Author's note: This is my first fanfiction, but not my first story. I've actually written quite a bit (Although I've hardly finished any stories... :P But I plan to finish this one!)

I think updates will be pretty regular, but I can't promise anything.

My favorite characters in Chronicles of Narnia are without a doubt Peter and Edmund Pevensie.

Warnings: Capture, minimal torture and...I think that's about it. And some general creepiness (Nothing inappropriate, that's not how I roll).

I have also made a trailer for this story, you can find it on Youtube if you search Eggwonna (My username, like, everywhere) or: " 'The Return of Jadis' fanfiction trailer. " It would be awesome if you checked it out - and if that is what brought you here, then awesome! :D

So yeah! I hope you enjoy it and it would be awesome if I got some rates and reviews! :D

Chapter One - Cold as Ice

I follow Nikabrik deeper into the woods.

At last night's meeting we were discussing the best way to infiltrate Miraz's castle. Not even Caspian knew the safest way in.

Nikabrik piped up, saying he knew of a way. "I admit I am not utterly certain that it is still open." He admitted.

"But it's worth checking. I will go with you tomorrow to determine if we will use it to enter the castle." I said, a bubble of hope growing in my chest.

"Peter, you should take some guards with you." Edmund said warily.

"We don't have enough guards here as it is." I said tiredly. "Nikabrik and I will be fine on our own. I'll take the horn with me, so I can call for help if we need it."

I had left no room for argument. We really don't have enough Narnians protecting The How. And if I'm really honest with myself...we don't have enough soldiers to fight against the Telmarines either. And yet I'm leading them into battle. But what else can I do? Everyone expects me to make the right choices. To lead them all from this mess that Caspian has started. Although without this mess my siblings and I wouldn't be here at all. We would still be in England. Going to school…Living a normal life. I hated it there. In Narnia I was a king; but in England I was just a boy.

"We should rest, Your Majesty." Nikabrik says, stopping and turning back to me.

I nod wearily and sit on a large rock. I'm tired from the long walk and all that has been going on. I sigh and look at the forest around me. I see movement behind a tree. There's faint snap of a twig being stepped on. I jump to my feet and draw Rhindon from its scabbard.

"What is it?" Nikabrik asks. I frown at the excitement in his voice. I let myself glance over at him. He's standing, dagger drawn, smirking. Smirking?

"Nikabrik?" I ask, slightly nervous.

More snapping twigs, louder now; closer. I whip around, and see a hunched figure hidden beneath a cloak.

"Who are you?" I ask the figure. I don't lower my sword, instead keeping it pointed towards the person…creature…thing.

"Ah...The famous King Peter. Sad excuse for a king." The figure cackles, ignoring my question. A woman's voice. Old and positively dripping with hatred.

I feel a tug at my belt. I swing Rhindon down towards the source, and narrowly miss Nikabrik, who dives away just in time. He smirks at me, and I see the horn in his hand. The horn that was given to Susan by Father Christmas. The same horn that Caspian used to call us here. The horn that very well could be my only way of surviving this.

There's a growling from behind me. Suddenly I forget Nikabrik and the woman - who I calculate must be a hag - and whirl around to the new danger. I feel myself pale slightly as I stare at a werewolf. He pads towards me on two feet; like a man but so much more powerful.

The hag cackles again and I position myself so I can keep both her and the werewolf in sight. The horn. I need it. I hastily turn back to Nikabrik.

"Traitor." I can't help but growl at him. He just smirks. He throws the horn far behind him. I need to get to it somehow. I step forward. Out of the corner of my eye I see the werewolf make a move and I dive swiftly out of the way. Nikabrik leaps onto me, pinning my sword arm down. I shift, forcing most of his body off of me, but he has a firm grip on the hilt of my sword, and I struggle to keep it in my hand. I twist, trying to bring the sword against him, but he kicks me in the stomach; an advantage that he has with his short legs that hadn't occurred to me. I gasp and double over slightly, but keep my grip on Rhindon firm.

A hairy hand grabs my hair, pulling my head back and pulling me up. I cry out in pain and surprise. The werewolf throws me back to the ground roughly, and I fall onto my back, the impact finally forcing me to loose my grip on my sword. I try to grab the hilt again but Nikabrik has already snatched it away. The werewolf pins my shoulders into the dirt and grass beneath me. It's easy to tell he's stronger than me. I'm losing.

"The Queen has waited long enough!" The hag calls impatiently. What Queen is she talking about? Queen Prunaprismia?

The werewolf grabs me by the arms and hauls me to my feet. I elbow his side and try to trip him. He growls in anger and twists one of my arms behind my back painfully. I cry out and continue to struggle. He forces my other arm to reach out in front of me. I can hardly move. The hag leans down and drags a knife through the dirt around us. She circles behind me, and then comes back into view on my other side. She's made a faint circle in the ground around the werewolf and I.

"What are you doing?" I yell, trying to catch my breath.

"Bringing the true Queen back to her kingdom." Nikabrik says excitedly.

"What -" I break off as I realize. They mean the White Witch. They mean to bring her back, and I'm going to be part of the process. "No!" I renew my attempts to break free from the werewolf's grasp, but he just laughs into my ear and tightens his grip. His breathing is fast and clammy against my neck. The hag begins to chant words I can't understand, swaying around the circle.

"You have no idea what you're doing!" I shout desperately, trying to drown out the hag's chanting. The leaves on the trees around us stop moving. The hag comes up to me, holding the knife, and I see that there are carvings all over the wooden handle that must be part of the spell. "Stop!" I yell frantically. She ignores me and runs the knife against the palm of my outstretched hand, leaving a stinging cut. I hiss in pain. I can't move my hand. I can't even make a fist. The magic is too strong.

The hag chants louder, now scurrying around me.

"One drop of the blood of a Son of Adam to bring Her Majesty back to life." Nikabrik says in a loud, excited whisper.

"Stop -"

The temperature drops dramatically and a huge wall of ice rises in front of me. A woman's figure appears in the frigid ice, deep blue eyes staring into mine. Jadis; the White Witch. The one who caused Edmund so much suffering. The woman who has killed so many innocent creatures and had a courtyard full of stone statues that were once living, breathing, alive.

"Peter dear." She says in a sickeningly motherly voice. "I haven't seen you in so long..."

I can't move my eyes away from hers. The blood in my body seems to have iced over along with the grass in the circle around me, now covered in frost. Jadis presses her hand through the ice, reaching for mine.

"Come dear, give me your hand. It only takes on drop. Just one drop of blood."

"No!" I pant. I realize that it's become hard to breath.

Her hand comes closer to mine, and the werewolf presses me forward. My hand is almost touching the Witch's. I'm unable to pull my arm back. Her hands creeps closer. Closer. Closer.

Her fingers touch mine, and my legs give out under me as inexpressible cold overcomes my mind. The werewolf keeps me standing. Jadis's hand slides across mine. She reaches the cut on my palm and I cry out loudly in pain. My head feels like it's bursting with white hot ice.

The witch smiles and her figure becomes brighter, more alive, more real. She slowly steps out of the ice, her grasp tightening around my injured hand. The werewolf lets me go and steps back. I fall to my knees, but Jadis pulls me back up. I'm shivering, but the burning ice has left my brain. I feel drained of energy. It's still so cold. She's so cold. She brings her free hand to my cheek, caressing it with her thumb. I sway on the spot slightly, then, without warning, I black out.