Chapter 27

Winterfell

Under Peter's instruction, Glimfeather had taken the journey back to Winterfell to see Eustace, without the letter Peter had written. Glimfeather, knowing the aerial map of Narnia better than ever thanks to his mission, made haste and got to the North in good time. Fluttering down on top of the battlements, he waited, watchful, taking in the comings and goings of the castle. How things had changed since he was last in Narnia. This castle, although homely, was not befitting of his Kings and Queens. They should be in Cair Paravel, in their rightful places.

How could Aslan let this happen? Thought Glimfeather to himself. It felt so unfair, so cruel when all could be resolved at the roar of a lion. Still, perhaps this was the point, Glimfeather thought. Perhaps this was all part of Aslan's great plan for them. So many times, Glimfeather had closed his eyes and put his trust in Aslan, giving over any anxieties or notions to the great lion they all followed, and every single time Aslan prevailed. Why shouldn't he do the same this time? Because Aslan hasn't been seen in a long time, a small voice said at the back of his head. It was true Glimfeather thought. Although Aslan was not a tame lion, and disappeared often, he always returned, but this was the longest that he had spent away from them. It made him uneasy, to think he might never return, but that wouldn't happen, would it?

Glimfeather saw Eustace appear, gazing down from the battlements opposite him. The owl swooped across the width of Winterfell and landed next to him. As he flew, he noticed the dark bloodstains in the middle of the courtyard, that hadn't yet been washed away or soaked up by the rain.

"It's good to see you, Glimfeather," said Eustace, although slightly reserved as he noticed his friend's eye line. "How is my cousin?"

Glimfeather sighed, letting a gentle coo out of his beak. "His Majesty is tortured, my Lord."

"Please, Glimfeather," sighed Eustace. "No formalities. We're friends, after all."

"Yes, Eustace," agreed Glimfeather. "Peter is distraught about what's happened."

"As am I," he said. Eustace continued looking down on his household, watching them work in the courtyard of the castle. Glimfeather watched him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, and the sallow of his skin that hung to his cheeks. He did not look well. "Is it really true, Glimfeather?" asked Eustace, turning to his friend. "That Caspian is alive? You did tell me that, did you? I wasn't dreaming."

"No Eustace, you weren't dreaming," replied Glimfeather, patting Eustace's shoulder with his wing.

"Everything feels like a dream at the moment – a bad dream," he said, gravely. "Except for that. That's the one thing I've been clinging onto that makes me hope all of this is real. Every heartache, every moment of pain, every error of judgment would be worth it if it were true, that Caspian was really alive."

Glimfeather gulped. He had never seen Eustace like this before, his eyes were glassy, glossed over, and vacant. How could he explain this to Peter? The pain that his young cousin was in.

"I've been thinking about how jealous I've always been of Peter," Eustace went on. "He always knew the right thing to do. Always trusted his gut and his heart and had such a faith in Aslan that I could only dream of having."

"It's what makes him a great King," agreed Glimfeather.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'd have been better off staying in the Western Wood," mused Eustace. "But Father never trusted me. He always thought I was too close with the Pevensies, but they're my cousins, Glimfeather. They're my blood. My family. Father always chastised me for it, but I'm not a Pevensie, I never have been. And I don't particularly feel much like a Scrubb either. I'm no one."

"That's not true, replied Glimfeather. "You are a Scrubb. It's your name. And in some ways, you are a Pevensie. I know they think of you as family, Caspian too."

Eustace shook his head. "But those men, men who allegedly fought in the Scrubb name, murdered my friends, men loyal to our cause, and for what? Now I've been blamed for it. I have paid the ultimate price for a plan that was never mine."

Eustace collapsed into tears, looking down, cowering his face away.

"Come, come, now, Eustace," cooed Glimfeather, trying to spread a wing across his friend's back.

"All I ever wanted was to make my father proud, and I wanted to make Peter proud too. And I've let them both down. I made a choice, and I chose wrong. And now I've burned everything down," he said, through sobs. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked.

"Right now, you are doing all you can," Glimfeather reassured him. "You know the truth about what happened and soon Peter will too. He just needs to be talked around a bit. I know he doesn't truly blame you, not really. It will all be right, Eustace. You'll see."

Eustace lifted his head and sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. In that moment, Glimfeather saw, not the Lord of Winterfell, but a young, confused boy, trying to find his way through. It broke his heart.

"But the good in all of this is that Caspian is alive," Eustace said as if trying to reassure himself. "Caspian is alive and he's coming home, isn't he, Glimfeather?"

