Disclaimer: The usual stuff, it's still not mine. Unfortunately.
A/N: The bit with Caspian helping Susan up the tree is the previous chapter? That's actually a nod to an experience I had once at Boy Scout camp; the boys got the football stuck in the tree, and I was the only one who could get it. The kid giving me a boost up accidentally grabbed my bum right as my mother walked up. I don't think he EVER lived it down. And on that note, please leave a review! You all start off my mornings so incredibly well when you do that!
Chapter Nine
Vantage Point
The next afternoon found Susan, Caspian, and Presand back atop the ledge overlooking the Witch's Valley. The hike up the mountain had been accomplished in tense silence, Presand glancing back and forth between the two monarchs. Susan might have found it amusing had her nerves not been frayed past humor.
Her left arm was throbbing against the neat bandage; Ivylight had cleaned it again during the morning, smearing it with a salve that numbed it for a little while but had long since worn off. Caspian seemed torn between chivalry and avoidance; even without being near him, she could see his jaw clenching. The general didn't know what had happened, but he certainly knew something had. Peepiceek and his Mice had joined them this time, and if the others noticed they stayed between Caspian and Susan…well, there were the Queen's Guard, after all.
Susan stretched out on her stomach, sapphire eyes studying the far side of the basin. She could see the two other gaps they'd been shown last time; even taking distance into account, one of them looked to be little more than a goat trail. Turning her attention to the castle, she tried to determine if there was any obvious weakness.
The black ice was opaque and seamless, appearing as solid as the mountains all around it. There were some lines she thought might be windows, but the uniform color made it impossible to decipher if it was illusion or reality. It could be once huge room or a labyrinth of corridors; they had no way to know.
"Why would the rebels ally themselves with the Witch?" asked Presand quietly. The notion had been bothering him for some time and he just couldn't figure it out. "Will they truly profit from her victory?"
"No, although she'll let them think it." Susan caught Ripeeku by the tail before he could venture too close to the edge, ignoring his indignation. She could still remember everything she'd learned at Aslan's Camp from the Beavers and other Beasts. "If Jadis truly gained control of Narnia, her first action would be to slaughter every human within the borders. Every single one."
"Why?"
"The prophecy. Two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve…Jadis met her downfall once because of it; who's to say it couldn't happen twice?"
Caspian glanced over at her, looking just as quickly away. "Your family again?"
"Doubtful," she replied evenly, "but another family might do. Things never happen the exact same way twice."
"For Aslan?"
"For anything; each time it's different." She sighed and propped herself up on her elbows, chin resting on one fist. "I wish we knew what was inside the castle."
Caspian shook his head grimly. "We will simply have to invade blind."
"Why press in at all?" suggested the older man. "Surely we could draw them out into more skirmishes, whittle away her forces."
The two monarchs shared a look, and it was Susan who answered. "For every day she remains alive, Winter's hold gets stronger. By not it will be nearly to the Sparkling River. It's almost harvest time; if we lost those crops to a sudden freeze, there'll be famine, and nothing to prevent her from spreading further south. Starving soldiers can't fight. A hundred years of Winter…" she whispered. "How many would it be if she regained her throne?"
"What defeated her last time?"
"Aslan bit her head off."
Presand swallowed hard and fell silent. This was the Lion Queen Lucy had so fearlessly stood beside at Beruna?
"How do we know she is actually in there? Could she be hiding somewhere away from her troops?"
"Possibly, but it's not really her style. She's rather ostentatious."
One of the dwarves on guard at the cave entrance came through, clearing her throat. "There's a Wolf below brings news."
Caspian gave Susan a quick look. "The Wolves fought on her side before."
"They will not do so again," she said with certainty. "The Packs created thirteen centuries of outcasts to remember the dishonor an alliance with her brought upon them. It is not her name they sing to the stars."
He wasn't sure to make of her small smile, sweet and sorrowed.
Susan crawled back into the tunnel and stood, shaking the dirt out of her skirted trousers. The men and Mice following her, she emerged back into the weak sunlight.
Mog paced under the ledge, unable to jump the gap. His tail wagged when he saw them, but his ears were flat against his skull. He watched them drop carefully down onto the trail. "They've returned from Castellan," he reported. "They brought you foodstuffs as well."
