Disclaimer: Peter and Edmund Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.

Chapter Eleven

Peter paused as he lifted his hand to knock on the door. All right, she had mostly forgiven him. Mostly. Sort of. He thought. But he had to know for certain. And he couldn't sit through dinner not knowing, not being able to ask, not being able to really talk to her in front of the whole court. There was nothing for it. He had to find out now.

He gave a confident but not-too-bold knock on the door and waited. Eventually it opened wide enough to reveal Ada's suspicious face.

"My Lord King?"

He made a polite bow. "Mistress Ada. I would like to speak to the Lady Linnet, if you please."

Ada pursed her lips. "Surely, My Lord, it is not meet–"

He felt his face turn warm. He'd made a muddle of things yet again. Of course he would not be invited into the lady's chamber.

"In the library, if she would be so kind, mistress. Just across the corridor here."

"Who is it, Ada?"

That was Linnet's voice.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat. "Lady Linnet?"

Lips still pursed, Ada took a step back and opened the door wider.

Linnet curtseyed. "Good afternoon, My Lord. Is there something you wished?"

"Merely to have a private word with you, Lady. Surely there is no harm in that."

"Perhaps not, Lord King," Linnet replied. "What is it you would say?"

"First, Lady, would you do me the honor of coming into the library for a moment." He nodded towards a still-wary Ada. "You and Mistress Ada, of course."

"Very well." Linnet glanced at Ada, too. "For a moment, My Lord."

He escorted her into the library and to the seat set into the window that overlooked the forest. Ada settled herself in a chair a discreet distance away and bent over her sewing.

Peter stood for a moment looking out the window and seeing nothing. Finally he realized Linnet was staring at him.

"You wished to say something, My Lord King?"

He wanted to get down on his knees before her and implore her to forgive him, but perhaps that was a little much for a mere moment of foolishness. Instead he tried a small, hopeful smile.

"Just that I'm sorry."

The wariness left her expression and a touch of pleased color came into her face. "I know, My Lord. It was barely anything to begin with, and I've quite forgotten it."

Obviously, she hadn't forgotten it. Not quite. But she had forgiven him. It was a start.

"May I join you, Lady?"

She inclined her head in assent, and he sat beside her. Seeing Ada eyeing him balefully, he refrained from taking Linnet's hand in his.

"I– I really don't know what came over me. I promise you, it is not my way to treat a lady with disrespect. It's not Aslan's way. I mean to do what He says is right, even if I don't always manage it."

Her eyes grew brighter. "Do you suppose He shall come here again one day? I would very much like to see Him. I never have."

"And yet you believe."

She nodded. "I believe He is good. Deerfield is not far from the Calormene border, My Lord. We hear many tales about the one they call 'The Demon Lion of Narnia,' but those who call Him that have never seen him. Those who have seen Him, who actually know Him, tell a different tale, and I believe them far more than those who have never met Him. Those who know him say He is great and terrible and yet gentle and merciful and well worthy of our love. You and your brother and sisters have seen Him face to face. Have you not found him so?"

"We have, Lady. And did you have someone in particular tell you about Him?"

Her smile was tinged with wistful sorrow now. "My father. He was often at the court of King Lune and from there heard many wonderful stories of the Great Lion and believed in Him."

"And your uncle?"

"He was not there much. He never had much interest in politics. More in the arts and sciences. History and the like."

Peter nodded. "No doubt he can see proof of the Lion in all that as well. I hope you will get to see Aslan for yourself before long."

"Do you think He might come?" she asked. "Soon, I mean?"

He shrugged and then gave her just a hint of a grin. "He is not a tame Lion."

"But He is good," she finished for him.

They both laughed, and Ada stood, her sewing crumpled in one hand.

"Perhaps you should see how your uncle is faring, My Lady, and then it will be time to prepare for dinner."

Linnet sighed. "Yes, Ada."

Peter stood and brought her to her feet. "I will not keep you, Lady. I trust Lord Janin is comfortable here."

