18. – How and When

Lucy huddled under the thick woollen blanket, watching the flames dancing in what had been their cook-fire for the night. They had not reached Cair Paravel before sun set and had made camp after crossing the Great River. They were not too far from Aslan's How, nor from where the final battle between Miraz and the Old Narnian's had taken place.

Around her, the doctors and healers were gathered, sipping warm tea or talking softly among themselves. Already plenty had gone to sleep, while a few were tending to the horses. The mice had agreed upon night shifts, to protect the camp and get their own rest.

Willowispila had gone off when the fire was lit, her face impassive, but the disgust apparent regardless. Lucy understood her and would have ordered the fires put out, if it was not needed to keep the rest of them warm. The dryads did not feel the cold the same as the other Narnians did.

And Lucy was cold. So cold she wondered if it was worth the bother to attempt to sleep- And her thoughts wandered to the night before. She could still feel Caspian's kiss. His hand trailing up her spine. The way his hair had felt between her fingers and how he had stolen her breath- The thought alone sent a pleasant shiver up her spine. The sensation was filled with heartache and she shook her head at herself. She could not stay with him. Should not indulge herself. Should protect him from the hurt it would inevitably bring.

Some laws could not be broken.

Suddenly Lucy was wide awake and rising to her feet, nodding at the people around her, so as not to alarm them. Quickly, she sought out Midwinter, who was resting under a heavy blanket at one of the other fires.

"Midwinter," she said to catch his attention, speaking under her breath so others would not hear. "Can you tell me, if it is true that all the ancient laws of Narnia were written on the stone table?"

The young centaur nodded.

"They should be- But some of them are hard to see after it broke," he told her. He frowned in thought, narrowing his eyes at the sky, before rising to his hooves. The blanket was still in place over his back, almost like a too long saddle blanket, or a cape. "The moon isn't so high yet, we could go take a look?"

Lucy felt a brief smile tug at her lips.

"That would be helpful," she told him. Her heart was pounding almost painfully against her ribcage. "I'll get Rikeety- He'd tear his tail out if I went without protection."

And go she would- It was true, some laws could not be broken. But sometimes, there were circumstances that could negate them, just as when Edmund had been promised to the witch as a traitor, and Aslan's sacrifice had saved both the boy and the lion.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to save her.

.o.O.o.

Joel tightened the last clasp on Caspian's breast plate with a satisfied huff. He checked the straps once more to be safe and then stepped back.

"How does it feel?" he asked.

Caspian turned and stretched, moving his arms up and down a few times, before giving Joel a nod.

"The blacksmith did good work, repairing it. It fits well enough," he told Joel. The servant was looking good, despite his recent bout of illness, but Caspian worried for the young man. Joel was no warrior and Caspian would be going to battle soon. He and his army would camp closer to the Ettinsmoor, to meet the army of the Witch. After they tied for victory the last time, they had both been amassing new forces, and it seemed the Witch was tiring of simple ambushes and traps once more. The real war was about to begin- Caspian could feel it in the air.

Joel removed the breastplate and settled it back on the armour stand.

"I'd like you to stay here when we leave tomorrow," Caspian said. "I won't order you to, that would be unfair, but it would also be unfair not to give you the choice."

The servant stilled his movements, looking at Caspian for a few moments, before sighing.

"I'll stay," he said, with no reluctance or conflicted emotions. "I'm unsuited for war and fighting, and much prefer to avoid it. Not to say that I wouldn't like to defend our country, but-"

"-but it'd be a foolish king who tried to sweep with a rolling pin instead of a broom," Caspian finished. "And that I am not."

Joel scoffed in amusement.

"I'll make sure that provisions and the like is packed properly when sent to the battle camp," Joel told

him. "And if you send your clothes needing mending my way, I'll see to that too, Your Majesty."

Caspian nodded.

"I believe we've reached an agreement then."

As Joel left the chamber, Caspian felt his fingers curl into a fist, succumbing into those memories that had haunted him all day. Her hair twisted around his fingers. Her scent. Her warmth. The taste of her tears that night. It lingered, and it was driving him near mad- He wanted nothing more than to go harrowing off on Tantris to reach her, or to seek out the first garden and the Silver Apples, curse be damned. He felt almost certain he would have done the latter, had Edmund not beat him to it, had Narnia not been facing another crisis.

His hand collided with the wall, stone scraping the skin off his knuckles.

Breathing deeply, Caspian went through the halls and chambers, to the outside. The frosty air bit at his cheeks, but he welcomed the sensation as a distraction. Dark clouds hung heavy in the air, promising early snow. Too early.

Too soon.

Everything was happening too fast and outside of his control.

So, he would start with the things he could control.

Already Drinian and Trumpkin had been set to work. Drinian in securing the Castle of Telmar kings, and Trumpkin in securing the food storages throughout the land, rationing and making sure everybody had food. He was also arranging for local security patrols to enforce order and prevent the wolves of hunger from tearing into Narnia.

"Frostmane," he greeted the centaur Shaman with a nod.

