Once again, I give Elecktrum the credit for much of this story. The navy idea was hers, I believe, not mine, so Kelsalter belongs to her.

Aisling and Dasher are mine

. . .

"Not quite bushy-tailed this morning, are we, Lieutenant?" Aisling said with a raised eyebrow, watching as Dasher knocked over a set of pikes.

He took a moment to collect himself before answering. "My tail, Captain, is eternally bushy. I put the blame on King Peter's shoulders for my tardiness in joining my bed last night."

"Oh, do you?"

"And if you tell him, I shan't speak to you ever again."

She laughed, moving to leave the armory. "If you train both Dansker and Marti today, perhaps my tongue will stay firmly behind my teeth."

His eyes widened, and she knew his headache had just worsened. "A-aye, Captain," he said, complying anyway.

She smiled. "And here I thought you knew when I was joking, Dash. Take the morning off, you've been working hard this past week."

He returned the smile, his cockiness showing through the relief. "That I have, Captain. I'll see you after a mid-morning lie down."

She left the armory, observing the training grounds in the pale, early morning light. The cloud, she noticed with some discomfort, still lingered. If her eyes didn't deceive her, it was also a might closer, coming from the East. That in itself was concerning, as to the East lay Aslan's Country, and evil from that direction boded no good at all.

"Captain!"

She turned, seeing Oreius trotting towards her. "King Edmund is making for Kellsalter this day and requests that you join him."

She gave a slight bow. "Thank you, General. I'll prepare my horse right away."

He nodded and was about to turn away when she called him back. "General?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"As well as leading the army, it is also your duty to watch the skies, is it not?"

His reply was more of a bow than a nod. "Aye, good Captain," he said solemnly.

She gestured up. "What do you make of that cloud?"

The Centaur's already heavy brow gathered over his eyes. How he managed to look yet more grim impressed Aisling. "Dark times ahead for Narnia."

She nodded. "I was afraid you'd say that."

. . .

By the time Edmund and Aisling reached Kellsalter, it was late in the day and the mass of clouds had traveled still further. The king had made several comments along the way of what good time they'd been making, still bitter about the first trip taking absolute ages. Only Sir Giles and a few Fauns were with them. When the small party emerged on the port, Aisling let the cloud be forgotten for a moment.

In the few years since King Edmund had commissioned the navy (with the encouragement of King Peter), ships had been built and sailors trained in record time. Fifty vessels rested in the port, some being gifts from Galma, and most having been built by Dwarfs and Dryads. Roughly half the fleet was out practicing maneuvers on one another, and though they were miles out, she could hear the shouting from where she sat upon her horse.

"The fruits of our labor," Edmund said proudly, one hand on his hip as he sat tall in the saddle. "What do you think?"

"Very impressive, sire," she told him sincerely.

"Narnia truly is ruled by well-prepared monarchs," said Sir Giles.

"I thank you for the kind words. Of course, the monarchs weren't the only ones with a hand in this."

"No, sire, of course not."

"What's that they're doing now?" Aisling asked.

Edmund peered out over the water and nodded. "Ah, battle training. We've mounted ballistae on the decks of the ships. On their own, they can only do damage to the opposing crew, if they're lucky enough to hit anyone. However, if the bolts are wrapped in flaming rags, there's a lot more damage to be done. For right now, I believe half the crew of each ship is timing their wrapping, while the other half is running firing drills."

She raised her eyebrows. "Clever."

He smirked. "I know."

Sir Giles began asking questions about the ballistae, inquiring after their speed and accuracy. Aisling continued to watch the drills, admiring how the ships cut through the water and circled each other. There was one vessel curiously off to the side, away from the training activities. She was just about to ask what it was doing when she realized what she was looking at. The sails - and, indeed, the entire ship - were black as pitch, as though no color at all existed. "That's not Narnian," she murmured.

"Pardon?" Edmund said.

She looked again at the clouds, which were growing closer all the time. Dark times ahead for Narnia. "Sire, I apologize for the commands," she said, already wheeling her horse about.

"What?" he said, his confusion giving over to concern.

"Send word to the ships to sail for the Cair. I think we're about to be attacked." She didn't wait for a reply, digging her heels into the horse and bolting back the way they'd come.

Through the trees, she kept her eye on the sky, and, if it were possible, she would have sworn the darkness was moving even faster than before. That may have been due to the approaching nightfall, but even that was coming too quickly.

What she found at Cair Paravel was an absolute nightmare.

The shore, normally tranquil and mostly bare, was flooded with creatures, only a few of which being Narnian. The rest looked… dead. Already dead, with horrid faces and grey, mottled flesh. The black ship stood a fair distance away, and, without any longboats, she wondered if they'd somehow walked from there to here. Many of the guards and soldiers had met them on the beach and initiated battle, but things were not going well. Panic encroaching on her heart, Aisling spurred her horse into a gallop once again and raced straight into the entrance hall of Cair Paravel. The massive doors were closed behind her.

"What's happening?"

She looked up the stairs, seeing Queen Lucy gripping the bannister and white-faced. Aisling dismounted in one swift motion and sprinted up the staircase. "My lady, come with me." They're going to get in here, she thought, taking Lucy's arm. They're going to get through.

