Disclaimer: Narnia and its characters are not mine. No infringement intended upon the property of C.S. Lewis, Disney, Walden Media, or anyone else involved.
Author's Note: All mistakes are that of the author. Thank you to all who reviewed my last story.
Summary: A cunning new foe emerges, endangering Narnia and the Pevensie siblings. When Peter is targeted, the Kings and Queens seek to unlock the mystery of the threat in time to save what is precious.
—oo0O0oo—
Chapter 1, Smoke and Mirrors
Dust from the packed earthen floor danced in the growing morning light. Beyond the training salle, birds welcomed the new day, and the sounds of Cair Paravel awakening could be heard. Peter was oblivious to all but the burning in his shoulder and the worn leather chafing his palm.
"Keep your blade up," barked Algaron, Chief Armsmaster and Peter's personal torturer for the morning.
Peter renewed his grip on the practice sword and gritted his teeth as he continued to hold the parry position above his head. Suddenly, the pressure from the Master's blade pushing down on his was released, and Peter barely had time to react to the new threat to his flank. A hasty step backwards gave him time to parry, but left him unbalanced. A sudden kick to his knee sent him crashing to the ground. Again.
"You must keep your balance at all times. Control your body, then you can control your blade. Get up and correct it."
Peter rolled to his feet, ignoring his body's protest, and assumed a guard stance. Just do it properly, Peter thought to himself, and I will not spend all my time on the ground.
Twisting his sword to block a blow meant to sever his head from his shoulders, the blades met with a clang of steel. Retreating with the next parry adequately defended his side. The armsmaster pressed Peter back; the boy danced out of distance of the horizontal cut to his abdomen and blocked an attack to his head. Back where we were, Peter thought. Trickling moisture between his shoulder blades itched under the padded shirt he was wearing, distracting Peter momentarily.
Ompff.
Peter fell to his knees as the oxygen was driven from his body in a violent rush.
"What did you do wrong?" That incessant voice could not be denied. Darn.
"I became distracted," Peter wheezed, "and you so kindly pointed it out with a fist to my gut."
Algaron's face twisted into a parody of a smile. "At least you have fight in you, if nothing else. Control, Peter, you must control yourself before all else. Until that happens, you have lost to your opponent before you have even begun."
Peter nodded; it was not the first time Algaron had told him that. Taken the offered hand, Peter got to his feet and considered his teacher. No one knew what type of creature Algaron was, and the Master was notoriously closed mouth on that subject. He was in Aslan's favor, however, and that was good enough for Narnians. Taller than Peter by both head and shoulders, he superficially resembled a man with two arms and two legs. His face was severe, with a pointed nose that had been broken too many times in the past, framed by long dark hair that was forever trying to escape the leather throng that bound it.
It was not his appearance, however, that earned him his current position. It was his proficiency with arms, especially his favored three-prong spear, and unnatural speed. The loss of one eye forced him to accept his current station. Rumor had it he lost his eye in the early resistance to the Witch, a stray arrow or perhaps a Vulture. Regardless, Algaron was absent from the battlefield these days and presided over the training salle of Cair Paravel as king and emperor to his students.
Even when said student was the High King.
Peter forced his wandering thoughts back to Algaron. From this angle, Peter could see the single nostril at the end of the Master's sharp nose. Earthman of some sort, Peter mused absently.
"Peter! For the love of Aslan, boy, pay attention. It is a wonder you don't slice off your own ear." Algaron narrowed his eye at the boy in front of him. "What is on your mind that has so captured your concentration?"
"Nothing, Master Algaron."
"For three mornings you have given me this excuse. Am I to believe that you truly have nothing betwixt your ears, and that is the cause of your poor performance?"
Peter studied the tops of his dusty boots, considering how much to tell his teacher.
"I am finding it difficult to clear my head of thoughts in order to focus on training," Peter allowed eventually. The Master waited patiently for him to elaborate, but Peter was silent.
"Perhaps you are feeling overwhelmed?" Algaron offered finally. Peter shrugged, as mute on the subject as he had been all week. "Is this a human thing?"
Peter gave a half-smile at the unexpected teasing of his teacher.
"Maybe it is a Peter thing?"
