GROWING UP in the Telmarine palace, I never had the chance to learn who I was. Every hour of every day in those cold, stone walls, I was Sefisenia: the Professor's daughter. The servant girl.

Even with the Narnians, I stumbled and fell and ran deep into the trees in search of whoever I might have been, trying to find myself past the title of my kind: the last chimæra. The forms I practiced and mastered for years in secret were merely byproducts.

I've spent my life building new skins and shedding them over and over again in the hopes of finding the one I was meant to wear; as if the solution was only a matter of crafting the right body. I was convinced it was that simple. And up until now, I've had no doubts about who I am. I thought I'd found Arryn amidst the Narnian wood and beneath its wild sky.

I've never been so wrong.

From the moment I fled the castle all those nights ago, a thread I hadn't noticed began to unravel — knot by knot, frayed ends and all. And the more it came undone, the less, I've realized, I truly know about myself.

I try to ward away the thoughts and sudden emotions and tell myself this is the last thing I should be worrying about when an army is gathered across the plains to kill us. I try to forget my conversation with Cornelius and focus on Edmund's brief, but it's not easy when I have him and Caspian staring at me like I might collapse at any second. And when Peter and Glenstorm start to take notice of the king's divided attention and I can't stand it any longer, I send a sharp I'm fine down the connection without even thinking.

For a second, I'm not sure if it worked and wonder where the idea came from. Then I get a response, like a soft caress in my mind that whispers no words but sympathy and regret. An apology.

A part of me is dumbfounded that we can communicate empathically, but the other part is indifferent; like it's no more exceptional than walking. Then I start to wonder — in the middle of a meeting I should be paying more attention to — if we've been sharing our emotions without meaning to from the start. If this two-way link is the reason we can connect and understand each other so well.

No. That line of thought is cut before I can disappear any further down it.

Priorities, I remind myself. War first, weird magic later.

So I pour my focus into the careful map of the Telmarine camp Edmund is drawing from memory, listening to his descriptions of the guard placements and foliage cover and soldier activity. I commit as much of it to my memory as I can. I'm going to have to know all of it if I want to stay undetected among their ranks.

I requested to accompany the party earlier to scout the camp for myself, but Peter refused on account that I needed more time to recover from the White Witch ordeal. Being all too familiar with the High King, I knew his mind was made up and made no attempt to argue. Besides, if I saw Miraz and his council of tyrants after what they did to my friends last night, I might have tried to kill him right there.

Glenstorm offers his input for Edmund's sketch, adding everything he noticed from the rate of arrow production to the details of body armour worn by the footsoldiers and cavalry.

"Chainmail," the centaur notes, running his hands over his arms to indicate its placement. "Here...and here. Metal braces and plating across the hand. Two jackets of metal-plated leather with an opening here," he gestures to a section of his chest where I know the second layer of leathers doesn't quite close over the first, leaving slightly less protection from a blade.

Glenstorm crosses his arms, looking grim. "Best to go for the neck. Or the legs — no armour there."

Peter nods, his expression no more optimistic than the General's. "Good. Thank you. Ensure the troops are made aware." The High King looks at his brother. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah." Ed nods toward me. "Ryn mentioned fighting styles earlier."

Peter turns his attention to me as well, looking confused. "What about them?"

I pull my hands from the cold surface of the stone table, already having expected to talk about this. "The Telmarines train their men in an entirely offensive form focused on power and throwing bodyweight to overtake opponents," I explain. "And they've never fought an enemy who uses a different form, especially whatever you're trained in."

He nods, silently asking me to continue.

I take a deep breath. "When I fought Edmund, it was like I had to learn a new style even though I have training in Narnian and Telmarine combat. The biggest thing I noticed was the shield. It took me a while to figure out how to get around it." I turn to Caspian, who stands beside me. "You probably noticed it, too, when you fought Peter."