"Yes," the owl nodded. "Yes, Eustace. He's coming home."

House Pevensie's Encampment

Glimfeather flew once more, under Eustace's instruction back to the Pevensie Encampment. He hadn't flown so much in all his life, he thought, although happy that he was doing something to help repair what had happened between the Scrubbs and the Pevensies. He would have to rest soon, though. All this flying to and fro was wearing him out.

He once again swooped down into the encampment, flying by Rhince, and calling out a "hello" as the man chopped firewood. He flapped his wings and landed gently in front of Peter's tent, bristling, and readjusting himself as he hopped inside. Peter sat in his chair, deep in thought, and on seeing Glimfeather again, he turned immediately to the owl.

"How is he?" he asked, his voice raspy and tight. Glimfeather studied his King for a moment. It dawned on him just how old he looked now. His skin was tinged with grey, and he hunched over his desk, with traces of stubble on his jaw. Gone was the King who stood proud, chest puffed in an almighty stance, who commanded those around him with just one look. No, before Glimfeather sat a broken man, a lost man, and Glimfeather didn't know how to help him.

"He's…" Glimfeather trailed off. He didn't know exactly the right word to describe Eustace. "He's devastated, Peter," he said finally.

Peter nodded and looked away. Silence fell between them. Outside, the encampment was busy, Rhince's voice filling up the space with orders to nearby men and the occasional joke.

"He still stands by what he wants," Glimfeather went on. "He wants a reconciliation."

"You know I can't do that," replied Peter, who sat back in his chair. "I want that. Peter wants that. But the King in the North cannot."

Glimfeather closed his eyes and exhaled out a sigh.

"Word of this can't get back to Susan," Peter told him, gravely.

"Yes," Glimfeather nodded. "She has enough to think about in the capital. She cannot be worrying about an emerging civil war between her family as well."

"It's not a war," spat Peter. "It's…" he trailed off, running out of steam. "Susan can't know what is happening. She'd never forgive me."

"But she would understand," replied Glimfeather. "She knows the limitations of highborn life as much as you do. She would bear this burden with you."

"I know," Peter replied, holding back a choked sob, and covering his eyes. "I miss her so much."

Glimfeather hopped up onto Peter's desk again, this time sitting down and making himself comfortable.

"I know she misses you too. If you want, I can go to the city, give her a message?"

"No," Peter shook his head. "No, if you're seen you would be shot on sight. I can't ask that of you, Glimfeather."

"I could go at night?"

"It's too risky," said Peter. "Thank you, though. It means everything."

"You are my King," Glimfeather said simply. "It goes without question. I'm here to help you through this, Peter. I want to help you. And the bottom line is, the Scrubb's are our allies. If you exile them, then we have no one. No more Narnians, no more Scrubbs."

"But Caspian is coming," countered Peter. "He comes with mercenaries just like you said."

"I did," nodded Glimfeather. "But who knows how long that will take."

They fell to silence again. Every suggestion, every turn, was a dead end. Peter gulped and turned to the owl again. "If I do not punish Eustace then I do not serve justice to murderers in my ranks, no matter how highborn. What kind of message does that send?"

"Lord Harold won't forgive you," said Glimfeather, truthfully. "He will abandon you, maybe even turn against you."

Peter laughed bitterly. "I can't trust Lord Harold. I was his Liege Lord, and he broke his vow to me. No, I don't worry about what he is capable of. He has already done the worst imaginable."

"Tell Lord Scrubb that as long as they remain loyal, Eustace won't be harmed," pleaded Glimfeather. "Spare his life. Keep him as a hostage."

"I can't see Harold giving a rat's arse about Eustace." Peter clenched his fists. Glimfeather could see his knuckles turning white. "I should never have sent Eustace to talk with his father. This is all my fault."

"It's not, Peter," cried Glimfeather.

"Maybe if we asked Miraz for help, for men to take back Winterfell –,"

"And bend the knee!?"

"I've done it once, Glimfeather. I can do it again," insisted Peter.

"Is living in Miraz's pocket really worth it? For a castle?"

"You don't understand," Peter shook his head. "It is the seat where the North holds its power. Without Winterfell, I am a fallen King with no defences. I have no power. I'm the King who lost the North."

Glimfeather didn't reply. He sat and let Peter's words wash over him. Peter was clearly resigned to the fact that he had nowhere to turn. Every last option was expended, in his mind.

"Are you sure about this?" Glimfeather asked, gently.

Peter looked at his friend and held out his hand to ruffle the owl's feathers softly. "Honestly, Glimfeather. I don't think I have any other choice," he said truthfully.