The smiled slipped off his face. It did not go unnoticed by Algaron. Realizing he would get nothing from Peter, Algaron lifted his blade into a salute, ending the session. Peter returned the gesture, exiting the salle as soon as the practice equipment was stored and studiously ignoring the worried gaze of Master Algaron.
—oo0O0oo—
The sun was fully above the horizon by the time Peter reached the beach. Because it was a Blue Day, there were no general petitions to be heard, and Peter had two free marks before he was required to be the High King. Gold Days were for petitions and Red Days for special sessions. Simple, but necessary, the distinctions prevented the Royal Court from being inundated by appeals, especially in the early days of the new rule.
With the summer solstice less than a month away, the Pevensie siblings had not long been ruling Narnia and were quickly finding their new positions required a bit more than sitting in four thrones. Without a true ruler for so long, Narnia had no foundation for a ruling structure. Rediscovering laws and traditions, establishing a system of governing and dealing with renegades still loyal to the White Witch offered the royal siblings a true trial by fire. The Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve were learning, but it was a steep curve.
It's not as though I'm not tired enough to sleep properly, Peter thought as he set off at a jog along the water's edge. Between the demands for a standard system of barter, the demands for roads and equally vehement protests against roads, the state of the army and planning for any possible natural disaster, an hour of council gives me more than enough reason to put my head down and sleep. So what is it that bothers me into such a distracted state of mind that I can't find restful sleep?
Peter settled into a rhythm as he ran, the shifting of the sand beneath his feet giving his already weary body something to focus on while his thoughts raced. He ran every Blue Day, quickly realizing that privacy was a luxury to be hoarded. For three nights now he had slept, only to wake more tired than before with the fringes of dreams taunting him. Something he should remember, something important, but something that remained illusive.
We're dealing with the most critical issues and trying to set precedents for future occurrences; there isn't anything that has changed in the last few days…perhaps that's my problem: now there's time to take a breath instead of just being reactionary, and I cannot remember what that's like. Peter mentally shook his head and allowed himself to sink deeper into the movement of his body. The sound of the waves crashing filled his ears, and he cleared his mind to allow the sound of Narnia to fill his being. Gulls screamed overhead and salt from the ocean clung to his skin; the High King let himself be filled with the music that seemed to come from Narnia itself. The cliffs at the bend in the beach grew closer, and Peter felt a note of disharmony in the Narnian song. With a sudden, inexplicable feeling of wrongness Peter forced himself back to present in time to see a flash of fur and the ivory of teeth bared.
Without further warning, a body collided with his, knocking him backwards. His own body reacted to the threat, twisting away and using the foe's momentum to spin him around. With a sudden clarity he only experienced during battle, Peter brought a forearm against the creature's neck as he rolled and groped for the dagger in his boot with his free arm. Hind legs scrambled to find purchase against his legs. Thank Aslan for training leathers, a detached portion of Peter's brain noted. A snap of jaws and a streak of fire on his shoulder distracted Peter from trying to find the dagger long enough to aim a punch to the side of the creature—a wolf, judging from the size and fur. Another rapid punch in the same spot and an involuntary noise from the assailant told Peter he'd struck a soft spot. Peter went for his boot and, with a colorful word to whoever made the boot sheath so tight, retrieved the dagger. As Peter brought the weapon up to stab the wolf, the heavier creature dug his nails into the boy's side and flipped him over, effectively pinning the king in the wet sand.
"Death to the unlucky king," the wolf growled, lowering his snout threateningly toward Peter's face.
Peter struggled beneath the wolf, thoughts racing through his head as he considered his options. Before he could make a move (or have his throat ripped out, the detached part of his brain traitorously suggested), a horn blasted in the distance. Using the distraction, Peter freed the hand with the dagger and managed to graze the wolf, just as an incredible wave slammed into both combatants.
The weight of the wolf lifted from his chest, and Peter inhaled gratefully, only to choke on salt water and sand. The water withdrew unnaturally fast; rolling onto his side, Peter had enough time to realize the ground was shaking before he was unceremoniously yanked into a sitting position. He could hear yelling and military orders being issued, as well as his own name, but the roaring in ears made it seem very far away. Trying to wipe the salt water from his eyes only succeeded in getting more sand in them. Frustrated Peter tried to speak, which only resulted in more coughing and someone banging on his back. The waning adrenalin making his thoughts jumbled, the High King couldn't help but think this had to be the most undignified position he had been in since assuming the throne.