His face slackens in shock. "I didn't think much of it, but now that you mention it, yes." He looks embarrassed when his gaze shifts to Peter, standing across the map table from us. "I never properly apologized for that. Sorry."

A tiny smile flickers across his face — amused. "It's alright. I am, too. But what's this shield you're talking about?"

My hand falls to the sword at my hip. "You keep a shield around yourself–" I pull the blade from its sheath and raise my arm overhead, keeping the sword vertical and pointed downward "–like this." I move through a series of defensive forms I've seen the brothers use, keeping my sword as vertical as possible between myself and a phantom assailant. "Telmarines don't waste time or energy on defensive forms, they end a fight quickly and however they can."

"Large advances; minimal retreat," Caspian adds. "Wide slashes, too."

Nodding, I lower my sword. "Creates a lot of openings, but their armour compensates and is designed to protect those places."

But Peter already knows this. He's fought Telmarine soldiers and learned their forms already. What he doesn't know is that meeting a centuries-old form in battle is akin to diving headfirst into the Great river during spring melt.

"The point is, they've never seen a defensive form like that. Save those for the best opportunities instead of leading with all of them at once. You'll lose an initial advantage, but laying it all out at the start means Miraz knows everything you can do and has time to prepare for it the second time around. Holding off lets you keep a bit of a surprise element on your side."

"Right." Peter nods. "So what should I be holding off on?"

With Caspian's help, the two of us coach Peter through the specifics of the Telmarine offensive form against his more defensive form adopted during the Golden Age — what we struggled to adapt our technique against and what would be best used in his duel against Miraz. Glenstorm leaves to organize the Narnians but Edmund stays and watches us closely from the sidelines, taking the opportunity to learn what he can. I have to leave soon, though when a faun scout enters the war room and tells us Reepicheep's mice have captured a Telmarine.

The four of us descend into a tense silence at the implication her words hold. It's time for Susan and Lucy to go.

Peter swallows his fears. "And they've found a safe way through for my sisters?" He asks the faun.

She nods. "Yes, your majesty. They're preparing to leave now."

Beside me, I can feel Caspian grow more agitated. "Do you know where they are?"

"Um, in the northern tunnels," she responds. "Would you like me to show you there, your highness?"

The prince surges forward instantly. "Yes," he declares, making for the door. "Thank you."

Edmund and I share a knowing look while Peter watches him leave looking confused, blissfully unaware of Caspian's affection toward his sister.

"I have to go, too," I tell them, unbuckling my sword belt. I'm reluctant to part with it so soon again and wish I could take it into battle instead of relying on a Telmarine soldier's blade. But I can't risk anything that might make me stand out in the war camp.

I steal a last glance at the hand-drawn map before turning to the brothers. They're both silent as I look between them — Edmund leaning against the stone wall across the room and Peter standing before me, both in their heavy Narnian armour. It pains me that I might not fight by their side today. That if something happens, I'll likely be on the other side of an army and much too far away to know if they need me.

The stories I've read never mentioned this part. When you have to leave your friends before the fighting starts and pray to all the stars it won't be the last time you see them alive.

Peter reads my distress and hesitancy and steps forward, placing his armoured hand on my shoulder with a sad smile. "Be careful," he advises solemnly. "If you're in over your head, get out of there." A mournful grey washes the blue in his eyes. "You've sacrificed a lot to get the Narnians this far," he says quietly. "And I let you down the other night. I haven't been the king you needed and I'm sorry for that."

"It's alright." A smile pulls at the corner of my lips. "I'm sorry I tried to attack you last night."

Peter laughs, the light returning to his eyes. "Well, I deserved it." He squeezes my shoulder. "Good luck, Arryn."

"You too."

The High King pulls away, and before I leave the war room I look towards Edmund. The dark-haired king is already staring at me, his expression caught somewhere between nervous and resolute.

I lean my sheathed sword against the wall and manage a reassuring smile for him. "Don't do anything too stupid."

He nods in return, unsure of what else to say or do.

