I have an exam today that has me antsy and nervous - I though as an antidote I'd load up another chapter. Here you go.

Enjoy!


The moment they touched down in Cair Paravel Susan could sense the relief of the witch, finally getting down from the horse. She did have experience in riding, no doubt, but even Caspian was relieved to finally get out of the saddle and touch solid ground once more – ten days on horse-back could do that to you.

She was surprised though, when the witch, turned to the horse and patted it on its' neck, despite her confinements, the queen listened in as the witch gracefully thanked the horse for having carried the two riders – Solomon snorted in response, making the witch smile softly.

Her smile was a curious thing. In the last days, Susan had seen it several times, when the birds chirped, when the villages' children that they passed played in the fields – it appeared that the little things seemed to make the woman happy in a way. The things that Susan would die to protect. The tugging at her lips was small, barely there, but Susan had long but learned that it was the eyes that told all of the stories – the witch had guarded eyes, cold eyes, but in those moments, they softened, allowing a glimpse of hope, a small bit of satisfaction, shine through. It was the witch's smile – a careful smile, but a smile none the less.

As they parted from the horses, Caspian wound the leash back over the neck of the witch, she didn't complain, not even when he tugged to make sure it sat, even though Susan could see the rope digging into the wrists of their prisoner, and slightly at the neck when the King tugged.

Lucy was the first to greet them. In a flurry of red-brown robes she hurled across the court and right into Susan's arms.

"Susan!", she exclaimed happily, allowing the older sister to lift her up and hug her close. She had missed her brothers and her sister – but most of all her sister, the youngest amongst them, the one who enabled them all to see the wardrobe and walk into it, meeting Aslan.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're back. I was all kinds of worried something might happen to you in the forest."

Lucy, on Peter's request, had had to stay back at the Castle with Peter and Edmund, to make sure that nothing would happen – plus, she was the youngest of them, and while she knew how to hold herself in battle, she would always be their youngest; always the one they wanted to protect the most.

As she set Lucy back down, she received hugs of Peter and Edmund as well, but Lucy had already moved on to Caspian and Susan's attention was back to the witch, gauging her next move – if she wanted to harm the Royals, now would be her perfect opportunity, all of them were there and none of them had noticed her.

It seemed to be one of the witch's abilities, to stay unseen even though it was day, but she was silent, and careful in her movements, not hasty, but quick, not abrupt but fluent – people barely noticed her until sometime later, even Reepicheep.

"Who did you bring?", it was Edmund who first noticed their captive – which was little surprising, he had a knack for details, and he was the most vigilant, had to be in his position as General.

"A captive." Caspian replied, tugging carefully at the leash, wordlessly commanding the witch to step forth – she did, without a glare lost at the King. Her head was held high, though not in a snobby way, her whole posture was straight, regal almost. "A Witch.", the King continued.

Susan could feel the change in Edmund, the sudden rigidity in his back, the tensing of his shoulders, the fisted hands. Edmund had little reason to trust a witch, more so than any of them – he had fallen for them once, he had made an effort to repay them for his treason, but it still weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Although before he could even make a step towards their captive, a smooth, deep voice interrupted him.

"Ah, Hermione." The witch in question turned, the smile – again – in her eyes, slightly tugging at her lips, but she didn't let it bloom on her face, as Aslan stepped into the court. Susan smiled openly – he looked every ounce the lion he had always been, the King Of Animals. His mane was as golden as always, his eyes dark and deep, full of love. "I had wondered when I would finally get to see you.", he said by way of greeting, butting her hands.

And, as if she had never feared lions, least of all speaking lions, the witch's hands crept forward, scratching him behind the ears – like a cat. The lion grumbled pleasantly in his chest.

"I have to admit, it took me all the way from the Dark Forest to realize where I had heard your name before.", she said in that quiet, melodic voice of hers. Susan only stared – if Aslan trusted her, she knew there was little reason to not trust her. After all, he was their protector, the protector of all of Narnia, his reason never failed. "But then, I wasn't sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, was I? Godric…"

Brushing over the face of the lion, Susan could see the witch's eyes leaking sorrow, great sorrow, hurt and pain, but it was gone the moment she had seen it. Aslan hummed low in his throat. "It has been a long time since I last walked your world going by that name." he said contemplatively.

The witch released a sort of 'hn' in her throat, a chuckle almost – the closest to a smile or a laugh she had seen her coming in the last ten days. "Indeed." She answered. "Over nine-hundred years now, soon a millennium." She responded. "Why am I here?" the witch then asked quietly.

The lion, butting her nose against her hands, vanished the ropes from her, and Susan watched as the witch rubbed her wrists, affirming the queen's suspicion that they had been constricting, painful and would probably leave scars, but the witch had not once uttered a word of complaint, had not once asked them to loosen them, she had simply accepted her fate.

Edmund, next to her, had still not loosened his stance, but Aslan turned and the witch followed – and so did the rest of them, curious about this new-comer.

"Our world, dearest… has been saved, as you know." Susan could not see the face of the woman, could not observe her emotions – it was a little disconcerting, but she trusted Aslan, and the witch had her back turned towards them, a more trusting gesture for someone who had been at war could not exist, they could kill her right now, but everyone knew they wouldn't.

"Yes. He fulfilled his prophecy – Riddle is gone."

"Why have you come here then, if not from fleeing from your war?", the lion asked, gentleness in his words.

"I…" she sought for words, but it was the first time that she did not find them… or maybe, did not want to say them in front of so many witnesses. They had arrived in the throne room, where Peter and Edmund instantly made for their thrones, as did Lucy – Susan and Caspian followed them, leaving the Lion to settle down on the plush, vermillion carpet, the witch next to him, unbothered by the fact that she did not have a chair. "You are aware, why – I suppose. I will not say the words."

