PART ONE

Chapter 1

On the Moors Outside Winterfell

Peter Pevensie stood upon a grassy hilltop on the moors of his land, looking out into the distance. His blonde hair whipped around in the breeze as his eyes gazed upon the landscape of his castle, Winterfell, in the distance. It was named so because Winter Fell when the White Witch's reign was vanquished at the Battle of Beruna. Peter's hand was on the hilt of his sword Rhindon, which had done the deed itself, slaying the White Witch and restoring Narnia from her vengeful winter.

Peter was ready and waiting to do what needed to be done, admiring the Narnian steel that would have glinted in the sunlight had there been any. The North was not renowned for sun, mainly harsh winds, and cloud, but everyone who lived in the North liked it that way. There was a hardness to the North, and its inhabitants revelled in the discomfort of Southerners who came and suffered. Occasionally, when snowflakes fell, the Pevensies tensed up, wondering if the White Witch had returned. But in the years since their victory, they knew they could relax. For once it was only just snow.

Behind Peter stood Susan, Edmund, Lucy, and Eustace, waiting next to their company of horses and guards that had come with them from the castle. They were dressed in their heavy furs and thick boots.

Susan turned to the guards waiting next to them. "Go," she said, simply. "The prisoner is a deserter. We should expect him to try and desert again today."

"Yes, my lady," replied one of the guards with a small bow and ushered his men to support the arrival of the prisoner, who had arrived tied to his saddle.

"Don't look away," Susan said to Lucy, leaning over to her sister who stood next to her. "Peter will know if you do."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Do you think this is the first beheading I've seen?" she scoffed, crossing her arms. "I've nearly taken Eustace's head off a thousand times during practice."

Eustace's face crept closer to Lucy's. "I'll have my revenge," he hissed into his cousin's ear.

"Shh!" Edmund hushed, digging his elbow into Eustace's ribs. "We still need to show some respect, even if he is a deserter." Edmund could feel his heartbeat quickening, the ever-growing tightness around his chest that he longed to be rid of. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.

"Are you going to miss this?" Eustace asked, leaning over to Edmund, and muttering in his ear.

"Beheadings, no. The North, yes," replied Edmund honestly, keeping his eyes on Peter, who swagged over to where the prisoner was being helped down from his horse.

"Well, you're about to go as far north as you can get," said Eustace with a snort. Susan shot them both a deathly glare, and they both knew it imperative that they shut up immediately.

The guardsmen of Winterfell, who served Peter and his family with honour and loyalty, above all else, brought forward the deserter, who, for once, did not struggle in their grips. He was brought before Peter who looked down at him, full of disappointment.

Lucy eyed him suspiciously. "Perhaps he's heard of Peter's quick, clean deaths?" she said, arching an eyebrow.

The boy looked up at Peter, who stood over him like a giant and gulped. "I know I'm a deserter," he said, his voice shaking violently. "I know I broke my oath, and I should have gone back to The Wall but…" he trailed off, looking as though he was about to vomit. "I saw what I saw…"

"What did you see?" asked Peter, curtly, betraying no emotion on his face.

"Your grace," the boy cried. "I don't have the words to tell you."

Peter nodded to the guardsmen and they pushed the boy down, so he knelt before the bloodstained Ironwood stump, positioning his head the groove of the wood where many heads had laid and been severed from their necks.

Peter took off his gloves and handed them to the guard next to him. He unsheathed his sword with long, clear, shing sound. He pressed the tip into the ground and bowed his head. "In the name of Miraz, of the House Telmarine, first of his name, King of Narnia and the Lone Islands, Protector of the Realm. I, Peter, of the House Pevensie, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of Ettinsmoor and the Wild Lands of The North, sentence you to die." Peter stepped back, wielding his sword high into the air, and took one long, slick swipe at the boy's head, which fell to the ground with a thud. It was done. Peter handed Rhindon over to the guard to be cleaned and walked over to the rest of his family.

He forced a weak smile towards them, and put his arm around Susan, drawing her body close to him. He kissed the top of her head.

"Well done," she muttered into his chest. "I know you don't like doing it. You're always so brave."

"He who passes the sentence should swing the sword," Peter replied. He said it enough to justify his actions that it was almost becoming a catchphrase.

"Shall we go back to the castle for a bit of normality?" asked Susan, with a smile.

"I saw your stitching this morning, Susan. Fine work as always," Peter said, letting her go.

"Thank you," Susan replied.

