2. – The Beginning of Winter


Once Lucy had left the orchard, she stopped dead in her tracks, dumbfounded by the sudden change in atmosphere. The sounds of birds singing and the rushing sound of a river surprised her, and suddenly she realised that there had been almost no sound at all within the garden. It had been as if the Phoenix was the only living being in there. The air outside was also different. It did not smell quite as sweet, and as she looked around she realised why.

Where it had been a warm and dozy summer day within the walls, outside it seemed to be late autumn. There were no flowers, the grass seemed to be on the verge of withering and the leaves on the few trees within sight had turned orange and brown. Confused she turned to look back through the gate, only to find it closed behind her.

Frowning she looked around the outside, trying to decide exactly where in Narnia she was. The bird had said that the Garden was located at its border, but which one? It could not be the eastern one, for there was Cair Paravel and the ocean. Neither could it be to the south, where Telmar was, for she knew those places well. It might be the northern border, but she doubted it. The plants and the landscape did not look like it would have in the north. So she wagered that it must be close to the western border, quite possibly within the Western Wild.

A shiver ran through her when the sun passed behind a cloud, the nightgown being not nearly enough to keep her warm in the shadow. She smiled when the cloud passed and the sun hit her again. Then she frowned once more. She would be hard pressed to find shelter before dark, and she would need some, less she wanted to catch her death out here.

The thought of illness brought her eyes to the silver apple in her hand.

Just one bite would keep her well, she thought. Just one bite- What could it hurt? Her mouth watered and her stomach growled, but she bit the inside of her cheek and looked away. She would not eat it, it was not for her. She wished bitterly in that moment that she had had a pocket. If only she did not have to carry it in her hand, so easily lifted to her mouth, it would have been so much easier for her not to give into temptation.

She shook her head, clearing it, and once again she felt the fullness of the spring water. It helped her to resist tasting the silver fruit.

The Garden was placed on top of a hill, covered in grass and a few trees. The hill was surrounded with mountains on all sides, except for the east, where she could see nothing, but a wide mountain pass. Through it ran a river that seemed to have sprouted from the hill. Perhaps it had the same spring as the fountain within the Garden.

She decided to follow the river. Rivers usually lead to people, and people could help her get to Cair Paravel and they could tell her what year it was, who ruled and if any trouble was at foot. And if she truly was in the Western Wild, the river could very well be the Great River if it ran on long enough and in that case it would lead her into well known territory. In fact, it would lead her to where the Beaver's Dam used to be, (Now the location of the castle of the Telmarin Kings), and through the Western Woods, where Mr. Tumnus used to live.

Perhaps she would find help in Caspian's old castle. She could not know, not without knowing how many years had passed.

She ran beside the river, trying to keep from worrying and trying to keep her thoughts away from the apple.

Its sweet smell filled her nose with every breath she took.

So for hours she forced herself to continue running.

She slowed to a walking pace when she began to tire, looking around for some place to spend the night. The effects of the water from the fountain had worn off some hours ago, leaving her doubly tempted to eat from the apple. Her cheeks had been bitten bloody as she had tried to distract herself and her stomach sloshed uncomfortably because she had decided to fill it with the cool river water. It was clean enough, this close to the source, but it had done little to ward off her hunger. Constantly she felt the apple in her hand. Constantly she smelled it. Constantly she had to bite her lip, cheek or tongue to keep from tasting it. When even that did not help, she forced herself to remember the time where she had tried using a spell to make herself beautiful and how Aslan had reacted. The shame of that episode had this far been strong enough for her to keep her determination.

But as she continued walking and as her shoes began to gnaw at her heels, she began wondering. Just one bite. What would it hurt really? Aslan would not mind, it could not be his will that she should starve and hurt-

Each time the thoughts started, she battled them away.

She thought of Edmund almost dying, back when they first came to Narnia after the final battle with the White Witch. His wounds at the first battle of Beruna had been horrible and would have killed him without the juice of the fire flower and Aslan's blessing. She thought of Aslan's sacrifice upon the stone table. She thought of all the people who died there and the many more who fell at the war of Deliverance where Caspian fought his uncle to free the Narnians. Still, she had to fight not to dig into the apple with her nails and lick the juice from her fingertips.

Just one tiny bite her thoughts continued to whisper.

