I know this chapter has been awaited, and personally I enjoyed writing this chapter, hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it.

Chapter 25 – A King Defeated

Peter

Sometimes he thought he could hear Ama talking away casually to some soldier or laughing at somebody's lousy joke. He would turn around, scan his army and not find her. His mind was playing cruel tricks on him.

He knew that he should learn to accept the fact that he would never see her again. She was probably dead by now, drowned in the cold rushing river water that would callously toss her small body among its power waves. No more would the heron fly. The last shape shifter was dead.

They were but several hours away from Cair Paravel, where he would meet Eril. He would have to convey the dreadful news; no tears would be allowed to roll down his face. He was Peter, High King Peter the Magnificent, he had been the Emperor of the Lone Islands and yet his heart had been conquered and broken, his life shattered, his very existence seemed now trivial.

He could see Cair Paravel looming up, majestic pure white stone glistening in the afternoon sun. How often he had returned home there and been overjoyed to see the familiar sight and long for a great banquet to be laid out for him in the Feasting Room, where he would sit with his siblings and laugh at strange tales of insignificant matters. But today on a sunny day in spring he returned with a heart that echoed with grief. He looked like a king defeated, defeated by grief, defeated by love.

The hooves of his unicorn clattered on the cobbled courtyards, adorned with fountains of bronze and silver, but even the golden statues that rested in the inner palaces were now nothing. From a doorway of stone walked an eager Eril, Shapeshifter, Lord of Cair Paravel, Ama's father, another who, like Peter, had loved Ama more than any material object in this world.

Peter dismounted, bending his knees at the impact of hitting the floor. Eril walked over to him smiling.

"I am so glad that so many soldiers have been found. You must have looked hard; our chances of winning are greatly improved."

"Have the others returned?" Peter said in hushed voices, knowing that spies could be anywhere.

"No, not yet." Eril replied taking Peter inside where they would be safer from the eager ears of the enemy. "But I have sent out messages to them that they should not come out to Cair Paravel but remain hidden in the forest where unwanted eyes are less likely to see them. "

Peter remained silent, how could he tell the news to this man who was so happy at their increasing prospect of winning. But Eril was an eagle, and had the eyes of one, Peter's expression of despair did not go unnoticed.

"What is the matter?" The old man questioned.

Peter looked at the man, old and wise, the long hard years of his life showing all too clearly upon his face. Peter could not look him in the eye. But at that moment a small boy ran from behind a corner. Peter remembered seeing that boy cuddling up into the long dresses of Ama. Now he did not have his thumb in his mouth but seemed overjoyed to see Peter.

"Uncle, uncle!" He shouted, charging into the elderly man, who in turn rested his wrinkled hands on the young child's shoulders. "Where is Amama?"

Peter gasped involuntarily; Ama had been like a mother to this elf-locked boy. Peter knew this boy had already seen the death of his real mother and father, must he experience the death of his surrogate-mother also.

"Indeed, we must go and look for dear old Amama." Eril replied lifting up the boy.

Peter's eyes widened and stepped in front of the two of them, blocking their path.

"No!" Peter ordered.

Eril sensed what Peter wanted, and quickly hastened the little boy away.

"What is it?" The man said, worry filling his eyes.

"Your daughter," Peter said, struggling to fight back to lump in his throat "is dead."

Eril's purple violet eyes widened but he did not move or clutch the wall in despair, he looked straight into Peter's sorrowed eyes.

"How?" Was all he said.

"We were ambushed, she fell off a cliff. We looked for her body, but found nothing, except this." Peter opened his hand and revealed the ring of her mother and the necklace that he had carved for her.

Eril moved as if to take these possessions, and his hand hovered over the two items. He touched Peter's finger tips, and put his hand around them and slowly closed Peter's hand for him.

"Keep them." Eril whispered "For I see now that you also loved my daughter, and that your heart is broken. Let a part of her always be with you. I am sorry that you had to suffer so, for I also lost my wife, a long long time ago, and it broke my heart. Ama was the only one who kept me going, who kept me alive, but now she is gone I must be strong , for the sake of Narnia, for the sake of what is good in this world and for the belief that good can conquer over evil."

Peter looked at the man, who had been kind to him and trusted him; he slowly took the man's head in his hands and kissed him softly on the forehead.

"I would have loved you as a son." Eril said smiling bitterly.

She was so very tired, all her limps ached with fatigue and exhaustion, her eyes refused to open. The river trickled past her effortlessly, washing her hair with its watery fingers. She murmured something, but the river put its comforting hand over her gaping mouth.

"Shush, my little one go to sleep." The whispery voice said.

She felt as if she was being carried along, so very softly and gently, like a mother cradling her most beloved child. She snuggled further into the water's cool embrace. She remained in that dream-like state for some while until she finally fully awoke and opened her eyes fully.

She was lying on the shore of the river with small waves lapping like eager dogs at her feet. She smiled, was this the shore of Aslan's country, was this a dream. She could feel her quiver still intact on her back, reminding her of its presence. It had taken lives, those arrows. It had killed, in anger and revenge. But all this was for the good of Narnia. She had had to take those lives, but now had her own been taken?

Above her the sky was blue, there were no clouds with which the sky was darkened. The sun shone out bright and pure. She longed to fly with the deep sky above her and the green fields below her, and then she would sing of love, of hate, of war.

But of love, yes, she would sing of love. She had loved, short and brief, passionate, it had been. It had all been dream-like, rushed, how long had she known him, what, a month at the most. But her heart had been stolen, as she had stolen that little heron necklace that he had made.

Where was he now? She wondered, and sat up. Around she saw were several naiads who smiled and laughed their silver-laughs as she turned to look at them. She smiled back for they were truly beautiful creatures. One of them slowly began to brush her hair and she heard whispers around her.

"Go to sleep."

"Yes, sleepy time."

"You're safe here."

"Now go to sleep."

Her eyes seemed to close of their own accord and she fought with all her will to keep them open.

"Where am I?" She shouted

"In a safe place." The silky voices sighed.

"I must go back. I must go back, back to Peter." She said in desperation, of that much she was certain, she must not fail him, she loved him. It was strange, love, such a strange and powerful thing. She pushed herself up, but immediately felt a rush of will forcing her back down again. She fought and screamed but only bubbles filled her mouth, she had been dragged underwater.

"We are the river." The velvety voices urged, now more urgently "We have taken you, come and live with us, we are beautiful, we are graceful. Become a naiad, become one of us."

The voices now chanted ever more loudly and she felt as if her will trickled away, looking at her hand it became translucent and fluid, she began to laugh slowly at the freedom that this new form allowed her, she swam amongst the waves and the naiads.

She attempted the swim up towards the water's surface but found that the naiads quickly wrapped their cold fingers around her and pulled her back down, this was not done harshly but playfully, but she sensed that something was not right. Once again she tried and yet again she was pulled down to the bottom of the river. Desperation took over. She could not breathe.

"Soon you will become one of us." The water people murmured, their voices breathy in the still water.

"No!" She screamed "I will not be one of you. I am a heron. I am Ama, my name is Amethyst. I am the daughter of Eril the half-eagle. I will fight for him and for High King Peter, whom I love."

With this Ama shot out the water and burst into the form of a heron, she landed on the bank of the river and panted, trying to catch back her breath. That had been too close, those naiads had tried to take her to be one of them, and she would have died. No, she would not die here; if she were to die it was to be fighting alongside Peter in battle.

A penny for your thoughts?