There was harshness in her tone, defensiveness, and as Susan sat on her throne, she could finally see the face of the witch again – it was void, stony like a mask. The lion carefully butted his nose against her thigh, as if apologizing, as if to say that yes he knew, and he was sorry.

"The reason, Hermione, why you are here is because while your world no longer does, we will need you here."

Hurt in her eyes – pain across her face, Susan noticed the flashes of emotion, stored them away along with the words. How could a warrior not be needed in a land where terror had reigned? Where a war had been fought?

The witch regained composure as soon as it had left her – for an experienced warrior, she was still easy to read, but Susan doubted not that when in war there would probably not be a single thing to read from her face, or her eyes.

"Will there be war?", she asked, brokenly – and the queen understood that she may have little desire to fight a war, again, when she had, so obviously, just come from one. This time, the lion raised his head, addressing all of those present.

"In the North, the Giants are drumming, for the war that has been waged in our world, the world I left to remain in Narnia forever, has impacted this world – as it has many others." The witch took the news in stony faced, her eyes telling Susan that she had suspected as much. It must have been a great war to influence so many worlds. "Darkness has descended and the Giants are recruiting, are forging. Here though," he turned to Hermione, "do you have the one power that they fear first and foremost."

Hermione gazed steadily at him. "Witchcraft, you mean."

The lion nodded. "You, my dear, have the power that their first queen held over them… and you have a pact with the fire, if I read you correctly, the one element that is able to disturb their own anchors to the cold they bring with them."

The witch lowered her eyes. "You mean for me to fight this war…"

"Such is the dream I had." The lion responded as if the witch would know what that meant. "A dream of glimpses and faces, and yours at the front. Magic works differently here, I can speak words, but then… it would be the same as the dream."

"A Prophecy then." She mumbled, turning her face to look away, lost in thought. Her riotous curls were so similar to Aslan's mane despite the brown colour, there were leaves in it, streaks of gold and of russet, tangled snares – it looked endearing, though wild and untameable.

"I will." The witch said after a small silence, then. Turning back to look at the lion and then the Kings and Queens, her eyes seeking Susan's – the one person she had the best bond with, Susan understood. "I will fight the war."

"Do you expect something in return?" It was Peter's voice – low and strong, the voice of the High King in all his glory. The witch's eyes strayed to his face, his eyes, but her face betrayed nothing.

"Amnesty – for it might not do me good to be dead before the battle. Otherwise nothing, your majesty."

Aslan, still next to her, nodded sagely and Susan had to admit that with this one request, she had wiggled herself free. She could have asked for a bed, something to eat, gold, or anything else – but that would still have made her food for the people outside of Cair Paravel. But Amnesty would allow her to set foot wherever she wished and still be under their protection. It was a wise thing to ask for – telling.

Peter seemed to think so too, if the quick glance towards her was to go by. "You shall have it." He pronounced, asking a guardian to fetch for an amnesty wristlet – another invention of Edmund, who had soon deemed it unnecessary work to write Amnesty Scrolls for all the Telmarines that had converted; mostly because it had been him to write the Scrolls – plus the wristlet was harder to steal than a scroll.

The guardian returned within moments, the wristlet lying on a plush velvet pillow, handing it over to the High King, who then beckoned the witch closer. Edmund stiffened in his seat, but kept his mouth shut – Susan admired him for his maturity. At twenty-three he was finally getting the hang of it.

While the hot-head of the family was definitely Peter, Edmund was a close second, although Susan had an inkling that hormones were a lot to do with it. Nevertheless she admired his silence, despite his obvious dislike of the new-comer, he had yet to speak a word of disdain towards her.

When the wristlet was secured around the, still, reddened joint of the young woman – which, Susan realized with a pang of guilt, was indeed raw and from the ropes that would, very likely, leave scars – the witch retreated, bowing gracefully to the four of them.

"Where will you be?", Lucy asked carefully then and Susan realized that none of them had thought of that before – she had nowhere to go, after all, no place to be. The witch directed her eyes at the youngest queen, a gentleness pouring from her eyes that Susan had not seen before. Had she been protective of her youngest sister before, in case the witch would try something, she was now assured that the older woman would not harm her – people always tended to be like that with Lucy, she was easy to like, easy to wish to protect.

"I think the borders of the small wood we passed earlier would be a good place to be." She responded kindly, softly in the same tone that the witch had used with Solomon before, a warm and gentle melody.

The small wood she spoke of was barely five minutes from the castle walls – it was a gentle forest, though not large enough to actively host Talking Animals, those resided farther away yet, in the Forest Of Birches; a ten-minute ride from Cair Paravel.

"Would you not like to stay at the Castle?", she asked carefully – bending forth in her seat. From the corners of her eyes, she could see Edmund, still rigid, looking at her, asking himself, probably, if she had dropped from the horse and the fall had impaired her logic.

"Do you think it wise?", the witch asked in return, he tone still gentle, her eyes still soft, but her posture defensive, her shoulders tensed. Aslan stood quietly, shaking his mane and his body – the witch paid him little heed.

"Witches are not very welcome in our world." Susan replied. "You might encounter people and animals that would wish for your demise."

The witch – Hermione, she remembered then – did not loosen her stance, her eyes masked her emotions again, and the small tug of her lips froze for only a second, before she responded. "I have ways to assure that no harm would befall me. But what would your people think if word came around that you are housing a witch?"

Susan had not thought of that yet – indeed, the residents of Cair Paravel would grow suspicious if it was to be known that a witch stayed with them. People needed time to get used to her, and the only way to do that was to assure that they had the possibility to get to know her.

"Then so may it be." She answered. "If it is your wish, then I have no reason to deny you."

The witch, again, bowed gracefully, before leaving the room – Aslan looking after her.


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