She followed the river over plains of withered grass, resting between the mountains. Then she followed it to the edge of a cliff, creating a vertical wall from which the river fell as a roaring waterfall into a large lake at the bottom of the cliff side. There she stopped to stare, for standing at the edge, but a step from a deadly fall, she could see almost all of Narnia.

Lucy felt tears rise to her eyes.

Beneath her she saw the Cauldron Pool,- she had been right in assuming the river to be the Great River,- further towards the north she saw the treetops of the Western Woods, straight ahead stretched the plains between the Great River and the Telmar River and further out she could see the great Frozen Lake, unfrozen as it had yet to become winter.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself before she studied the face of the cliff side. It was almost flat, but there seemed to be a ledge forming a path some of the way down. She could not see if it continued all the way to the ground, far, far below, but she had little choice. If she could not make it down this way, she would have to pass through the mountains, something that would surely kill her dressed as lightly as she was and with no weapons or tools. Falling from this vertical cliff side would kill her too, though. She might survive if she went down with the waterfall, but that was also highly unlikely as the force of the water would slam her to the bottom, which might make it impossible for her to get back up to the surface. She would most likely drown and definitely lose the apple.

The sun however, was about to go down and she knew that she would have little time to get down before she lost the light. Deciding that a night in the cold was preferable to falling to her death trying to climb the cliff in darkness, she looked around to see if she could find shelter anywhere.

There were no trees she could sleep beneath within view, nor did there seem to be any sort of caves or the like. To be true, she had little choice but to sleep on the plain, amongst the withered grass. So apple in hand, she set out to collect as much grass as she could, building herself a little nest on the ground. She made sure that she was far enough from the cliff's edge, not to have to worry about it.

Then she laid down, pulled her legs up and hugged her arms to her chest like a puppy. Slowly she drifted into sleep, too tired and her body too exhausted to do much of anything else. The autumn air was cool, but in the last light of the dying sun she did not feel it.


.o.O.o.


"Thirteen sacrifices on the stones!" howled the werewolf towards the sky as he stood tall above the tied up leopard, lifting the stone knife high up over his head. "Thirteen sacrifices to call upon her name!" the mad creature cried, foam flying from its wide mouth, clinging and dripping from its fangs. Around him, the rest of the dark creatures who had gathered on this moonlit night yelled in ecstatic madness.

"Let it be done!" they yelled, screamed and howled. "Let it be done!"

The beast howled once more as his companions stomped and clapped and cheered. Then he threw his starved body forward, plunging the stone blade into the heart of the leopard beneath him, growling with pleasure as the feline whimpered. Deep red blood flowed from the wound and the cat shivered once, before entering death's cold grasp.

"Jadis." the werewolf called, his voice barely a whisper.

And from the stone knife in its chest, frost began to spread. Ice frosted its pelt and moved over the ground, reaching for the trees around the clearing where evil beasts had drawn together. The blood flowing from the leopard froze too, becoming black and hard, before rising up above the corpse. By unspoken orders, it shaped itself till it had the form of a tall, majestic woman. Then it seemed to explode, black spikes of ice shooting out between the collected creatures. Some, they hit. Others were left unscathed.

In the middle of the carnage stood a woman, white as freshly fallen snow, and every bit as terrifying as all legends had lead them to believe. Every bit as imposing and horrible. And every bit as beautiful if not even more so.

Her emotionless eyes fell upon the werewolf who had sacrificed thirteen great cats to free her from the ice where Aslan had bound her.

"You." she said, her voice both freezing and scorching. "What is your name?"

The wolf covered before her, performing an ungraceful bow.

"I am Famine, your majesty." he told her, his voice barely a hoarse growl.

"I see. I know you." she smiled at him. "You may serve me, Famine."

She looked around, before pointing her long pale finger at an old and ragged woman.

"And you?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"I am Plague, your majesty." the woman said, cackling. "And I am at your service once more."

The queen smiled, finding that her faithful servants had remained loyal. At last she turned to the large black Minotaur standing somewhat on the edge of the group, as if the rest of the gathered creatures had drawn away from him instinctively. His black armour shone matte in the night, his horns tipped with steel to ensure the most damage possible, should he choose to use them. His eyes were red like newly shed blood and on his back was a giant claymore, wrapped in pelts from various Narnian animals he had killed for sport.