"Peter!" The persistent voice could not be ignored for much longer.
"Ed," Peter croaked. "Knock it off."
The pounding on his back ceased and then a cloth was wiping his face. Breathing under control, Peter squinted into the concerned face of his brother.
"I can do it." Peter snatched the cloth. Exasperation chased fear across Edmund's face, and the younger king sat back on his heels to watch his older brother. But the aftereffects of combat had seized the High King; hands started to shake, and fire erupted along his torso.
"Whatever you say, Pete," Edmund commented dryly.
"Your Majesties," Oreius, Commanding General of the Narnian Army, was making his way toward them. The boys looked up toward the enormous centaur, grateful when he was close enough to cast a shadow over the brothers. "The assailant has fled; I sent a squadron after him. King Peter, how do you fare?"
Peter half-smiled at Oreius's protocol-perfect inquiry. It probably galled him to have to inquire, rather than demand to know what happened.
Edmund had already cataloged his brother's injuries and was pleased to see a Healer in blue making her way down the beach. Answering for his brother, "King Peter needs a Healer's ministrations immediately. However, we also need to know what happened."
Peter sighed at the inevitability of being fussed over, but was willing to admit having a bit of willowbark to dim the pain wouldn't be entirely terrible.
"I was running. Then I was attacked. We fought. You came." Peter gave a one-shouldered shrug. Twisting around to the water, "Thank you for your assistance," he told the Ocean Spirit.
The vaguely man-shaped form bowed and then flowed back into the pattern of waves. Turning back to an unimpressed Oreius and Edmund, Peter grimaced and gave them the details they needed to know.
Slightly out of breath, Peter concluded his narrative just as the Healer and entourage arrived. A frowning Oreius nodded once and moved off to consult with other military leaders. Edmund pulled Peter against him; too tired to protest, Peter sank into his brother.
"See? I told you, you should only run if you're being chased," Edmund shifted so he could take more of his brother's weight. "This whole 'running to clear your head' thing is complete nonsense; why can't you go for a ride like normal people?"
" 'm sorry, Your Royal Highness," Peter said, the sarcastic reply losing its effect as the older boy broke off into coughs.
"Stay where you are," the Healer barked as Edmund made a move to help his brother. The Healer knelt over the brothers, inspecting Peter with a single-minded determination. At length, she turned and gave a list of orders to two nearby assistants, one of whom was a cheetah, who leapt off toward the castle.
"Back to Cair Paravel immediately," the Healer stated shortly, as she spread a paste over the worst of the wounds. The bleeding temporarily staunched, she nodded to Algaron, who had been lingering unnoticed at the edge of the crowd. Sheathing his blade, the arms master came over and lifted Peter up without so much as a 'by your leave'.
"I can walk."
"I'm sure you can, your Majesty."
"I can be walking now."
"Yes, my King."
"You could put me down."
"I could, my King"
"I could order you to."
"Yes, milord, you could."
"Would that have any effect?"
"I would not presume to know the future, my King."
"You're infuriating."
Somewhere behind him, Edmund was laughing. Correction, Peter thought, this is the most undignified position I've been in.
With a purely internal sigh, Peter realized he was being placed on a horse.
"I should have figured you would be a part of this," he said, looking down at the ears of his mount. Swiveling his head around, Philip, Edmund's friend and principal mount, replied, "It is an honor, King Peter."
Realizing there was no way around it, Peter resigned himself to more humiliation, followed by fussing. I could have had my throat ripped out and saved myself the trouble…
Setting off at a snail's pace, the entire group began the trip back to Cair Paravel. Halfway back, Peter gave up all pretenses of riding and clung to the saddle, trusting Philip to not let him fall. By the time they reached the path leading up to the castle, Peter was acutely aware of Oreius and Edmund on either side of him. By the time he could see Lucy standing at the entrance, he was ready to swallow whatever the healers wanted him to have.
But not whatever Lucy wanted him to have.
"No, Lucy," he said by way of greeting. The Fireflower juice was in her hands. Seeing her unnaturally white face framed by frowning brows he hastened to explain, "Really, Lu, it's fine; I'm sure whatever rumors have made their way up here are worse than it really is." He tried to smile reassuringly at her.