Before his heartwrenching gaze can make me lose my nerve, I leave.

I don't want to charge into the final hour of war without a proper goodbye, in fact, it's the last thing I want to do. But I don't have the time to spare when the Telmarines might notice their missing scout any minute. And sabotaging twelve war machines isn't something I can pull off in just a minute or two. I need time — time I never seem to have these days. Why am I always so short on it?

I turn down the stairwell to the main chamber just as I hear rapid bootsteps chasing after me.

"Ryn! Hang on!"

I freeze on the second step of the staircase and whirl around, finding Edmund racing toward me from the war room. The frantic look on his face terrifies me, and I turn to reach the top of the stairs to ask him what's wrong when he crashes into me with a breathless sigh of relief. His desperate frenzy of emotions seeps across the connection as the space between us disappears, my arms flying around his neck and his curling around my waist, pulling me tight to his chest as he buries his face in my hair.

My heart feels like it might burst from the flood of raw emotions from him, whispering everything he couldn't say and everything he's been trying to.

I choke down a sob as I hug the idiot back, his tenderness and fierce, unbridled passion sending me over the edge. "You're going to make me cry," I mumble into his armour, the velvet soft against my skin.

Edmund tightens his arms around me, shaky laughter rumbling through him. "Sorry." His breath warms my neck but all I can feel is his terror and apprehension. "I just... Be careful, alright? War takes everything from us, but this time it brought me to you. And I'll be damned if I let it take you back."

I close my eyes as if it might stop the tears, wishing I could drown in his embrace instead of facing the wrath of the impending battle. But I have to go.

The words burn my throat as I say them. "I have to go."

His arms shift around me, drawing me impossibly close for whatever short moment we have left. And when he pulls away and sees the wet tracks on my cheeks he smiles ever so slightly and wipes my skin dry. The force of his gaze sinks through my bones and into the floor beneath me like an anchor to the earth, his fear and worry and passion a maelstrom in my mind. I almost don't notice when he dips his head down until I rise onto my toes to meet him halfway, the whirlwind of our combined emotions crashing into silence as his lips capture mine softly.

For all the time we had together, this might very well be the last of it. His words echo in my ears as I pull away from the kiss. And I'll be damned if I let the war steal it from me.

Edmund smooths my hair back from my face and rests his lips on my forehead, sighing against my skin.

"I'll see you soon."

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author's note

FUCK ME that was so cute

hrrnghgghh i want an edmund

i understand if y'all think it's a little too soon, but rest assured i do have a plan lol. anyway, it was more of a spur of the moment 'we could both die today' thing than a declaration of love. also, with what i have planned for the rest of the book, it was either kiss now or kiss wayyyy way later soo i decided this would work better

i tried to analyze peter's and the telmarines' fighting styles for this chapter but i know nothing about sword fighting so i did some research and i realized there are no actual fighting styles used in the film. they just make Peter and Miraz and my poor boy Ed slash their swords around like untrained idiots and do completely useless acrobatics and stuff to make the fights look cool and exciting.

anyways, the world of narnia deserves better than that, so even though that's how it is in the movies, i'm going to create my own fighting styles for everyone. i've imagined a more defensive and powerful form for peter and a highly aggressive, offensive form the telmarines are trained in (very minimal descriptions here lol). arryn's is a mix of the telmarine form and a variation of the southern wood centaur's form (which is balanced and accurate and focuses a lot on height differences in opponents). edmund's is similar to peter's but is less defensive with more deceptive elements

also, glenstorm casually advising peter to behead the telmarines is my second fav part of this chapter

this is turning into a long an, but if y'all wanna get in the feels and get hella inspiration when you're writing, i have a playlist with all the songs that help me write on my youtube channel (AfterDaybreak) and it honestly works like magic for me

anyways, happy first birthday (sort of) to chimæra! one year ago today, i published the first chapter online so to celebrate, i'm posting a bonus chapter with some scenes in edmund's pov!