I did not create Narnia, the Telmarines, Cair Paravel, or the Pevensies, C. S. Lewis did and I am eternally grateful to him. I also did not create Oreius, but I did create his sister, his niece and nephew, and his brother-in-law Storm-hoof. I also created Strong-bite.

This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.

Here it is, the chapter with the moment that made me continue this story! Hopefully, you will love me rather than hate me for it.

"And The Just took a bite of it that caused his cheeks to bulge. Then his eyes bulged as well. You should have seen how his face looked. Thankfully, the Gentle had provided the mercy of a nearby pitcher of milk."

Almost every soldier gathered around the table roared. The Marshwiggles shook their heads. "Those who would steal and sneak even in their own kitchens, must be prepared for such outcomes." The corners of my mouth curled up at the memory as well.

Once, the Gentle had lost patience with kitchen-raiding. So she'd devised a clever trap. Both queens and their maids baked hot-peppers into a pie and left it out in the center of a table all night.

Both kings had been taking turns raiding the kitchen, but the Just, so cunning when dealing with tricksters in court, was the one who fell into his sister's trap that night. Susan had found scolding him difficult. Her attempts not to laugh kept silencing her. Queen Lucy had not even tried. She fell out of her seat laughing. So the Valiant could give the Gentle no aid in delivering a lecture to their brother. Edmund, already flushed, had turned red rather than his usual white. The Magnificent had been rather smug, until, some months later, he stuffed two pepper-cookies into his mouth.

Years after their disappearance, we soldiers still in Cair Paravel attempted to devour the remaining stores in a single feast. A moonless night continued outside. Dawn would come in several hours. Then we would fight together one last time.

Arms crossed, brows furrowed, and beards bristling, the dwarves had come to me today. They then reported a section of our wall would give way early tomorrow. They had built that wall. I reassured them The Telmarines had pounded it at its weakest point for several days before it began to show wear. Cracks now gave it the appearance of a struck egg.

After a few more barrages, however, a hole would appear in Cair Paravel's defenses. So we ate. We even drank a little. I made sure none grew drunk, though. We had begun to tell stories about those who had left us by our own command, and those we hoped to see again on the morrow in Aslan's country. Finally, we had begun to speak of the The Four.

There was also still talk of Aslan himself arriving and saving us before it was too late. Even the Marshwiggles with us admitted it might come to pass. Of course, they also advised us not to hang our hope, let alone our faith, upon Him doing so.

In the end, we began to creep apart and to our rooms to sleep until the morrow. I sent the last, lingering soldiers from the table and to their beds myself. Then I slipped away, but not to my rooms.

Instead, I slid aside the black drape of mourning we had hung to hide the door. Then I stuck the key into its lock. I would afterwards leave it inside.

I pulled open the door and entered. In one hand, I held a single candle. I did not wish to use the fuel we had left to light it for them, if they ever returned. Hopefully, it would not instead be used by those soon to breach our defenses.

The servants who'd stored the treasures here had done so to satisfaction. Trunks of clothes lined the walls stacked atop each other. Resting upon these were jewelry boxes completing the structures. I strode past all these. They were not what I wished to see. I went to the far wall instead my eyes fixed upon what rested there.

I stood over the gifts. Queen Susan's horn was gone, otherwise we would have blown it long ago. Her bow remained, however.

I ran my finger over the arching wood. My lips curved into a smile. Queen Susan. She had not really liked to fight.

If there was an art, she dabbled in it: dancing, painting, needlework, bead-work, baking, decorating, singing, playing the flute, playing the harp, small-talking, even riding. She practiced them all. She executed them well. She made beautiful everything and everyone around her as well as accenting her own attractiveness.

Susan also made others comfortable. She knew the colors that could calm, the soft tones that relaxed. She made a wonderful bedside nurse. She could also memorize lists, instructions, recipes, designs. My practical filly. My Gentle Queen.

I moved my finger to the cordial bottle. My smile grew wider. The Valiant Queen. She was as much a lover as fighter. She wielded swords better than needles. She loved to sketch. Painting took too long she said. The flavors of the foods she made were bold rather than subtle like Susan's creations. She cried openly, laughed loudly, charged into battle like a giantess.