"Your Majesty." Frostmane pointed to the map in the middle of the tent and the newly placed wooden markers. "The spies just returned with new intel- The Witch has been moving her forces to the east, further onto the Ettinsmoor and closer to the coast."

"They've been spreading out like this, almost like they're searching for something," one of the generals said. Tammar, Caspian saw as he glanced up from the map.

"Like what?" the king asked.

Tammar shook his head.

"Who's to say? I know not of anything hidden in the Ettinsmoor."

Frostmane scoffed and dragged one front hoof over the floor.

"This is something New Narnians wouldn't know," he said, without accusation. "You know not our stories and our legends. Know not the artefacts of ancient history and locations of great magic."

"And you know them all?" Tammar asked, and Caspian was pleased to note that there was no enmity in his tone of voice either.

Frostmane laughed, throwing his head back so black dreadlocks danced in the air.

"I know plenty, but not them all, no. No. Wisdom is not in having all the answers, but in knowing where to look for them," he said in that deep barytone of his.

"Aslan's How," Caspian said, remembering. "All of Narnia's history is painted on those walls, including that of the White Witch."

The Shaman nodded.

"Perhaps there will be answers to be found there."

"We don't even know if they are searching for anything," General Narren pointed out. "This might very well be a strategy aimed to confuse and baffle. Then as they've spread our forces, they can fold in behind them and cut off our support." He moved the wooden pieces on the map a few inches to demonstrate. "See?"

They did see.

"So, we pursue all possibilities," Caspian decided. "I'll send someone to the How to check the history, gather knowledge about the Ettinsmoor and the surrounding land, such as the Owlswood and the old battlefield, and we'll make sure the Witch's forces will get no chance to surround us."

And as they settled around the table to discuss just how they would manage that, Caspian's thoughts circled around Aslan's How. Circled around the promise of answers, answers to questions, to problems. Circled and spun and dizzied him as he once more tried to push the memory of auburn hair and lipid clear eyes from his mind.

.o.O.o.

The flicker of fire sporadically lit up the cave walls, as they walked through the dark hollows. The echo of Midwinter's hoofs against the stone floors set Lucy's nerves on edge, even as the young centaur held the torch aloft for her to see. Thick spiderwebs were slung across the ceiling, as if nobody had been there in years.

Lucy's eyes were glued to the walls as they passed, the stories painted there, the images of history past. She recognised some of the newer ones, like the Dawntreader, with Caspain, Edmund, Eustace and her aboard. Others, like the one of a burning Cair Paravel was foreign and haunting. That explained however, why the castle had been in ruins the first time she and her siblings returned to Narnia.

Her fingertips trailed patterns over the paintings.

Rikeety stopped in front of the picture of a mouse standing in front of a large wave, at the end of the world. His eyes were unreadable in the torchlight, his whiskers still and solemn.

Lucy stopped to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, and it was a mark of just how high the Mice regarded her, that their newest Captain did not shake it off or object.

"We're almost there," Midwinter said, raising the light higher. "I can see the main hall further ahead."

Lucy picked up speed, hurrying ahead. Her hands had been aching all day, and she had a sick feeling that it was not just from the cold. If there was some answer here, it would not do to waste time in finding it.

The hall of the How was large and empty, and cold. Despite having been here before, back when they defended themselves against Caspian's uncle, she had not been prepared for just how empty it was. There was no light but the torch in Midwinter's hand. No warmth except that of her own and that warmth was faltering.

The stone table in the middle was every bit as broken as it had been for more than a thousand years, toppled, and shrouded in shadows. Dust and cobwebs clung to it.

Lucy was suddenly reminded of that one time they had come in here to find the place covered in ice and snow. How the howl of the werewolf had torn the hall apart, as the White Witch reached out to draw in Caspian, and then Peter. How the cackle of Plague, the hag, had echoed beneath the roof. She shivered, closing her arms around herself.

"Are you all right, your Majesty?" Rikeety asked.

Lucy forced herself to nod.

"Just cold."

Midwinter watched her and somehow, Lucy knew he saw too much. Just like his father. He looked away and stepped to the table, leaning down to get a closer look.

"The writing is worn, but you can still make out the old laws- Which one are you looking for?" he asked.

Lucy took a deep breath.

"One to do with the ties of souls," she told them hoarsely. "One that dictates the rules of death."

Rikeety narrowed his eyes.

"Meddling with the dead is not an act of goodness."

Midwinter shook his head.

"I doubt that is the Queen's goal, Rikeety," he said quietly. "I believe, this has more to do with saving lives, then restoring them?"

Lucy sank down on her knees, hands uselessly lax in her lap.

"You know?"

The centaur took a few nervous steps.

"Shamans are the keepers of stories, the readers of stars," he said. "And the healers of souls. That is why we must go on a journey to the spirit realm to be real shamans- and I haven't, but…"

"But you know," Lucy concluded. "You know that my soul is dying."

He shook his head in answer.

