him. "The beavers said something about the stone table." He said hurriedly. "And that Aslan had an army there."
"An army?" The Witch concealed her satisfaction and looked at the fox. The boy turned his head also. The fox just sighed and shook his head, letting his tail droop. "Thank you Edmund." The Witch said softly, kindly as the boy stepped back, only now realising the gravity of what he had revealed. "I'm glad this creature got to see some honesty." Her voice was understanding, wise, then changed abruptly as she lunged forward with her wand. "Before he died."
"No!" The boy cried as the fox yelped his last, pulling up a paw in a futile attempt to save himself to no avail as he turned into dark grey stone.
The Witch pulled back her wand with a flourish, and her eyes darkened as they searched the boy's face. Finding his expression of horror and disbelief not to her liking, she backhanded him angrily. Rijal raised an eyebrow. It was quite a pathetic slap, as slaps went, but then she saw the boy's hand finger his cheek and realised that the Witch had put some ice into it for extra sting.
"Think about who's side you're on, Edmund." Jadis said coolly, taking his shoulder and making him look at her. "Mine," She grabbed his face in her hand and turned it sharply towards the stone fox. "Or theirs." She released him and turned her attention to the wolves, leaving him to stare in shame and distress at the fox, dead and cold, an expression of pain still on his face. His breathing was shallow, and Rijal realised he was holding back tears. A darker part of her wished he would cry – she was curious as to what it would look like.
"Go on ahead." The Witch ordered the wolves. "Gather the faithful. If it's a war Aslan wants," Her wand hummed as it flicked up and killed a butterfly that had been fluttering near her head. "It's a war he shall get."
The wolves growled and disappeared into the trees. "And as for you," The Witch turned her head to stare down at the boy with cruel, icy eyes. "I trust that from now on, you will know your place."
The boy's face twisted as he looked between the Witch and the stone fox, then hung his head and said nothing. Jadis made a small sound of satisfaction. "Ginarrbrik!" She yelled suddenly. "Prepare the cargo as I ordered."
The bearded dwarf chuckled darkly as he emerged from the trees. "Your sledge is ready, my Queen."
"Good." The Witch swept off, leaving the boy and the dwarf alone.
The dwarf saw the son of Adam staring sorrowfully at the fox and sniggered. "He got what he deserved." The boy's head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "And so will you." The dwarf cracked his whip as the boy took an angry step forward and tripped as the tip wrapped around his ankle and tugged, sending him face-first into the snowy grass.
He spluttered and pushed his torso up with his palms as the dwarf circled nearer, spite written in every line of his face. He suddenly yelled out harshly and kicked the boy in the face with his pointed toe.
Rijal frowned as the son of Adam cried out and rolled away, bringing a hand up to the new cut next to his left eye. She was under orders not to reveal herself, yet she wanted nothing more than to kill the dwarf right now. Her hand drifted close to her throwing stars, though she knew she could no more throw them than take her own life.
"Oh but can't you fight?" The dwarf bent down to glare into the son of Adam's face. "Your Majesty?" He sniggered and hit the boy's face with the handle of his whip. Rijal could tell that it would bruise his left cheek within the hour. The boy tried to get up, but a sharp kick from the dwarf in his side made him gasp and fall again. The dwarf snickered and pulled a rag from his pocket, sitting on top of the boy to keep him still and tying it tightly. He then shifted backwards as the boy grunted through his gag and tried to roll.
The dwarf slapped the back of the boy's head in an attempt to make him lie still. When he continued to flail around, the dwarf growled and yanked the boy's arms up, making him grunt. The dwarf held the boy's thin wrists in one grubby hand while he pulled a length of rope from somewhere on his person with his other and tied the son of Adam's hands together tightly.
He chuckled cruelly as he got up, watching the boy writhe around in the freezing wet grass as he tried to rise to his feet. Rijal snarled silently.
Finally the boy managed to rise to his knees, and then to his feet. The dwarf moved swiftly behind him and kicked him in the back of the knees, making him fall down again. The dwarf laughed hysterically as Rijal's sharp ears caught the sound of the boy choking, trying not to cry. She bristled and her snarl grew fiercer, her hand gripping the throwing star so hard she was in danger of losing her fingers.
"Ginarrbrik!" The Witch shouted through the trees. Her tone of voice suggested that the dwarf moved quickly or else. The dwarf's expression shifted from humour to fear, and he yanked the boy upright and tugged him backwards in the direction of the Witch's sledge.
Rijal calmed down slowly, not daring to move from her position in the tree in case she lost control. As she did, she realised that something had changed within her, something incredibly vital and important to her core. She frowned, not understanding.
It was only when she visited the pits later that night that she realised, and the realisation sent her fleeing from the harpies underground tunnels and up into the cold night air, up a tall pine tree to cling to its highest branch and swing dangerously in the breeze.
She no longer fed off the glory of the fight.
Instead, she was feeding off something else…something she had not yet identified…
She almost fell out of the tree as she realised that she was feeding off the feeling she had felt when she had first laid eyes on the son of Adam by the great waterfall. Almost as soon as she realised what the feeling was, an explosive wave of new feelings and emotions rolled into her with the force of a great wave.
She didn't even scream as the wave sent her tumbling backwards off the top of the pine, her arms wind milling at the air in a futile attempt to slow herself down. It didn't help. She fell for almost two entire seconds before her back hit the ground with a bone-breaking thud.
When she woke, she was no longer a true harpy.
Edmund, his name had been, she remembered it now. Edmund, Edmund. A resolve of steel anchored itself deep in her core, along with a new feeling for this Edmund. A feeling that burned with the intensity of the First Flame, whose ever-burning children lit the halls of the harpy tunnels. She was not sure what the feeling was exactly, but she knew that it could not be denied – it was so strong it almost hurt.
xXx
Jarqual looked dispassionately down at her sister, curled up in her blankets and furs. No other harpy would recognise tear-marks when they saw them, especially not on another harpy, but Jarqual knew all Rijal's secrets, including the secret of what she fed off. Rijal was the only harpy in known existence who could survive alone indefinitely – her love for the human king, Edmund, was ever-burning, though Jarqual wondered if it would burn her up from the inside before it sustained her long enough to live a full life.
Thoughts? Reviews are much appreciated, but flames are not.