"And you, my General?" the Queen asked, her voice honey sweet.

"I am war." the bull answered. "And I will be at your command."

The dark creatures howled with joy at the return of their queen. None of them cared that their own comrades lay dying from the ice missiles, and none of them noticed the tiny shadow fleeing beneath the bushes, running off to report back to his leader. They continued their joyful celebration as frost crept over the ground, spreading throughout all of Narnia.


.o.O.o.


When Lucy woke, she found that she could barely move. During the night her body heat had slowly left her as the air cooled around her, making her limbs stiff and numb. Crying with pain, she forced them to move, stretching her bended legs despite the burning pain that followed the motion. She was covered in tiny crystals where the evening dew had turned to frost. Sitting up, she started swinging her arms back and forward, trying to get her blood flowing. Burning tears ran down her frozen cheeks. As soon as she could move her arms well enough, she began rubbing her hands against her shoulders. She needed to get her blood running. The day before had not seemed cold enough for there to fall frost like this! And though the leaves on the trees were orange and brown, they did not look to be so far along for winter to be arriving.

Horrified she looked at fingers, adrenalin making it easier for her to move as she franticly kicked and rubbed and did everything to get her body warmed up again. Her nails where blue and black, her fingertips a dark purple and even as pain raked her body and her skin burned, they remained void of any sensation.

Heaving sobs of panic made it hard for her to breathe as she tried clenching her hands into fists, anything to get her fingers moving.

When she finally managed to bend them, her panicked sobs turned to cries of relief. Slowly she got her blood running, but as she did so, shivers began to take over her body so that her teeth clattered so hard that she tasted blood.

She forced her tired muscles to help her stand, crying from the pain it caused her, and cursed herself for not having taken the chance at the cliff the evening before. She stomped around the place she had been sleeping, continuing to wave and swing her arms, letting her blood run all the way to her fingertips. The pain was excruciating. As her skin started to thaw, it broke, blood running down her arms, shoulders and hands, staining her nightgown red.

That was the moment where her eyes found the silver apple.

It was laid in the midst of her collected grass, shining silver in the first light of the morning.

One bite would take away her pain and make sure that her fingers would not be permanently damaged. One bite. Just one.

She crumbled to the ground, on her knees, her sobs having turned into quiet tears. For all of her visits to Narnia she had never felt this cold and hurt, nor this alone. Not when Peter lost her in the river and she had to fight to get back to shore, for her siblings had been there when she managed it. And back then she had had a warm fur coat to wrap around herself.

On all her other adventures in this magical land, her family had been there too.

But this time Aslan had called her alone, and left her far from anything as could get.

Still shivering she hugged herself, staring at the apple.

Then she took a deep breath, reached out and picked it up with clumsy fingers. It felt warm against her skin, something that struck her as strange and somewhat reminded her of how Aslan's breath felt.

She bit her cheek, shook her head, and laid the apple on the ground. Then she tore at her nightgown, ripping the lower cloth off and leaving it at a length that left her legs bare. The now loose cloth she tied around her waist like a belt, folded so that a pocket was made. She put the apple in that pocket, before rising to her feet once again and drying away her tears.

She still could not feel her fingertips, but she could open and close her hands and that would have to be enough for climbing down. At least the pain kept her from feeling her hunger.

When she had come to Narnia with her siblings, and later her cousin, she had been a child. She had needed them to do things that she could not because of her limited size and experience. Few Narnians would have followed her into battle the way they did Peter, or given her their trust the way they had Susan. Even Edmund had been older and seemed more reliable than she when they first arrived. No, her strength had been in winning the hearts of the people with her innocence.

Now she had returned as an adult and alone.

She walked to the cliff, considering whether to remove her stiff and English shoes before beginning to climb. She decided against it as she was still shivering and hurting all over. She might lose the feeling in her fingertips, and she would not risk what was left of her toes. At least she could feel those, burning and hurting within their leather prisons.

She continued to where she remembered the ledge being, considering its width for just a second before starting the descend down it.

At first it was wide enough for her to walk normally, but soon she had to go sideways instead, her back against the cliff. Her feet felt heavy like blocks of ice, and even though she trailed her fingers against the wall of the cliff, she could barely feel where she touched and already she had several scrapes on her fingers from the rough stone. The apple bobbed against her hip every time she took a step, assuring her that she had not lost it.

