After crossing the river and leaving their coats behind, the three Pevensies and the Beavers continued through the trees and out into the open. The snow had rapidly begun to melt and the clouds cleared to reveal a bright blue sky. The sun beat down, and Peter's head began to ache. He kept smiling, for Lucy and for Susan. Their mother had told him to protect his brother and sisters, and if Aslan was the only hope they had of seeing Edmund again, no matter how terrifying the Lion might seem, he had to try.
What was more terrifying was the prophecy; the expectation of becoming a King of a country he barely knew, to have the hopes of the Narnians on his shoulders when all he wanted was to find his brother, that was what got to him. To disappoint those who had been waiting a hundred years for some sort of saviour was not something Peter wanted to take lightly.
They had been walking for hours, when Mr Beaver finally turned his head back to them. "Here we are," he said, as the group circled a small hill that hid where Aslan had set up his camp from view.
The group were greeted with a valley of tents of reds and golds, flags flying in the warm breeze. An array of creatures, fauns, satyrs, centaurs, and even animals the Peter recognised from his own world, bustled about amongst themselves, polishing armour and sharpening weapons. The green fields that spread up to meet the clear skies on the horizon seemed to give an air of hope to the campsite in front of them. There was so much colour and light in the valley, as all of the snow had melted away.
"Who are you?" Peter looked up to see a figure to their right, standing on one of the boulders embedded into the hill. Their face was difficult to make out because of the position of the sun, but they clearly held a bow, strung with a single arrow, their aim resting on Peter.
"We have come to see Aslan, and to ask for his help."
The figure jumped from the boulder and stalked down the hill until they stood a couple of metres from the group. It was a girl, likely in her mid-teens, dressed in some black leather armour of sorts over a loose, white undershirt, tight black trousers and large boots, her bow now slung over her shoulder. She was the closest thing to human that Peter had seen in their short time in Narnia, though her face was notably thin, her cheeks hollower than might have been deemed healthy. Her fair-skinned face was framed by a halo of stray copper hairs that had come free of her ponytail. Peter thought that she would have been incredibly beautiful had she not been wearing such a terrible scowl, eying the Pevensies and their companions suspiciously.
"Where did you get that?" The girl took a step closer, nodding at Peter's sword. He drew it, holding it up so that the girl could get a better look at it.
"Father Christmas gave us presents," Lucy smiled excitedly, clearly still buzzing from the adrenaline of recent events. The girl furrowed her eyebrows at the youngest of the children, almost smiling in disbelief.
"Would you please take us to Aslan?" Peter pleaded, not wanting to waste any time when his brother was in danger.
"What business do you have with Him? You can't possibly have come to join His army."
Her eyes were too soft a colour to be piercing, but hardened enough to make Peter draw back under her stern gaze. "Well…we were told about a prophecy…"
She looking confused for a moment before a kind of realization reached her. She settled a slightly alarmed gaze upon the three Pevensies. "You are the humans that the prophecy speaks of? But you're children."
"You're a child too!" Peter snapped, irritated at such condescension.
"If I may," Mrs Beaver spoke up, "but don't I recognize you?"
"You recognise me?" The girl's confusion never wavered.
"You resemble a drawing that I've seen in one of my books. It was of a woman, a great knight of older Narnia, rumoured to have died about three hundred years ago on the borders of Telmar." The girl seemed to smile, but only very slightly. "I knew I recognised you. It's Firesong, isn't it? It's a pleasure to meet you." Mrs Beaver then turned to her husband and began muttering frantically.
"You don't look three hundred years old." Peter didn't want to waste any more time with such trivia, but couldn't understand the hawk-eyed girl that stood in their way.
The girl's face dropped, suddenly looking uncomfortable; she looked back to the three Pevensie siblings. "I've been away for a while, and haven't been able to return because of the Witch's spell." She let out a shallow sigh. "If you are indeed the humans of the prophecy, then where is the second Son of Adam?"
"That's why we came. You see, Edmund has been taken by the White Witch. Well, actually, it was more that he went to see her willingly," Susan said sheepishly.
"He went to her castle?" No one replied. "You do know that people who go in there don't come back out?" At this, Peter noticed Lucy's eyes fill with tears. Shooting a quick glare at the girl, he touched his sister's shoulder, hoping to provide at least a little comfort. "If you are who you say you are…you had better follow me." She looked at Peter, gesturing to the sword. "Put that away before you hurt yourself."
The girl turned on her heel and walked into where the rows of tents opened up into a pathway. Heads of all shapes and sizes rose, their gazes locked on the three Pevensie children.
"Everyone is staring at us," Susan said, through her clenching teeth.
"They've been waiting a long time for your arrival." The group came to the top end of the campsite. "Wait here." The girl glanced back at them before walking toward the largest of all the tents, standing on a little platform.
As she disappeared into the tent, Lucy turned to the Beavers. "Is she a human as well?"
"I don't know," said Mrs Beaver. "But I thought she might have only been a legend. She's supposed to have been taken in by a family of dryad prophets and trained by early Narnian warriors, though it seems odd that she would be here now, and still so young. I've only read about it in my books, but I'm almost certain it's her."
"She sounds like a good person to have on our side," Lucy smiled. "Even if she is a bit scary."
As the girl emerged from the tent, the inhabitants of the camp, which had followed the Pevensies up to the great tent, bowed low. The children looked on at the tent, waiting for Aslan to reveal himself. Peter shook, bending down onto one knee, the others following.
The curtains of the tent were swept aside, and a great head emerged, wreathed in a halo of golden mane. The Lion was so great and so terrifying that Peter dared not take his eyes away. Giant paws pounded on the ground towards them. He opened up his mouth, Peter assumed to roar, but instead came a surprisingly comforting voice.
"Rise, Peter, Son of Adam, and Susan and Lucy, Daughters of Eve. Thank you Beavers from bringing them safely this far. But where is the second Son of Adam."
"That's why we came to you, sir," Peter said. "We need your help."
"Edmund was taken by the White Witch, sir," said Lucy.
"He was taken by her? How could this have happened?"
"He betrayed them, you Highness, and went willingly into the Witch's castle. We think she was using him to draw all four of them in."
"It would seem so, Beaver."
"If I hadn't been so hard on him, none of this would have happened." Peter sighed, dropping his head in shame. He felt Susan's hand come up on his shoulder.
"We were all hard on him."
"Sir, please can you help him?" Lucy pleaded. "He's our brother."
"That is what makes the betrayal worse, Daughter of Eve. We will do what we can, but first we must have a feast prepared for you. You have travelled far, and your arrival is certainly a cause to celebrate. Ladies?" Aslan turned to the dryads. "Tonight, we shall have a great banquet to honour the Son of Adam and Daughters of Eve." The beautiful woman cheered and hurried back into the campsite to gather food for the feast.
Aslan then turned to the girl who had met them at the entrance to the camp, and said something that Peter couldn't hear. She nodded and looked straight at him. She wasn't scowling anymore, but bore a look of curiosity and perhaps still a little apprehension. The girl descended from the platform and walked towards them. Peter smiled at her, hoping Mrs Beaver had been right.