A touch of sadness came into her eyes. "You've all been very kind, but there is only so much that can be done for him. I fear he is becoming weaker every day."

Peter squeezed the hand he still held. "I am glad he has you to look after him. Have you been very close always?"

"After my mother died, when I was ten, he and my father both looked after me. Along with Ada, of course." Linnet smiled at her maid who only gave her a stern look in return. "Then, about three years ago, my uncle began going into the south of Archenland and even into Calormen to study. We saw him less and less until my father died. As soon as we could get word to him, he hurried back. He hasn't left me since.."

Again, Peter gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "I hope he will be with you a long while yet. I cannot much remember my own father, but I miss him still."

There was an added tenderness in Linnet's eyes. "But I see Aslan has provided you someone to be a father to you even now. Your General."

"Yes. Oreius." Peter laughed softly. "Very true. He watches over us and isn't afraid to cuff us when it's warranted. We would never have survived our first fortnight here without him."

She smiled up at him. "Again, Aslan has chosen well."

There was plainly admiration in her eyes. For Aslan? For him? For the High King, perhaps. But for Peter Pevensie?

"Lady, I . . . this lord you have spoken of. Well, surely, if he is above you, as you say, he must be no less, he is–"

Her black lashes swept to her flushed cheeks. "He would never wish to be lord of such an unimportant place as Deerfield, My Lord King."

"But–"

Ada cleared her throat. "My Lady, your uncle?"

Linnet slipped her hand out of Peter's. "Forgive me. Truly, I must go."

Peter glanced at Ada and then made a slight bow. "Of course. Thank you for speaking with me. I would not have there be any misunderstanding between us."

"Of course not, My Lord." She curtseyed. "I will see you at dinner."

"Please, Lady Linnet." Again he glanced at the maid and then looked pleadingly at the lady. "Will you not play tonight? One song, if nothing more."

She pursed her lips, and then they curved into a smile. "If you will, Your Majesty. One."

He seized her hand and brought it to his lips. "Until dinner then, Lady. I will count the minutes."

There was a touch of humor in her gray eyes. "That would be rather a tedious pastime, would it not, My Lord?"

He could not help laughing. She was as gracious as Susan, as merry as Lucy and as direct as Edmund, and yet she was marvelously unlike any of them. He could not wait to see her again.

"I will try to use my time more productively then, Lady Linnet. Until tonight."

"Until tonight," she promised, and with a sweep of velvet skirts she was gone.

OOOOO

Edmund took a bite of roast venison and nodded. "It is true, Duke Janin. Our brother has looked after us since we came into Narnia. It was our mother's last charge to him, and he has been faithful to it ever since." He looked towards the end of the feast-laden table. "It is time he saw to his own happiness."

The Duke followed his glance. Linnet, at Janin's other side, was laughing with Peter and Susan over Lucy's tale about some Moles who were helping her in the garden. The four of them were lit with candlelight and laughter, filled with good food and good cheer, and altogether content. Peter seemed particularly so. This girl, this Linnet, could she be what she seemed?

"Truly, he should," Janin agreed, studying Edmund's face. "A man so favored with youth and good health and all the graces of wealth, wit, beauty and favor must have his choice of any lady he wishes. My niece is young and has seen little of the world. I will not have her trifled with."

Edmund took a sip of his wine, refusing to take offense. "My brother has never been one to dishonor a lady, My Lord. You will not find a more chivalrous and constant knight in Narnia or all the lands."

Duke Janin gave Edmund an apologetic smile. "You must forgive me, sir. I mean nothing against the honor of the High King. But Linnet is precious to me, for herself and for the memory of my brother, her father."

Hearing her name, Linnet turned to him. "What do you say, Uncle?"

Janin patted her hand. "Nothing, child. Now, you did say you would play for us, did you not?"

"Yes, Uncle, but–"

"She did, My Lord." Peter beamed at her. "Please, Lady, if you would."