Although her face was turned out towards the view of Narnia below her, she could not bring herself to focus on it. Instead she looked to gage how far the ledge would allow her to descend and whether or not it was stable beneath her feet. As she continued down the limited path, she felt her legs and arms shaking from over exertion. Perhaps her muscles had taken too much damage from the cold to function properly without time and warmth to heal. Her head hurt, and her stomach was past the point of growling.

From time to time a pebble or a stone would loosen and fall, threatening to crumble the ledge beneath her and sending adrenalin pumping through her blood. She welcomed it, for it brought warmth with it, something she was in desperate need of. The sun had climbed the horizon, but still frost lingered everywhere on the ground.

"White." Lucy whispered, breathing hard. Her muscles were trembling though she had barely made it ten feet down. It must be the after effect of her cool down. Her vision was beginning to become blurry as well. Hunger, her mind whispered. Fever.

The waterfall roared, plunging straight down to the lake bellow.

One bite of the apple would warm her, she knew. One bite would remove her hurts and leave her full and healthy. One bite.

Staring down, she looked at the Cauldron Pool below.

If she fell into its waters, she would most likely die. If the air was this cold, surely the water would be even more so. The fall alone could kill her for she felt as if she was standing on top of a skyscraper. Though she doubted that the cliff was truly as high as one of the tall London buildings, she had no doubt that it was tall enough to kill. A dizzy spell hit her like a hammer to the forehead, and she had to cling to the side of the cliff for several minutes before it cleared even a little bit.

She knew that she would fall. Her fevered head told her so.

If she wanted to live she would have to take a bite of the silver apple, despite the bird's warning. It would not be truly selfish, would it? To heal herself with a fruit that could save others? Just one bite.

But in her heart she felt that it would indeed be selfish and instead of trying to follow the ledge down any further, she threw herself from it, trying to make it so that she would land as far from the lake's shore as possible, in the middle of its waters. This way, the depth of the water might serve to save her.

And so she fell, leaving behind only a faint whisper.


.o.O.o.


The proud company of mice held their tails high as they marched into the throne room, bowing deeply for their king.

Caspian suppressed a smile at the sight. Even though he held the mice in his highest regard, he still found it incredible that such small creatures, though bigger than normal mice, could hold so much pride within them.

Rapachap, who had taken over the position as the leader of the mice after Reepicheep went to Aslan's country, stepped forward.

"Your majesty." he said, his voice serious and his whiskers stiff. Something something must have scared him for him to look like that. "As soon as we heard of the trouble in the north, and the missing scouts, we went to see if a daring rescue was required or perhaps a bold scouting to assure that no enemies had stepped upon the ground of Narnia."

Caspian nodded, despite his surprise. He was ashamed to realise that he had forgotten that the mice where a resource he could draw upon if needed, but to be fair, they were small and perhaps easily overseen because of it. This quality and their size would make them excellent spies, if their honour would have allowed for it. Caspian knew they would do spy if he asked them, but he would not force them to go against their nature in such a way and so he would never ask. It was this very fact that had made the mice run north. They would do anything for a king such as Caspian who respected them and their honour almost as much as they respected each other. Caspian had no knowledge of this though, and therein lay the reason for his surprise.

"Your efforts are welcomed." Caspian told the mouse, knowing how much they appreciated true courtly behaviour and way of speaking. "Tell me, what did you find in the north to startle you so?" he asked Rapachap.

Rapachap bowed his head in sorrow.

"My scout, Rikeety, went into the Ettinsmoor hills, close by the old ruins of the Witch's castle.- If you would allow him to speak, Sire?" Rapachap asked, his whiskers stiff as ever.

Caspian nodded his approval and Rikeety stepped forward, making a quick and courtly bow before beginning his tale.

"I found there a forest whereto dark creatures flocked." he told the king and the assembled advisors, before describing how the werewolf had sacrificed the leopard to summon forth the White Witch.

Caspian felt sick at the mention of Famine and Plague, remembering all too well the time where he had almost freed the Witch himself, back when he battled his uncle. At that time it had been a werewolf and a wicked old witch who had come to him with honeyed tongues, claiming a salvation to all of his troubles and an end to war. Fear made his heart beat faster, but he did his best to hide it. He would have to appear calm, so as to not spread panic.