Susan ordered patients to bed. Lucy kept them on the edge of theirs with her stories. Susan kept her patients sleeping. Lucy kept hers smiling. She was a healer as well as a warrior. Everything about her was honest, authentic, open. Susan was a gracious host, and Lucy was the loyal friend. Together they were a powerful pair not to be trifled with in diplomacy or courtship. My queens, my fillies.

My finger had long left the cordial bottle to trace Lucy's knife-sheath and hilt. I moved my hand now to the sword of their brother with its lion-head hilt. The sword of my high king, my eldest colt.

Peter the Magnificent. Stern like the mountain, jolly like the sun. Pride and protector of his people great and small. We won so many battles just because he stood firm and our soldiers stood firm around him. Sometimes none could move him. So many other rulers, the Taarkans and Tisroc in particular had thought they could threaten him, bribe him, or flatter him when he was still young. Once he saw a wrong in whatever they offered or suggested, though, he could not be moved and said so. He turned down such offerings hard and left stung prides and hot tempers for his brother to cool.

Edmund ...

My finger left King Peter's shield where it had been tracing the crimson lion. King Edmund has no gifts from that first Christmas in a hundred years. However, his own sword and shield had been made for him the day after we rescued him from "her" camp.

I had first scowled down her favored servant, Ginnebrick the dwarf. Then I began to stare the traitor down. He had ducked his head, given no plea, asked no pardon. He had only asked one question as I carried him away. "Is my family still safe?"

I had asked him what he meant by "Still"?

He replied he didn't believe they could remain so in Narnia. Only if they somehow got back home, to the "Other Place," or "England" as they then called it, would his siblings remain alive. The queen's army was too strong.

I asked what we Narnians should do when the four of them had left. He said he wasn't going back with them. I asked why. He had said he now belonged to "her."

I asked if I should take him back then.

He had winced and replied "no." He'd wait till she came for him. Then he'd fight her all the way. She was going to kill him anyway. He owed us. He couldn't do much about her whole army, but he'd try and keep her busy a little while anyway. He'd given her too much already to make anything else easier for her.

I finally, truly, looked at him. Then I'd asked him what he'd given to her.

The boy sighed and said he'd told her he had a brother and two sisters. Later, he'd informed on them and us even more fully to her. He'd reported he'd left them at Beaversdam, that they were going to the Stone Table, and Aslan was there with an army.

I told him she must have been angry with so much useless information. He'd looked at me then. I told him she suspected every human who appeared in Narnia to be part of the prophecy of her undoing. He had only confirmed what she'd already assumed. He'd told her where his siblings "used" to be. They had not been there when her wolves arrived. And once she noticed the spring had come, she would have known Aslan had arrived. She would have sent her own scouts to find Him and learned of our army soon after.

His reply to my assurances was simple. "So what?" So, he hadn't done as much damage as she'd wanted him to. He was still a traitorous rat.

I had then replied, "You indeed betrayed us."

He'd looked up at me with those dark eyes. They'd stared into mine for a few moments. Then he'd given me a strange grin. "You hate me." He's kept grinning as he continued. "That's understandable. I hate me too."

Then he'd met Aslan, and everything had changed. A light had entered those dark eyes. He'd held that bowed head up. His gaze became deep, intense. When he made it hard , he could stare a witness into silence or blubbering after they'd lied. His gaze was gentle if he sensed no lie. The witnesses then poured forth all they thought they knew. Then he would bring forth even more information from them with keen questions spoken in a tender tone.

He strained truth out from piles of books and records, and from the gossip on the streets. King Edmund the Truth-seeker, King Edmund the Just, and the Merciful. I let my finger slip off the surface of his shield and sighed. Then I turned my back and walked away.

I passed through the door, closed it behind me, and then turned back to lean against the wood. "Aslan … let them return. Let them find these waiting for them … when Narnia needs them most."

I re-locked the door, knelt down, and slid the key through the crevice beneath it. Now the wood would have to rot away or be broken through, for anyone to enter. Thankfully, this wood was a type strong, hard, and enduring.

I rose back to my hooves and paused staring at the door again. We had never truly had a funeral or memorial service for The Four. Their disappearance and Aslan's assurance they would return had confused us on how to respond to their loss. Somehow, this felt like I had finally buried them. I bowed my head and strode away.