Queen Susan was not far away, rushing in as though having followed her sister. Before she could ask the question on her lips, Aisling barked, "My lady, with me." With swift strides that were not quite a run, she ushered the queens to their chambers and barred the door. "We're under attack," she said, crossing the room and shutting all the windows.

"Attack! By whom?" Queen Susan exclaimed, holding her sister close.

"As yet, we do not know, highness."

She took a half step forward, never letting go of Lucy. "Then I can help. I've fought before, let me get my bow."

"And I my dagger!" Lucy said.

"Majesties, if the situation were different, trust that I would let you go out there, but right now believe me when I say it's better if you stay here." She stared hard at the queens, hoping her position as guard might give her words some merit.

They didn't like it, but both ladies eventually conceded. "What must we do, then?" Susan asked.

Aisling peered out the window through the curtains. There was a fine view of the shore from here, though on this evening the view was ravaged by the sight of invaders. Her heart was hammering in her throat and she quite thought she'd be sick. As much as Aisling wanted to be prepared for any situation, she was realizing that never having dealt with this before was a drawback that she couldn't help. Her mind raced with panic as she wondered just how to defend the queens entrusted to her care. The dark mass of enemies was steadily pushing its way to the castle steps, and soon they would be within its walls. She had to act quickly.

"Into the closet," she commanded. "Bolt the door."

"The door doesn't lock," Queen Lucy said.

"Bolt it with whatever you can, and no matter what happens, don't make a sound. Go." She shooed them in the direction of the large closet, taking up her place in the middle of the room. The queens, smart as they were, let not even so much as the rustling of gowns be heard. When the invaders burst through the door, Aisling was ready for them.

. . .

High King Peter, in the entrance hall of the castle, was much in the same boat.

Shortly after Aisling had fled with the queens, he'd arrived in full battle dress. He'd never known just how quickly he could don his armor until the need arose. Of course, his valet had been a tremendous help, and was now safely tucked away in a corner of the castle. He held his sword at the ready, standing at the front and center of a score and a half of guards and soldiers. Captain Aisling's second in command, Lieutenant Dasher, was among them.

"Hold your ground," he called clearly as the sounds of battle grew closer. "This will not be pretty."

"It never is, sire," said Lieutenant Dasher.

If they had gotten a bit more warning, if they were just a bit more prepared, the invaders would never have gotten this far. No one would be planning for them to enter the castle, but they'd broken ranks far more quickly than anyone was prepared for. Now, the goal was to not let them up the stairs.

In just a few minutes, the doors burst apart with an almighty crash and the fight spilled into the entryway. With a mighty yell that echoed the ferocity of Aslan Himself, Peter led the charge on the enemy. He was internally shocked at their appearance, the dead bodies that still held a good amount of life in the eyes. What in Aslan's name were these creatures? The normal amount of stabbing didn't seem enough to bring them down, and they were flooding the entrance. In short order, the Narnians would be overrun.

But then, like the rising of the Sun, there was a host of shouting from the back of the dark ranks and King Edmund broke through, sitting atop Phillip and accompanied by Oreius and a band of other soldiers. The Narnians on the inside of the door allowed themselves a brief cheer before plunging back into the throng. In contrast to the joy, however, a desperate shout arose.

"Sire! The stairs!"

Peter looked, and his heart burst to see a large group of the invaders racing up the steps. Before he could even react, Edmund shouted, "TO ME!" and gave chase. Several soldiers followed suit, leaving Peter to continue with the oncoming horde.

The creatures had numbers on their side, but the Narnians could be fierce and absolutely deadly when their home was threatened. Slowly and steadily, they won ground and pushed the invaders back to the outside. Now, with more room, the battle spread wide and it was far easier to breathe. Oreius had gone with Edmund up the stairs, and it was up to Peter now to call out commands.

"Form ranks!" he barked above the din. "Shield wall!"

There was a mad scramble as all available Narnians fell back to form two lines in front of their king, fitting the shields together in a formidable barrier. The creatures were momentarily stymied by this swift regrouping, and in the break in action, a Unicorn charged straight through from behind.

"Flisk!" Peter shouted joyfully, pulling himself up and sitting bareback. He raised his sword to the sky and bellowed, "CHARGE!"

The first shield wall pressed forward, shoving the invaders back and offering no leeway. It was either run or be killed, and the creatures chose the former, splitting off in every which way back to the shore. One stubborn group, however, took off in the direction of the northwest, as though to circle around the castle and take it from behind. Peter would have none of it. With another rallying cry, he took roughly half his troops and gave chase.

They ran the enemy down in the apple orchard, engaging in heavy combat. With a surprise jerk, Peter was yanked from the Unicorn and onto the ground. He fought, but there were more creatures here than he realized, or, indeed, should have been. Something was not right about this. Several creatures seized him by the arms, a disgusting hand clamped over his mouth, and they began to drag him away. Before anyone could notice, the rest of the enemy broke formation and sprinted off, with the Narnians in hot pursuit. In the chaos and confusion, no one saw the High King being knocked out and hauled towards the water.