Queen Lucy, youngest of the siblings, looked to Edmund inquiringly. Sighing explosively, Edmund unexpectedly came to Peter's aid. "I don't think we need it, Lucy, but keep it nearby."
Lucy made a face at both her brothers but remained silent. The healer came to reapply the salve to Peter's torso then gave him something vile to drink. By the time Algaron had lifted him down, High King Peter had drifted into welcoming darkness.
—oo0O0oo—
"How could this have happened?"
"It's always a risk, even in Narnia."
"That's not an answer."
Voices, familiar and comforting, drifted around him.
"I've already told you everything I know; I need to get back to the War Council."
"They won't decide anything further until he wakes up."
"Yes, but they'd have to do without my charming demeanor." That was Ed. And the other was Susan. Why was his head so…swimmy? Worse than imbibing too much Dwarven ale.
"He's waking up!"
Lucy. Well, if I feel this muddled at least someone managed to keep her from wasting her Gift. The other voices fell silent, and Peter could hear the rustling of cloth as someone stood up.
"Peter?" Edmund, once again, could not be ignored.
"Yes?" Petered opened his eyes, feeling them tear against the sudden light as he tried to make out his brother's face.
"How are you feeling?" Susan's worried face edged out Edmund.
"Fi—thirsty," Peter altered his answer mid-word at a glance from Susan. Susan's face disappeared from his line of sight. A smaller hand tugged on his, and he moved his head to see Lucy's smiling face.
"You should've let me," she chastised gently. "As it is, you've received quite a few lacerations, the most worrisome in your side, though the Healers have decided you will live. You're shirt, or what's left of it, is another story. And you should have know better than to try to breathe the water that came to your rescue!" Her teasing tone drew a smile from Peter. Susan returned with a cup of water that Peter eagerly accepted.
"What time is it? What's happened?" Peter asked trying to sit up. Edmund held him in place with a hand.
"Don't try it, or you'll be drugged again." Rolling his eyes in an un-king-like manner, Peter consented.
"Nothing, really, and it is not even noon," Susan explained. "We called a War Council, but beyond the preliminary work of tracking the assassin, the council wanted to wait for your input."
Peter winced at the term, assassin, but couldn't argue it.
"None of the known militant groups have claimed responsibility. Our spies are working to gather information from the most likely factions, but no one seems to be behind the attack," Susan continued, smoothing her skirts in an unconscious gesture.
"Single, random event?" Peter asked.
"Possible, but not probable," Edmund answered, "More likely some new extremist group, a holdout of the Witch's regime."
Peter sighed; this was not what they needed right now. "Until they make another move, assuming they do, it will be difficult to know what we are dealing with."
His siblings nodded, each lost in their own thoughts. Edmund rose from his seat. "I'll inform the more dramatic members of the court that you are not only not on your deathbed, but you're awake and making as much sense as you ever do. Can I tell the Council something official from you? Make it sound Peter-like so they'll believe me, and no, you cannot go yourself."
Pulling a face that made Lucy giggle, Peter responded, "I want updates on the search for the assassin; use the trees and birds as necessary. Collect data on any complaints, pockets of unrest, rumors, etc of those who might be sympathetic to the Witch, especially anything that has surfaced in the last two weeks. I want to know if there has been a shift in location of the fringe groups, or anything to suggest a new leader. Narnia will be home to all who wish to live in harmony, as Aslan intended. We will not suffer malcontents to endanger the lives of those inhabitants." The High King had spoken.
"That should do." Edmund grinned and left the room.
The girls exchanged smiles. "You should rest, Peter."
"Susan…"
"Rest of your own volition or the healers will be in here," Susan warned, leaning over to kiss his forehead. "Please, Peter, we've had enough excitement for one day, and it isn't even time for the noon meal."
In the face of his sister's concern, Peter relented. Satisfied, Susan took her leave.
"Mr. Tumnus gave me the most wonderful book about Narnian legends of humans," Lucy voice was muffled as she bent over looking for something on the table beside the bed. "You will never believe what it says about us…" Listening to Lucy's voice, Peter drifted off again, wondering if Lucy hadn't figured out some Narnian magic to lull him to sleep.
—oo0O0oo—
Author's note: Next chapter to be posted in a few days (approximately seven chapters total). Thanks for reading! -Narelena