Instead of walking to my own chambers, I decided to spend the night praying as well as sleeping. I went to the judgment hall. It was long, solemn, and empty as I expected this night to be. I raised my eyes and fixed my eyes upon the stained-glass window. I stared at one particular pane. Through the night my head bowed as I dozed, but when the grey light of morning filtered through the glass I raised my head to fix my eyes upon one pane again.

I stared at the golden pieces forming a Lion's face. The faint glow of dawn shown through the picture. When the sun rose directly behind them, the result was glorious, too bright to look upon. Seeing his face so at such a moment, one could hardly doubt in his strength, his might, his power. Yet, I did.

The tears finally poured down. I was alone. My sister was gone. Her husband, and my best friend from childhood, was gone. Their children, my niece and nephew, were gone. Even little Kinsey, Silas' daughter who had clung to me like a second father, was gone. I had sent them away to safety while remaining behind. I and the few with me were all that was left to stay behind to guard our unmovable, or best hidden treasures. Surely, we'd all be slain. Surely, all not well enough hidden would be plundered or destroyed. Thank the Lion most of the Saplings remained fast asleep. Were they so because the one mercy Aslan would grant them was not being awake for their destruction? I groaned at the thought.

Where are You, now, my Lord, my King?

"General?"

I started. My head snapped around. Then my jaw tightened in shame. The Mastiff raised his head and gazed at me through the drooping folds of skin. "We have gathered behind the wall and stand ready to follow your commands."

"Thank you, Strong-bite. I shall follow you there."

He bowed and turned. I began to follow him. Then … A crash and rumble sounded from behind the window.

We froze, not daring to believe. We looked back. A shadow obscured the golden light of the Lion, yet my faith had never been stronger.

I galloped around to the balcony overlooking the sea. Lucy had glimpsed Him leaving from there once. I lifted my gaze to the horizon.

A cloud, no, a bank of clouds, was sweeping in from the east. Dark they were. They hid the rising sun. Bolts of lighting flashed in their bowls.

Strong-bite came up to stand alongside me. Then he rose up on his hind legs to plant his fore-paws on the railing. My hands already gripped it so the knuckles had turned white as the marble. The Hound's nostrils flared to breathe in the winds sweeping over us. "Smells like rain."

I grinned. "Indeed. It comes fast, and it should drive right into our enemies faces when it arrives."

He raised his head and howled in glee. As his cry faded away, we heard the re-newed booms of their boulders hitting our wall. We looked away from the coming rain and toward the west. Then we gave each other a grim look. We turned away and set out.

. . .

I stood at the head of the column. The few dwarves still with us thought they knew precisely where the wall would break first. We, who now stood well back, had all come to agree with them. The fissures were clear enough for all to see now. So it must have been for the Telmarines too. They were aiming at these fissures in our defense. So we waited.

It was not long after the sunrise. Yet, the light was less, not more, than when I had taken my place. The clouds were now overhead. All light from the sky shone muted and grey. The wind howled around the towers and parapets.

At last, there was a crash rather than a boom. We raised our shields. Shards of stone cracked against iron. I felt the impact in my raised arm. A shard struck my foreleg. A sting radiated through its flesh.

A boom sounded above us. As if a door had been flung open the rain descended, not in drops, but in sheets. We lowered our shields. Instead of further obscuring our vision, the downpour drove the dust to the ground to hold it there. The gap in our wall lay before us. I shouted, "Charge!"

We rushed forward. The rain fell with tings upon the backs of our helmets, our shoulder-guards, and breast-plates. Climbing over the pieces of the wall proved more troublesome than expected. I chose the greatest pieces to mount and felt them slide beneath me, but I had picked up too much momentum to stop. After a few moments that gave more chill than the rain sliding down my back, I was over and on the grass outside the walls. The mass of men there were not-yet charging. They were holding their shields above their heads or before their faces to block the rain.

I grinned grimly. Then I leapt down to the earth before rushing on. I believe we hit their first lines just as they looked up and saw us. We mowed these down before us. But those a few lines behind began to guard themselves. Then we truly suffered. We were as badly outnumbered as when they first arrived at the northern farms.

