CHAPTER 40

Where the Western Woods meet the Mountains.

Peter.

Peter panted, his heart heavy as yet another fell.

The remains of the building were crumbling about them, scorched and smoking.

With Faelar at his back, they fought together. Another tremor rumbled through the ground.

He shifted to the side as an arrow tore past his ear. From such a short range, there had been no hope for the man that Susan would miss. The arrow pierced through his jugular, ripping through muscle and tendon to appear through the other side of his spine. Susan at least delivered a swift death.

Faelar, the right hand man of the Ice Queen, fought with such alacrity that Peter was taken aback. But glancing at him from the corner of his eye as he met the sword of another, he saw that he was attempting to keep the crimson-eyed warriors away from Lucy.

He did not dwell however as another warrior came at him, with a head on rush, pausing the moment before he swung his sword – as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him, blinking his crimson eyes rapidly.

But Peter did not pause as the warrior attacking him faltered, he ran him through.

She did not pause as the warrior attacking her faltered, she ran him through. He watched as the shadows passed over his features, over his nose that was out of joint, his mouth opening slightly as he stumbled backwards. Fear flashed through his crimson eyes. A fear which had been absent before. A fear of dying.

Something had changed.

The air was still, wrought with tension. Asura's heavy panting reached her ears, but it was not that which caused his eyes to widen.

Those eyes which had been crimson but a moment before had turned a dull, muddy brown.

"Corradyn's followers," Lucy said softly, and he became aware of the sudden hush which had fallen over them. "Some of them are no longer attacking."

Edmund and Arianna had succeeded…

Then why, oh why, did something feel terribly wrong?

Lucy.

Lucy watched; numb, unable to look away as Edmund emerged from the castle, a limp form in his arms. The white cloak fluttered behind him like a wraith. He cradled her to his chest, his arms encircling the small form gently. She watched as his lips moved, speaking words to soft or any of them to hear. But his expression said it all, the raw emotion on his face, his tight grip on her. He would not let her go, he couldn't.

The northmen fell to their knees, one by one as he passed. Their fallen queen in his arms.

The world seemed to move in slow motion, no one else moved, staring. Even the sounds of the fighting in the city seemed to have disappeared. There was no clashing of weapons in the distance, no screams of pain.

Arianna was gone.

Lucy was frozen; she didn't even notice as the tears slid from her own face. Edmund held Arianna's body closer, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder.

"Don't leave," his hoarse whisper reached her, burning with fervour. "I need you." His voice sounded small, pressed in on all sides by the expansive silence. Strong, grounded Edmund. He shook like a leaf tossed in the wind as his emotions overcame him.

It was Eirwen, the snow fae queen, who recovered first, her graceful steps taking her to Edmund's side in an instant. The deep gorge in her side healed itself as she watched, the flesh binding itself together, as if someone were stitching her back together. The starlight-haired fae placed a gentle hand on Edmund's shoulder, unshed tears in her ice-coloured eyes.

"Edmund," her own voice was harsh, raw, as she turned to the healer. "Let me see her."

She was already pulling her cordial from beneath her shirt.

She glimpsed Myriel from the corner of her eye as she moved forward. The dryad queen was shaking, tears cascading down her pale cheeks, hugging herself tightly as she wept openly. Her bow had slipped from her small hands and lay at her feet. The string snapped.

Faelar stood behind her – sombre, yet his hands on the dryad's shoulders were comforting as she trembled. She blinked, sending another tear rolling off her impossibly long eyelashes. She shook her head slowly at Lucy, "Daggers of ice." The words had barely passed through her lips before a cry tore through her, wild and primal. She turned and buried her face against Faelar's chest. "She killed herself to kill Jadis."

No.

Her mind rejected the thought.

She had been trying to find another way.

Any other way.

Arianna had taken matters into her own hands.

With her own daggers.

Lucy moved as if treading through swamp waters; sluggishly, her limps heavy, weighed down. Her vision blurred as she stumbled, falling to her knees a few feet from Edmund, who had lain Arianna on a clean patch of the earth. Her body was numb; she felt no pain, even though she saw the blade of the discarded dagger cut her thigh as she crashed to the ground. A wail passed through her lips.

