Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't... I also don't own the Narnian Calendar. It belongs to Elecktrum who was kind enough to let me borrow it for my story. Her own stories are awesome and you should go read them too.

Summary: You know the story of the Horse and his boy. But what was happening in Narnia? A northern campaign. Trouble on the homefront and a prince's invitation. Will anything be as Peter left it?

A/N: If you have not read the first ten stories in the A Light in the Darkness main story arc (Awakened, Shadowed, Revealed, Concealed, Rekindled, Refracted, Reflected, Veiled, Unveiled, and Eclipsed), I highly recommend you do so for the full experience. However, I have included a quick summary of the previous stories so if you want to give this one a whirl on its own, you can.

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Hidden Things

13 Frostmoon 1014

"You halfwit! How could you challenge him to ride an unbroken stallion? Again!" Aravis fumed as she cornered Prince Corin. She glared at the boy who was still grinning.

The halfwit didn't even realize the peril he had placed his own brother in. Again. He grinned at her and then had the audacity to wink as though she were some…some…some servant girl! "Oh stop your fussing, Aravis. It was brilliant! And he almost held on for a full five seconds this time." He pointed at where Shasta was sitting on the ground with Bree hovering over him even as that worthy Beast scolded him. "Look, he's conscious."

Aravis clenched her fists even though she longed to beat the boy about his ears. "Have you considered that if you end up killing your brother with these stupid dares, you will have to be king again?"

Now Corin finally looked worried. "Oi! Cor!"

Shasta raised his head, wincing as he did so. No doubt he felt the hammers of a thousand smiths against his skull. The fool deserved it! "I'm fine. I think. Ow!"

Bree snorted impatiently. "You weren't ready at all, you foolish little foal. You should have more sense than that dumb donkey we left behind in the fisherman's stable." He nosed Shasta's shoulder, ears twitching and his tail lashing his haunches when the action produced a sharp cry from the boy. "We should get you to a healer. No, don't move. I don't think humans are supposed to move after being tossed. I will find a healer and bring him to you. And the queens will want to know."

Aravis crossed her arms as she glared at both boys. Did Aslan not bless them with enough sense to sustain a flea? "Boys," she muttered as she stomped past them. Philip and Hwin had been quietly watching the whole exchange and she was certain they would be able to keep Shasta from doing anything else foolish, especially Philip since he often carried the Just King.

"Oi!" Corin called after her. "Oi! Wait for me!" She kept walking until he caught up with her, still grinning like a Tash-blighted fool. "Oh come on, Aravis. Cor needs to be tough. He'll walk it off."

She darted a glare at him, not that that had any effect on his merriment. "I'm sure Dame Sepphora will not share your view on the matter, O Prince."

The grin faded slightly and a hint of worry appeared in his blue eyes. In that moment, he looked far more like his twin. Then the carefree grin reappeared as Cor gave a little laugh. "Dame Sepphora is still in quarantine for her cold. She won't be handing out discipline to anyone."

Which was the entire reason Corin thought he could get away with daring his brother to ride a half-broken horse. Aravis fumed as she entered the castle but then she straightened as she caught sight of the dark-haired king. "King Edmund!" He turned toward them, his Wolves yipping in excitement until he shushed them. Aravis offered her best Calormene curtsey, desiring to make the best impression on the formidable warrior king. "If it pleases you, O Just King, and if it does not darken the sun in your eyes, I beg a word with you."

One dark brow rose as he looked from her to Corin. Then his lips twitched into the slightest hint of a smile before he offered a half-bow. "Very well, Lady Aravis, what may I do to help you? Ah, Corin, just where do you think you are going? You haven't finished escorting Lady Aravis."

Aravis folded her hands in front of her as she had seen the Queens, especially Queen Susan, do and quietly offered, "Perhaps he is going to check on his brother's injuries."

The faint amusement fled the Just King's face as he glared at Corin. "What did you do to Cor now? Tied him to an anchor?"

Corin laughed. "No, but that's a brilliant idea! I could-"

"Corin!"

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16 Frostmoon 1014

The tip of the quill hovered over the parchment, one drop of ink dropping down to blot the half-written name. Peter groaned as he set the quill back in the inkpot. He had been wrestling with how to explain everything that had happened for days now. It wasn't getting any better. Kat deserved to know. She needed to know what had happened that night.