"In the end, I am afraid I had to retreat to report all of this back to you, your Majesty, or I would have jumped to kill the Witch where she stood should it be the death of me." Rikeety ended his story.

Caspian did not doubt that the mouse would have attacked the White Witch, had he not had to warn his king. The mice where so brave it could be called stupidity.

"I am grateful for your return and your news." he told Rikeety, before addressing all of the mice. "As am I for your most honourable work, you may very well have saved countless lives by bringing us words of the White Witch's return." he smiled at them. "So please, do not be so hasty in wanting to throw away your lives. Narnia has need of you yet, and I would grieve to lose such loyal warriors."

The mice bowed to him yet again,- Did they never tire of doing so?- their whiskers shivering with pride and pleasure at his words. If possible, they held their tails even higher than before.

Caspian rose from his throne, noting the three empty ones as he did so. Yet again he wondered how he alone was supposed to do what had taken four regents to do in the past. But then he looked out at his assembled court, the leaders of his country, his advisors, his generals and his friends. He was not alone, he realised.

He straightened his back.

"A time of war is coming." he told the people in his throne room. "If the legends of the White Witch are accurate, she will be an enemy much tougher than my uncle and the evil that roamed the seven islands. Her armies will be of our own people, unlike the human armies of our neighbouring countries. We will not have peace from her as easily as we did with them."

He was met with serious faces, some showing worry and concern, others pale with fear. Even the new Narnians (earlier Telmarins) who had been raised not to believe in magic and old Narnians, had seen and learned enough over the last couple of years to know that magic was in fact real and dangerous. And beautiful, he reminded himself, thinking of all the magical creatures and things he had seen on his adventures.

"Lord Astavit, you will prepare the storages. If we shall battle, we shall do so well fed.- Send as many men as we can spare to help with the harvest." Caspian ordered, turning to Drinian, the commanding officer in his army. "Drinian, ready the soldiers. Start training camps for any young or old who would join our armies. Lady Goldstream, if you'd please send out declarations to all towns and runners to the forest dwellers? Make sure that the people are warned, but please, word them carefully. I will not have panic." He took a deep breath collecting his thoughts for a second. Warn the people, ready the armies, make sure the harvest is taken care of- what more? "Generals, honoured council, if you would please meet me in the council's room in an hour's time, so that we may discuss the details of defence?" Then he turned to Trumpkin. "Trumpkin, I know we have lost scouts in the north, but would you send out new ones to keep us updated on the movements of the White Witch?"

Trumpkin nodded.

"As soon as I can, your Majesty." he said formally.

The mice stepped forward once more, Rapachap a few steps in front of the others.

"We would be honoured to, your Majesty." he said. "As we already know where and how to find this wicked witch, it would be the most logical course of action."

Caspian nodded.

"So be it." he agreed. "Thank you, Rapachap. Without you, we would not have had this early warning. You do the mice great honour."

They bowed again, elegant as always.

Caspian turned to the rest of the court.

"I know you have your own grounds and families to take care of, people in your employ and fields to harvest. Go, take care of them and prepare what defence you can. Messengers will be send out as soon as the council and I decide on our next course of action." He gave them all a reassuring smile, only his eyes revealing his concern. After a few seconds of mumbling between them, people left the throne room to see to his orders or prepare for the war council he had summoned. Caspian waited till the hall was almost empty, before taking his leave out the small door behind the thrones.

There he allowed himself a moment of weakness, as he leaned his back against the wall and let his face relax. Worry creased his forehead as he thought of the White Witch. Sometimes he still heard her tempting whispers in his dreams, like the shadow of a nightmare. Then he pulled himself together and hurried through the hidden corridors to the council chamber.

Twice he had gotten the aid of the Kings and Queens of old. First at the Deliverance War, where Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy had answered to his call, summoned by Susan's old horn. How he wished for their council now where he was suddenly about to face their old enemy. High King Peter would have known how to defeat her, while Caspian had no idea. He could only try and have faith in the Great Lion. Like Trumpkin had said that night on the bastion, not yet two weeks past; He could only do his best, pray to Aslan and hope.

So hope he would.

"May Aslan protect us." he said to the loneliness of the abandoned corridor, unknowingly echoing the whisper of a young English woman as she fell towards her death.


.o.O.o.