Arianna could not be gone. Such a strong woman, so infallible.

"Lu, Ed," she barely registered Peter's presence at her side, though he did not touch her. It was Susan who wrapped her delicate arms about her. She did not look up into Peter's eyes. She wanted no sympathy from him. "She died with honour." Too much bloodshed, their losses were too great.

"I thought she was not to be trusted," her voice came out as a gasp through her tears as she clutched her hands to her chest as if to hold the pain away, the guilt. "A witch of the worst kind."

"I was mistaken," his voice pierced her ear drums, too loud and too course.

"You realised that a little late, didn't you," her voice was a snarl as she turned to him, eyes flashing and teeth bared. His eyes widened, taken aback, but there was no fear in his face. His face, asymmetrical, imperfect, human, was merely surprised. There was no revulsion as the snarls erupted from her chest like an animal which had been caged for far too long.

His gaze softened slightly. "It is never too late. She will never be forgotten."

Edmund.

"Ari, please," Edmund's whisper reached them all, though he paid them no heed. He cradled her in his lap, stroking her face tenderly, cleaning her of the dirt that streaked across her perfect skin. Her full lips were opened slightly, though no breath blossomed forth, there was no colour in her face. Wide eyes, set under dark brows, were closed. And yet he still held her. She felt so small and fragile, far more delicate than she had ever been before. Her dark silken locks caressed his bare forearm. She could have merely been sleeping. There was nothing in her expression, no slight tremble of her lips that's only he could detect, no sarcastic smirk tugging at her lips

His heart clenched; the pain acute. He cared not for the tears running down his face, nor for those watching him. She could not leave him. His Arianna.

The way her eyes lit up from within, shining a bright emerald, the soft curve of her gentle smile, her infectious bubbling laughter. The way her lips titled in a slight smirk when she was faced with a challenge, the fierce determination which shone in her eyes. Her perfect balance when she twisted through the air, her agility as she leapt from branch to branch. The way she fit in his arms when they danced, perfectly in sync, as if their bodies had been moulded to fit each other's.

He remembered the first time they had danced together. The firelight had played across her heavenly features as she'd twirled lightly towards him, hands outstretched. Hands which had held onto his so firmly, yet so soft and delicate at the same time. She'd shown her vulnerability in her eyes as he'd held her close, their movements soft and sensual, bodies close, entwining. A marked hush had fallen over their assembled audience as the two had begun their dance to the slow melancholic song. Arianna had curled tightly into his arms; he only let her go when he spun her out. He held her tentatively, almost protectively.

Though he'd known from the start of their acquaintance that she needed no protection, she shielded herself from everything. She was wild, untameable. Perfect. Her cold exterior meant nothing to him when he saw what lay beneath.

A sob escaped his lips, a single tear dropping onto her cold face, rolling down her delicate jawline.

When she had told him of her birth, of her heritage, he had not been surprised, even as her mask had slid into place expecting his rebuff. She was a born leader, a true warrior, far too regal for even her mother. An Empress without an Empire to rule…she could have been his queen. She would have been his queen.

The tears did not stop as he clutched her desperately. She could not leave him.

"Ed," Lucy's voice was soft, choked.

He did not turn to her. His eyes did not leave Arianna's face. "Ari…"

"Ed, she's gone."

"No," the word was soft, yet he put everything into it. She could not be gone.

His hands shook as he traced his thumb in a circle across her cheek.

It was Susan's hand that rested on him then, as she sunk to her knees beside him. Tear-tracks had worn through the blood across her face, her eyes were almost empty. There was nothing they could do; there was not even a spark of life within her.

Are you willing to sacrifice your life for those you don't know? For those who would see you dead? Moonshade had asked her, dark eyes cryptic. She had known, Edmund realised, she had known what Arianna would have to do.

No, had been her soft reply. But I will do it for those who believe in me.

She had sacrificed herself to kill the White Witch.

She had done it for Narnia.

For him.