Yet, the quill and ruined parchment merely mocked his inability to choose a few choice words. He far preferred giving this sort of news in person where he could explain exactly what had happened and in as many details as was desired or needed. Between Edmund's restrictions and his own hesitation, the task seemed utterly impossible. There had to be some way of breaking the news gently…only he couldn't think how.

Another groan escaped him.

"Did the meal disagree with you, sire?"

He jumped slightly, having forgotten that his Tigers were inside the tent. He met Babur's gaze and shook his head. "Only the task I'm faced with, I'm afraid. How in the worlds am I to explain this to Kat?"

The Tiger's green eyes widened slightly. "You still haven't sent word?"

Peter winced. "No. It's not exactly an easy thing to explain. Especially to someone like Kat."

The Tigers exchanged looks then Bast huffed. "It should be very easy, your majesty. Lay out the facts for her inspection and she will understand."

Peter's mind returned to the battle and the horror he had felt when the Giant had- He shook away the memory and ran both hands through his hair, tugging lightly. By Aslan, he wished it was so easy. He didn't want to be callous. Handling the matter the way Bast suggested had been his first thought but the moment he sat down to try and do so, his entire being had balked at the callousness of the act. Kat deserved better than that, she was his friend, his sister, aunt, and even mother. She definitely deserved more than a callous recitation of events. Besides he wasn't even sure if Edmund would tolerate such a blunt recital. Yet, writing to Kat with a simple disclosure that something had happened to her husband seemed cruel. He well remembered his anxiety and torment over the intelligence that Thalia was ill but with no details as to how ill or why she was ill. He certainly did not want to inflict that same anxiety on another.

Oh Aslan, what he going to do? He almost wished the storm would abate enough so he could take the news to Kat personally. That was the tactic she actually deserved. A face to face conversation wherein he could explain exactly what had happened to her husband and why. It was his fault that Oreius had placed himself in danger with no chance to defend himself, after all. He should have been more cautious. Perhaps then, this entire debacle wouldn't have happened.

The sides of the tent billowed inward and one of the hanging lanterns bounced with the force of the wind. Peter idly glanced up at them, still turning over words in his mind and rejecting every one of them. None of them were sufficient, many of them seemed cruel, and the rest trite. The entire army had hunkered down in their tents as the storm continued to rage. Only those Beasts built for such conditions maintained the watch, Bears, Tigers, Snow Leopards, and the like, while the rest of the army sheltered as best they could from the blizzard. It had been raging for a week now. He had heard the speculation among the older soldiers, veterans of the Long Winter, that the storm had been summoned by a witch or perhaps a very powerful Hag and now the spell was out of even her control.

The Giants had not made any movement toward the camp, which was some relief although now Peter worried the army would end up snowed in the mountains and canyons of Ettinsmoor. It certainly slowed the progress of their campaign to a crawl. A desolate sigh escaped him as he recalled how close they had been to an assured victory over the Giants. Between the weather, injuries, and loss of life, it would take at least another month or two before they regained that lost ground.

Shaking away the gloomy thoughts, he picked up the letter from Thalia. A Gryphon from the northernmost Narnian outpost had carried the mail this time. The storm had already grown too fierce for the smaller carriers to safely fly to them. Now even that worthy and the rest of the Gryphons were grounded as a precaution. Peter refused to lose any of his people to the weather when it could easily be avoided. Thalia's handwriting leapt out at him like a lifeline to hope. She needed him to come home. How he wished he could. One day he would happily turn south and put the ugliness of Ettinsmoor behind him, but it was not this day. He had already written his reply to her but it, like his reply to Edmund's frustrated letter, had to wait for the weather to clear or at least ease. A faint smile twitched his lips as he recalled Edmund's highly agitated letter. He wondered what the girls had been doing to his brother that he felt desperate enough to ask Peter for help with a young lady. He also wondered if the young lady in question had gotten under his brother's skin. The smile grew as he recalled teasing his little brother over his fondness for redheads.

The lantern overhead bounced more as a stronger gust of wind shook the tent, completely distracting Peter from his thoughts. However, the stakes didn't give away and, for now, Peter and his Tigers remained safe form the fury of the storm. He glanced at the Tigers who were whispering to each other and then forced himself to focus on his true task. He had to write Kat.

Dear Kat,

I regret

He paused, shook his head, and then vehemently struck through the words. Crumpling the parchment, he tossed it into the growing pile on the carpeted floor.

He tried again, wracking his brain for better words with which to explain the tale to Kat.