Edmund glanced at Susan and Lucy. Lucy was smiling at Peter, but Susan gave Edmund a subtle, cautionary glance, and he returned an almost-imperceptible nod. From all around the long table, there were voices clamoring for music, and, eyes lowered, Linnet finally took the ciaramella from the Stork page who had brought it to her.

A moment later, the room hushed and from the ciaramella came the first low, smoky notes. Linnet's eyes were closed, and Edmund watched her face. The usual sweet placidness was there, but there was something else, too. He couldn't quite tell what it was, though he was certain he would figure it out in time.

He exhaled, feeling the music surround him and fill him. No wonder Peter had been so insistent. This was more wonderful than the first time she had played for them. And yet there was something–

He would figure it out. He always could. He was known for his cleverness and his discernment, and rightly so. He could give Solomon a run for it when it came to wisdom, everyone said so. He could–

He shook his head, trying to clear it, fighting to keep his eyes open. Solomon's wisdom had been a gift. Whatever wisdom Edmund had himself was Aslan's gift as well. Aslan's gift. Aslan. Aslan, please–

He looked up, his reverie broken. There was a rumble somewhere in the night sky, a beating, leathery sound outside the window accompanied by squeaks and shrieks. He glanced at his brother, but Peter's eyes were closed, and there was a fierce, faraway smile on his face.

"Peter–"

With a whoosh and a clash of shutters, the room was filled with sudden blackness. The music broke off, replaced with screams and oaths and the unsheathing of swords.

"Peter! Bats!"

Peter already had Rhindon drawn. The gleaming blade slashed through the swarm of huge, winged rodents. They were fell. Edmund could see it in their blazing red eyes and dripping fangs.

"Get down!" he ordered, but he knew his sisters would do no such thing.

Lucy was swinging at the Bats with a tall iron candle stand, knocking down three or four at a blow. Susan was bashing as many with a large silver platter, her face twisted into a mask of loathing as, from time to time, she was forced to pull one of the hideous creatures out of her long black hair.

Peter was standing on the table now, slicing through the Fell as Linnet and her uncle huddled under him. His Tigers, Bast and Babur, leapt again and again into the air, pulling the intruders down, dispatching them with teeth and claws and then spitting them out in disgust. The guard and all the guests who were able drove at the Bats, beating them back towards the windows, but still they swarmed, the noise deafening, the stench staggering as they circled over his brother's head..

"Peter!" Edmund cried. "Get down! They're after you!"

They swooped again and again, diving at Peter, still shrieking and beating their wings, smashing crockery and overturning goblets and candlesticks, dashing food , plates and cutlery to the floor, and pulling down the tapestries and wall hangings.

"High King! My Queens! Get down!"

Oreius was standing in the great double doors that opened into the room, a score of archers behind him. Without question, Peter leapt from the table and huddled over Duke Janin and his niece. Edmund did the same with his sisters. There was the twang of twenty bowstrings, the hiss of twenty arrows and the shriek of as many Fell. It was repeated again and again until, with a faint, final squeal, the last of the Bats was dead.

There was a moment of taut silence, and then Edmund helped Lucy and Susan to their feet.

"All right?"

Lucy grinned. "I'll have to remember how useful these candle stands are next time there's a little skirmish."

Edmund winked at her and then turned to their older sister. "Su?"

She lifted a dead Bat by one wing out of the punch bowl, her lips pursed in disapproval. "They've ruined dinner."

Edmund gave her arm a squeeze and then hurried over to Peter. He was helping Lady Linnet and a white-faced Duke Janin out from under the table. The Bats were fell, there was no doubt of that, but they hadn't seemed to have a leader. But even so, they had obviously had an objective. He watched Peter hand Lady Linnet her ciaramella, broken reed and all, and then he narrowed his eyes.

It was Peter they'd been after, wasn't it?

Author's Note: I'm sorry I haven't been able to post this sooner. I've been crazy busy, and I'm about to get busier. I'm working on a huge real-life project that's due in the middle of November, so it may be a while before I can post again. But, to make it up to you, here's a nice long chapter. I hope to have more soon . . . if you want it.