Susan knelt beside him, scratching his thick ruff. "What else?"
He whined softly, creeping closer for comfort. "The Packs are come, my grandfather's among them."
"You are not an outcast, Mog," she told him fiercely, digging her fingers into his grey fur. "You are my Pack, and if their songs are as you say, that is no small measure of honor."
He barked happily and licked her face, his ecstatically waving tail knocking over an unwary Mouse.
They continued down to the base, where they'd left their horses. Susan swung atop Phillip, Peepiceek perching on the saddle horn. As they set out, Mog ran comfortably beside the stallion, making occasional forays into the underbrush.
When they reached the main camp, Caspian stared at the small wagon filled to the brim with heaps of cloth in various shades of blue, from a soft azure to a brilliant cerulean to a deep navy. "What is all this?"
Nightwatch, a sleek black panther who'd gone to Castellan, looked up from smoothing his fur. "Your Majesty wanted cloth for armbands."
"Yes, but so much? We do not have this many soldiers."
Alafair left off his conversation with one of the returned Telmarines, coughing to hide a laugh. "It seems my aunt had purchase the cloth towards a gift for Queen Susan," he offered respectfully, nodding to the bemused queen in question. "She also decided that armbands were not quite sufficient. Her ladies and maids spent all night remedying that."
A faun reached into the wagon and pulled out one of the items, a long rectangle of cloth with a large hole cut out of the center. He pulled it over his head and laughed. "Tunics! We have put these over our armor!"
"And unlike armbands, they will not fall off in battle."
Caspian grinned, an unexpectedly boyish expression. "Better and better," he said. He glanced across at Susan, who was studying the wagon with a faint frown. "Is something the matter?"
"What gift could possibly require that much cloth?"
He laughed and swung off Destrier. "After we take care of the Witch, you can ask her yourself."
She shuddered delicately. "No, thank you. Some mysteries are best left unsolved." She dismounted and felt Mog shrink back against her legs. "Where?"
"Behind the wagon," he whispered.
The Wolf that emerged from the largest Pack was the biggest Susan had ever seen, his black shoulders liberally sprinkled with silver. He was powerfully built, clearly a warrior, with a scar slashing across one eye. "I am Ygren, Alpha of the LanternWaste Pack," he greeted, deep voice carrying on a growl. "We come to fight the Witch."
The Alphas of the other Packs howled their agreement.
"You are welcome here," Caspian replied with a bow.
Ygren turned to Susan, ignoring Mog entirely, as befit an outcast. "Queen Susan, we will honor your name with our battle cries."
"My Pack and I thank you for the honor."
The old Wolf hesitated, several of his Wolves murmuring behind him. "Your Pack, my Queen?"
She laid a hand on Mog's head, not petting, not scratching, simply touching him in a clearly proprietary manner. "Yes," she said simply. "My Pack."
Sitting back on his haunches, Ygren gave her a wry look. "You never ask anything easy, do you?"
"Four years ago, the Wolves won back the right to their pride; doesn't that mean every Wolf?"
"We'll discuss it," he answered dryly.
"I look forward to it."
Mog whined.
--
The main camp had been cleared out but for the commanders, Susan, and the Queen's Guards. A fire blazed merrily within the circle of stone and log seats; the discussion was equally heated.
"To attack the castle is madness!" snapped Colonel Spazian, second-in-command of the Telmarine forces. "Who knows what traps lie within?"
"We are not deciding whether or not to attack, Colonel, but how to do so," Caspian replied, giving the man a stern look. "Please limit your input to that arena."
The colonel drew himself up in indignation, deflating at a warning shake of the head from General Presand. He wasn't happy about it, but he subsided. He'd served under Presand for many years; if the general had reasons for following this madcap plan, he would abide.
"We can't just go charging in from the gaps," Corkin pointed out. "They'll decimate us before we get halfway down the valley."
"Unless you force their attention somewhere else," Susan said, studying the image on the back of her eyelids.
"What do you suggest?"
Spazian looked scandalized at the thought of seriously asking a woman for battle tactics but Alafair ignored him; Susan had won his loyalty and respect in the skirmish. For him, she'd earned a voice just as surely as any man.