Dear Kat,

It is my deepest regret that I must report your husband has been

He muttered an oath under his breath as the quill slipped and a blossom of black ink appeared, obscuring half the words. Why was it so bloody difficult? He slashed through the remaining legible words and then crumpled the parchment. He hurled it on to the floor, watching with vicious satisfaction as it bounced twice before rolling to a stop underneath his hammock.

Just as he was about to try again, a blast of cold air and snow filled the tent as two cloaked figures emerged from the blizzard's gullet. Peter bit back a cry of surprise and dismay as he barely kept his papers from being swept off the table. The tent flaps were secured once more by the smaller of the two figures. His morose voice immediately picking up where the blizzard's howls had left off. "See? Now we're like as not to be executed for chilling the High King. He's liable to take sick and drop dead in this weather with his nose falling off too, like as not. Of course, he'll suffer horribly the entire time. Years and years' worth of pain and suffering as his limbs fall off one by one and his hair will fall out. The Princess Consort won't be able to bear the sight of him, like as not. Horrid way to go."

Peter rolled his eyes at the Tigers before he turned to greet the Marsh-Wiggle healer who had pushed back his hood, revealing his long sallow face. "Master Mumpwort, I assure you I'm feeling just fine. I doubt any permanent damage has been done."

The Marsh-Wiggle healer appeared to be entirely unconvinced as he shook his head slowly, his sallow face somehow growing even longer as he observed him morosely. Then he nodded. "A brave front, Your Majesty. It must be terrible to know you're liable to keel over dead at any moment now. Then, you'll swell up horrendously and not be able to breathe at all as your nose falls off and then your ears and your hands and arms. You'll probably go blind too, like as not. Years of misery and pain, Sire, years of it." He paused then added somberly, "I supposed it will be a slow execution too for my failure to keep any of you alive."

Peter bit back a laugh. He still wasn't certain why the Marsh-Wiggle healer had joined the campaign, considering he had been predicting its disastrous outcomes (nearly all of which involved the soldiers losing their limbs somehow) every day for the entire campaign. However, despite the Marsh-Wiggle's rather morose way of thinking and his ridiculously fatal diagnoses, he was a very capable healer. "Don't worry so, Master Mumpwort, if I should die of anything, I'm certain my brother will blame me and not you."

Mumpwort didn't look at all comforted. If anything, he looked more morose than ever (although Peter wasn't quite sure how he was managing it) as he sighed. "Then it will be Queens and the Princess Consort who choose my execution. Terrible way to go. Females are always harsher than males. It's just the way of things. They'll have me boiled and skinned, like as not."

The other cloaked figure let out a low impatient growl. "Enough, Mumpwort. You do their majesties a discredit with such tales."

Peter tensed as he recognized the gruff and somewhat hoarse voice. "My understanding was that the healers had sentenced you to complete bedrest."

The hood of the cloak concealed his other visitor's features from sight but he could still sense the reproving glare. Then, the visitor stiffly lowered his hood with his left hand. Oreius' stern features were drawn with the pain the Centaur could not quite hide as he walked forward, still limping slightly. "Ardon told me you were planning to send word to Alambiel."

Mumpwort didn't give Peter the chance to answer as he interrupted, "I told the General to stay still, Your Majesty, sure as you're sitting there. Told him his injuries are going to cause his death. Broken bones in this weather? It's a deadly combination, Sire, deadly. He'll lose that arm soon then his legs then all his hair will fall out as the medicine reacts poorly to a Centaur and eats him from the inside out. Dead by spring, like as not. The Princess Royal will chop me into little bits and feed me to eels, like as not, and then I'll cause a plague to wipe out Narnia."

Oreius glared at the Marsh-Wiggle. "Cease your prattling. It is neither accurate nor useful. And I do not know why you pursued me if you are so determined that I am to die no matter the healers' efforts."

Mumpwort blinked at him and then nodded solemnly. "To make sure his majesty's wrath only falls on me, of course. We need the other healers, though even they won't be able to keep patching everyone up for long, like as not. Dropping of exhaustion and then freezing to death in this blizzard. The Giants will likely step on us and crush us into some sort of foul seasoning, like as not."

Peter barely resisted laughing as he quickly cut in, "Thank you for your courage, Mumpwort. I shan't send you back into the storm, it's unfit weather for anyone after all, but I would ask that you allow me to speak privately with the good General for a few moments. Then I would like your full report on the General's condition."