"I did not know it was dying, but I knew it was- untethered. I sensed it."

Rikeety looked between them, his paws starting to shake.

"This cannot be, your Majesty!" he gasped. "You cannot be- This cannot-" He took a deep breath, shaking his head, and tail swishing upset through the air. "I vowed to protect you. How can I defend against this?"

Lucy took his paw in her hand, tears coming unbidden to her eyes.

"You cannot-" she told him. "I wanted to look through the ancient laws- To see if there wasn't some way to prevent this."

Rikeety straightened.

"Then we will help you. And we'll keep looking till we find something."

And Lucy leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, before sending Midwinter a grateful smile.

"Thank you."

.o.O.o.

"Now Salden, this here is Gerife," Sergeant Harrod told Salden. The Sergeant had pulled him out of bed half an hour earlier, with the message to dress and pack for a fast ride and meet him by the mess tent. When Salden had turned out, he had been met by the Sergeant and young female gryphon. Gerife.

"Honoured to meet you," Salden said haltingly. It had been years since Caspian had opened the army for female recruits and old Narnians, but it still felt weird to him. His father had always believed women were weak- suited for child rearing and cooking, and not much else. Salden… knew… that women were not weak, and he had seen several accomplished female warriors- but it was never his first instinct to believe that.

Gerife's ear tufts rose in attention. Her feline eyes were considering him curiously.

"And you," she greeted him. Her beak gave her words a sort of hiss-like sound. "You look light enough- this should work."

Salden frowned and Harrod hurried to explain.

"King Caspian thinks the Witch's armies may be searching for something in the Ettinsmoor, towards Owlswood. He needs somebody to hurry to Aslan's How and search the paintings there for clues as to what that could be, and since you're one of the more slender soldiers-"

Salden nodded, still hesitant.

"That, and my… hobby, I assume is the reason I was chosen?" he prodded.

"Yes," Harrod confirmed, his eyes softening. "But I wouldn't call it a hobby, nor would I think it something to be ashamed of. I've seen your drawings Salden. They are wonderful. You could make a living off of them if you ever tired of the army."

Salden folded his arms behind his back, averting his gaze.

The Sergeant sighed.

"Gerife's our fastest flier, and she's strong. She'll take you faster than any horse, her eyesight is feline enough for her to see in the dark and she's a reliable fighter. We were thinking she could fly you to the How, you could copy down whatever history there that is related to the Ettinsmoor, the Witch and the area in question. Then she could bring you back before sunset tomorrow."

"I usually fly scouting missions," Gerife added. Already a passenger saddle had been strapped in place right above her shoulders, carefully placed so it did not break her golden feathers.

Salden did not know what to say.

Harrod broke the silence before it got too awkward.

"I packed paper and coal for you," he said, passing a satchel to Salden, the kind that scribes usually used. "There's some ink and a feather in there too, if you need it."

Salden accepted it but did not comment.

"So, uhm, should we get going?" Gerife asked.

Salden nodded.

"If you're ready," he said, and when she nodded, he went to stand beside her. At his direction, he pulled himself up behind her wings, and into the saddle. There he strapped himself so he would not fall while flying, and she took a few trial steps.

"Harrod, would you tighten the girdle a bit?" she asked.

"Of course," the Sergeant agreed. And once that was done, he stepped back to give her space. "Take care."

Gerife gave him a gryphon grin, opening her beak wide and her ear tufts rising. Then she lowered herself on her haunches, not bothering to attempt a run on her front talons and launched into the air.

Salden gasped as the ground disappeared beneath them. He felt his face pale as he clung to the saddle, his lips hurting, they were pressed so hard together.

Then they reached a height deemed suitable by the gryphon, and the flight eased into wind gliding. Salden tried to relax his tensed muscles but failed. Air pressed against his face and chest, chilling him quickly. Above them, the sky was black as tar, with no stars to speak of.

.o.O.o.

The badger nursed the babe with a milk-soaked cloth, humming softly as she did so. Uldra and her husband had been given three connected chambers in the castle, one which served as a sitting room, one for a nursery and one for their bedchambers. They had quickly directed how the bed had been emptied for all but the frame, and the frame filled with moss and fresh straw for their nesting.

It was not as cosy as their own sett, as the rooms were too tall to suit humans, but it would do.

The white-haired human child in her arms fussed a bit and she cooed to calm it.

"Now now, Kitten. Everything is just fine. Just fine. Nothing can harm you here, I'm sure." A smile tugged at her nose, making it shiver. She had always wanted kits of their own, but her and Gustav had never been so lucky.

"Hmmm?" she made a questioning sound. "How about that, hmm? Mind you the name, Kit?"

The little boy waved one clumsy hand at her, eyes blue and intent on her black and white face, before gliding out of focus as such young children's are wont to do.

"Kit it is then, little one," Uldra cooed. "We've got to have some thing to tell you, don't we, yes."

.o.O.o.

A/N:

Bit of a filler chapter this time around, speed will pick up in the following ones. Get ready.

.o.O.o.