She opened her eyes and frowned thoughtfully into the flames. "In order to bring the gryphons and Birds into play, we have to get rid of the goblins. If we do so in a spectacular enough fashion…"
"What do you suggest, fire arrows?" the colonel asked sarcastically.
"That might make a nice prelude," she replied with a thin smile.
"So if we clear the skies-"
"We need to get them focused on the castle," blurted Caspian, giving Corkin an apologetic look for cutting him off. "Get their attention by the sky, alright, but we need them looking inward so they do not see us coming from without."
"The castle is ice," the faun Theo pointed out. "Ice melts."
"More fire arrows?"
"Or something like," muttered Corkin. "The dwarves and gryphons can take care of that, I think."
"Speak to the phoenixes, as well."
The dwarf blinked at Susan and nodded slowly. "Of course, my Lady. Yes, that will make a difference."
The discussion continued long into the night, trying to determine as much as possible before hand. They had to allow a certain amount of flexibility- things never went exactly right in battle- but as much as possible needed to be known. They decided how the numbers would be split out, who would be in charge of each section. They agreed upon what signals to use and what they would mean.
Finally, they called it a night. The next day would be spent issuing orders, double-checking weapons and armor, and all of the things one does before a large battle.
No one mentioned the farewells.
--
There was a feast the next night. The Telmarines shook their heads at it but it was the Narnian way, provided there was opportunity and supplies. Susan had been familiar with the impulse even back in England, most notably in the young RAF pilots about to head out on assignments. 'Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die'…the Narnians may not have been familiar with the quote, but they were certainly beholden to the principle.
Susan understood why they did it, but she'd never done well with the pre-battle feasts. They started out full of laughter and bravado and ended in half-drunk melancholy, the night air steeped in ballads of home that were supposed to remind them what they were fighting for. She'd endured them before because she'd had Edmund to make her laugh, but Edmund was back in England.
Caspian watched her slip away into the trees while the jolliness was still in full swing, her cloak pulled tight about her against the dusting snow. Two Mice followed her discreetly from the branches, giving her the privacy she clearly desired while still providing protection.
He drank sparingly from a tankard of ale, listening to the noise that sprawled from camp to camp. Behind him, a group of Telmarines launched into a barracks room ditty that wasn't appropriate whether there were ladies present or not; even some of the dwarves were blushing. To his left, Corkin and Mathilde sang a hysterical call-and-repeat called The Tisroc, May He Bray Forever. But the one he paid the most attention to was in his own camp.
Matthias was a young faun with a shock of messy red curls, his skin more covered by freckles than not. He was younger than Caspian would have liked to be there, but he'd been orphaned in the last war, and the army fauns had been looking out for him since. In an impossibly pure voice, Matthias sang a legend every Narnian child had learned for the past thirteen centuries: when they were needed, the Kings and Queens of Old would return. High King Peter the Magnificent, Queen Susan the Gentle, King Edmund the Just, Queen Lucy the Valiant…they were more than just rulers to the Narnian people, more than heroes.
The Narnians had spent over a thousand years praying for their return, believing that one day it would happen. A few, like Trumpkin, had lost faith, but most had not. They had believed. And like the hummingbird, their belief was rewarded.
Matthias ended the song with Aslan's promise: once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia. He blushed at the applause, tugging modestly at his ears.
Caspian drained his ale and pushed to his feet, strolling through the camps until he found Theo, the Captain of the fauns. "A word, please?"
"Of course, your Majesty."
They retreated a short distance away before Caspian spoke again. "Is it possible to reposition Matthias with the healers?"
Theo gave him a startled look, hands absently twisting in his scarf. "You want him out of the battle? But why? You'll break his heart."
"Have you ever looked at something and known it was too good, too pure for this world?" The faun nodded cautiously. "Matthias stirs that instinct. He is too young, too innocent. I bear responsibility for all those who die in my name, but if he were to die tomorrow…" The king sighed and shook his head. "His death would be a scar on my soul."
Still stretching his scarf, Theo considered the matter for a long, silent moment. "If you order me to," he said finally, "I will, but I would prefer to ask him. It's his choice; I would not feel right to take that from him."
"I understand, and I would appreciate your asking him." Squeezing the faun's shoulder, Caspian left him and wandered through the camps, offering words of encouragement where he thought they might be needed. The tone of the evening was mellowing, more sings and stories following the lead of Matthias'.