All around me Leopards, Hounds, Elk, Stags, Tigers, Lions, fellow centaurs, dwarves, fauns, satyrs, and the last Trees also warriors were speared, stabbed, bludgeoned, and crushed under foot. Friends, through bonds forged by our oppression and joint mission, died around me.

I cared for their pain, but not our parting. I doubted not I would follow them soon. Yet, no spear nor sword, nor mace gave me a fatal wound. I drove onward. Finally, my hoofs began to slip on the mud, slowing my progress, those with paws rather than hooves did better. These continued on going for where the enemy's standard was raised, near their general.

Many of his men rose up to defend him. These were tackled to the ground by Big Cats, dragged down by Hounds, or slapped their by paws of Bruins. Both parties usually died soon after, but the path to the Telmarine general was further and further cleared until he was alone.

One dwarf raised a sword and slammed it against his, breaking it near the hilt. The dwarf slumped over then. However, the Telmarine now had no defender or weapon. I struck down the last man in my way. Then I turned my gaze upon him. He looked back and froze. I grinned and rushed forward.

I leapt over bodies of both companions and enemies. Then I slid to a prolonged stop. I stood before him at last.

My once friend and now enemy gazed up at me. His eyes widened. His jaw slackened to hang open. His hand clenched the sword-hilt above his broken blade.

I drew my whole one back to swipe off his head. His men shouted around me. His own face creased in hatred. My grin returned. I clenched my sword-hilt lest it slip away in the rain. I braced my hooves to swing.

A roar sounded in my ear. A light flashed over my foe. In it, he was changed.

I saw no longer a man hardened by decades of killing, fear, and despair. Instead, a boy stood before me. Perhaps he was King Peter's age when he had first arrived or a year older. The youth's face was pale, his mouth open in horror, his eyes wide, yet, there was also a look of hope, of expectancy, of faith those who are Aslan's have.

After all this knowledge washed through me, a voice I knew well, and had waited long to hear, spoke to me. "Do not harm my chosen one, Oreius." My heart froze within me. Then the vision disappeared.

My enemy stood before me again. The hard man's creased face had gone slightly lax again. He blinked at me whether due to the rain or confusion. We stared at each other.

I realized I was trembling. My arms were still pulled back. My hands still gripped the sword-hilt.

No … No, I could not spare him. Why should he be chosen, for whatever end? Why should he live after so many had been killed by his hands or at his command? Why should he live to accomplish something when they had died? Why should Aslan's will be worked through this one? What justice was there in that? Why should the Great Lion ask this of me? After all the pleas directed to Him for our rescue from so many mouths, all seemingly ignored, how could He ask this of me? Why were his commands so confusing, so demanding, so unreasonable? Why did He ask what hurt most and helped least? Why ..?

The other general still stared at me. All had gone silent around us except for the drip of water and the drone of rain. His men had not moved, frozen like us. I could feel their stares. I could kill him still. They were still too far away to save him.

My trembling stopped. I clenched my whole form like a great fist. My slippery sword-hilt became again firm in my grip. I stared at him and repeated the words in my head. General … Traitor … King ... Then the words repeated themselves in my mind again.

General …

Traitor …

King ...

Dark eyes and a seemingly inappropriate smile from a king flashed in my mind's-eye, those belonging to one who had once endangered all of Narnia's future good, for candy. This time the vision was but a memory in my mind. In the moment I now recalled, this king had stood before his general and his traitor. And the greatest of all kings had come … and forgiven them both, had continued to use them both. The Just … The Traitor … The Merciful ...

My eyes closed as my trembling began again. My grief, for him, even for me, for all that had been lost these past months consumed me. I shook again as if the from the cold rain, though I felt hot. My heart cried out in pain, in loss. I shouted.

I opened my eyes and looked again. Now the other man's mouth had nearly closed. He stared steadily at me through squinted eyes. His brow was furrowed as he studied me.

Finally, I drew my sword up above my head and held it in both hands. They gripped the hilt as if it were the throat of the one before me. I screamed again and drove the blade in.

Well, I doubt I'll have the last chapter up by Easter. This one took longer than I thought. I'll make an effort though. Tell me what you thought.

Reviews are much appreciated and often replied to. :)

God Bless

ScribeofHeroes