He turned to Oreius as Mumpwort began examining Bast and Babur and loudly predicting that both Tigers' fur would fall out and lowered his voice slightly to address the Centaur. "You don't think she deserves to know?"

"I do not think Alambiel needs to know. There is a difference." Oreius' impassive look betrayed nothing as Peter looked at him sharply. The heavy, dark red cloak hid the bulkiness of the bandages and the sling currently binding the Centaur's right arm. But, Peter had seen what happened when the cudgel hit Oreius. He had seen the healers' silent anxiety as they worked over him.

"You almost died a sennight ago, Oreius. She deserves to know what happened and that you are still injured."

The Centaur didn't even blink as he reiterated, "She does not need to know. Do not interfere, Sir Wolfsbane."

"And if it had been reversed? If you were there and Kat had been severely injured, would you not want to know?"

"It is different. My injuries are not as severe as the healers originally presumed."

"Probably because you're hiding the signs," Peter muttered.

Oreius ignored him, which was probably a good thing. "I intend to write my wife myself. I will tell her what she needs to know. I respectfully request, High King, that you do not interfere in my marriage or how I communicate with my wife."

Peter hesitated then he sighed. "Fine. I haven't been able to find the right words to write her in any case. I can only imagine how hard it would have been to tell her you had perished."

The Centaur bowed his head slightly. "I thank you, My King. If you will excuse me, I shall take my leave of you now."

He would have protested but then he noticed how pale the Centaur looked. He nodded. "Of course, Oreius. Go and get some rest before you have all the healers up in arms over you escaping your sickbed."

As the Centaur ducked back out of the tent, vanishing into the blizzard, Peter turned to Mumpwort. The Marsh-Wiggle was telling Bast that her tail would fall off. He seemed utterly oblivious to the fact that the Tigress was near to biting him. Peter hurried to rescue him from himself. "Master Mumpwort? I am ready to hear the full report regarding General Oreius' injuries and the prognosis for his recovery."

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Oreius ignored the pain as he lowered himself to his bed and pulled out the letters from beneath his pillow. The latest one was what had motivated him to see his golden colt despite the healers' protests. He pulled it out once more and read the words. Alambiel had been in pain when she wrote it, no matter how she protested that she was fine. If she had gone to visit their colt…

Oreius closed his eyes as his strength began to fail him once more. He would write her in the morn but he would not mention his own injuries. She didn't need another burden added to that which she was already feeling. Strong as she was, he knew she would break if she feared him on the brink of death.

He listened to the blizzard howling around his tent. In a sense, the storm was a blessing from Aslan. Too many of their soldiers had been injured during the ambush to prove immediately up to the task of once again battling the Giants. With the blizzard raging so fiercely, they were afforded an unlooked for opportunity to rest and prepare themselves body and soul for another battle. If they timed their next attack correctly, Oreius was certain that they could use the storm to their own advantage.

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24 Frostmoon 1014

Morrigan paced the length of her tent, one hand clenching the same notched dagger that she had used to kill the witch's representative. She glared at the dark-haired Giantess. "You are certain Culhwch suspects nothing?"

Macha's dim gaze never left the crumpled remains of the Hag as she murmured, "Macha sure. Culhwch doesn't know. He gives Macha pretties for being good and warm."

Morrigan snorted. Had Culhwch not been too smart and too ambitious, she would have taken him as a lover. But he was smart and too dangerous. For that reason she had insisted Grog stay in the Harfangers' camp during the blizzard. She didn't trust the fat old fool not to get himself killed by Culhwch. Fortunately, he was too stupid to care that she spent as much time with younger Giants as with him. Just the promise of her bed was enough to keep Grog in check.

She kicked at the Hag. The useless tool of a northern witch. She had let the blizzard grow too powerful and only that day had it begun to ease. Now the Giants would need to dig their way out of the camps and through the canyons to reach the Narnians again. She glanced at Macha again. "Go back to Culhwch. Take supplies so he doesn't suspect you were reporting to me. And keep him in your arms all day tomorrow."

"Yes, Morrigan."

She watched the black-haired Giantess leave her tent then she turned back to the Hag's lifeless form. Raising her knife as she crouched down, she decided to add to the evening's supper pot. Hags were stringy and greasy but they were still good in a meat pie.

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A/N: Please Read and Review! See, I'm not THAT evil. ;)