A tail thwapped firmly against his leg and he looked down to see Swiftly at his feet, whiskers twitching in disapproval. "The cub wants a word with you," he growled. "This way." He stalked off without waiting to see if Caspian would follow.
He did, though, warily. He didn't hold the Leopard above trying to kill him to keep Susan safe- as he perceived it. They emerged into a small gap in the trees, the pond iced over, and he was struck yet again by how beautiful she was.
Her hood was back, revealing dark hair loose and powdered with a fine layer of snow. Her breath misted before her pale face, her full lips red with cold. She looked impossibly far away, her expression caught in a serene chaos of sorrow and grace, of hope and fear.
"Susan," he breathed, and she turned to face him.
"Here he is," Swiftly announced unnecessarily. "Don't be stupid." He prowled back into the trees, leaving the two humans blinking after him.
"Ah…which of us was that directed towards?" Caspian asked wryly.
"Both, probably." She stared at him, lower lip disappearing between her teeth. She'd had to argue Swiftly into getting him here, and now that he was, she had no idea how to start.
"They call your rule the Golden Years," he said suddenly, and she gave a soft laugh.
"We were coming off a hundred years of Winter; Golden didn't mean perfect, it just meant better." She shrugged, the gesture restrained by how tightly she had her cloak pulled. "Maybe things were brighter. For as many wars and battles as we had, we had even more festivals and balls, tournaments and feasts, progresses and homecomings." Susan smiled, and once again it was that strange, indefinable emotion. "Narnia is the best thing to ever happen to us, at a time when things seemed like they couldn't get much lower."
"You miss your home."
"I am home."
"England, then."
She shook her head, voice gentle and low. "I miss my family. I don't miss England."
A long silence stretched between them, neither quite looking at the other, yet unable to look away. Caspian cleared his throat, studying his boots. Without his warm brown eyes on her, it was easier to find words.
"Lucy taught us something a long time ago. Edmund almost died fighting the White Witch. We nearly lost him, and there was so much we would have wanted to say. So Lucy started a new rule: never go into battle with things left unsaid. It's not a perfect rule, and we didn't always follow it even then. We learned how to make it work; we certainly had enough opportunity. We ignored the little things. The apologies, the guilt, those were trivial, we could leave those for later, but we couldn't hold back something truly important.
"One or the both of us could die tomorrow, and while I'm willing to accept that- because it's life, because it's war- I'm not willing to charge into it with important things left unsaid. So, here it is."
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, unable to bear accidentally seeing his expression. "I came back for you. I missed Narnia, yes, and felt out of place in England, but I came back for you. To be with you. Because I love you. When Lucy and Edmund told us how little time had passed, I begged. I sat in the darkness and begged Aslan to let me come home to you.
"And it doesn't change anything," she continued in a rush, helpless to stop now that she'd finally started. "I know that. It doesn't change anything, it can't change anything. You are engaged to Lahatiel, who is amazing in her own quiet way, and you will marry her. I just can't leave it unsaid. It's not fair of me to do this, it's not right of me to do this, but I just can't leave it unsaid.
"I love you. I've loved you since before I left, and I love you even more now. I love you so much I can't even imagine ever not loving you. I love your honor, your strength, and your courage. I love your humor and your enthusiasm. I love your patience, and your intelligence, your sense of fairness. I love how you are totally overwhelmed by the crown but haven't given up yet, because the sensation never really goes away, you know? I love that lost little boy look you sometimes get. I love that you dance so beautifully with a sword in your hand but have to count the steps in a waltz. I love how you mess up your hair when you're frustrated, and that you're incapable of appreciating the fine art of strawberry dipping. I love the look on your face when you're falling and about to land. I love how you're scared of Swiftly. I don't love everything about you, but I love so much of you that I couldn't list it all if the sleeping giant never woke up. Caspian the Tenth, King of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, I love you."
There was a painful silence, and all she could hear was her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Then he steeped closer, a twig snapping with unnatural clarity, and his lips pressed softly against her forehead.
"Get some rest," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Tomorrow…tomorrow will be long and hard."
Susan nodded slowly, numbly, hearing rather than seeing him walk away from her. Again. And yet, despite the fresh wave of agony, she felt strangely better. She'd said it.
And now she'd never say it again.