"And what of Lucy's stitching, Peter?" Eustace teased. Lucy responded by punching him in the stomach.

"Enough," said Peter, simply. "Besides, Lucy is overtaking Susan in becoming the finest archer in Winterfell." He looked to all of them, as if taking in the moment, a gentle smile appearing on his face. This was his family, his House, his legacy. He was so proud of them all. "We won't argue," said Peter. "Not before your brother leaves." Peter walked forward and laid a hand on Edmund's shoulder affectionately.

"I don't think you should go, Ed," Lucy muttered. "Not if…" her eyes darted to the headless body that was being hauled onto a cart.

"Lucy," Peter warned. "It is a great honour to serve as a member of the Night's Watch."

"But if it's true what he said."

"A madman sees what he sees," Peter replied in such a tone that Lucy dared not continue, and knew the matter was closed.

Far in the distance, the sound of hooves echoed through the muddy moors. The group looked towards the sound, their ears pricking up. Another guardsman from Winterfell, on his horse, galloped closer to the group. "Your grace," he called, swinging his leg over the back of the mare, hopping down, and bowing immediately before Peter. "There has been a raven from Cair Paravel."

Silence fell between the siblings, eyes darting, and breaths held. The fewer ravens they got from Cair Paravel, the better. Peter stepped forward, taking the scroll from the hands of the guard and looking down at the seal. It was the Royal seal, as the guard had suspected. Peter thumbed it open and unravelled it, reading it over a few times before turning to his family. "The King Miraz wishes to bestow his presence upon Winterfell," said Peter, handing the scroll to Susan. Lucy, Eustace and Edmund read it from over her shoulder.

Their collective stomachs dropped. Peter drew a breath, but only his siblings could tell of the weight upon his shoulders. "Very well," said Peter, turning back to the guard. "We are blessed indeed. Ride on ahead and make arrangements. Tell Mrs Macready that we require extra men in the hunting party."

The guardsman bowed again and hurried on his way. Scrambling up onto his saddle and bolting into the dense fog that was seeping over the hills. Winterfell that stood far off in the distance was starting to become hazy.

Peter turned back to the group but gave nothing away. "We should go," Peter announced. "We have much to prepare." A guard brought forward Peter's horse with a bow. Everyone else busied themselves with mounting their trusty steeds, adjusting their cloaks and swords to sit comfortably. Peter climbed up and inched his mare forward, forming the start of their party. The guardsmen followed suit, showing upmost obedience to their leader.

"To Winterfell!" Peter cried to them all and set off at a trot.

As they approached nearer to the castle, the landscape became dense woodland that protected Winterfell from everyone, everything and even the harshest of weathers. The trees became thicker, with large knotted, twisted roots that were woven through the packed earth. The party kept to the path, which wasn't wide enough for them to ride two abreast, as usual, so had to ride in single file, praying no one would accost them on their way. The Pevensies were always chastised for their constant vigilance, but everyone knew, most of all Edmund, that even a friend could turn out to be a foe. If their trust were misplaced, it could be fatal.

Susan over her shoulder to Lucy, who rode behind her, and saw that her sister was searching the surroundings.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Looking," replied Lucy.

"I know you're looking," scoffed Susan, rolling her eyes. "You're not looking for Aslan, are you?" she asked.

Lucy laughed bitterly. "Don't be silly. I don't expect I'll see him even if I dropped down dead. I'm making sure no one tries to sneak up on us."

"Did the raven make you feel – on edge?"

"The King wants to come to Winterfell, you say? After he's let us live in peace for so long now. Of course, I'm on edge," replied Lucy, her eyes darting back and forth. "Quite honestly, I'm surprised our throats haven't been slit in our sleep."

Susan turned back around on her horse.

They were soon approaching Winterfell, and as they came to the edge of the wood, they came across a dead moose that was blocking their path. It wasn't uncommon to find dead animals in the woods that had battled with other species. During the hunts, the guards often came back with extra bodies and pelts from already dead animals. The moose's mangled body stretched the width of the route and the terrain either side contained sharp thorn bushes that would have harmed the horses and their shins. Eustace and Edmund jumped down from their stallions to inspect the moose, in place of Peter, just in case the moose wasn't quite as dead as they thought.

Eustace prodded the moose with the tip of his sword. "Was it a mountain lion, do you think?" he asked.

"I don't know about the West, Eustace, but there are no mountain lions in these woods. Or any lions for that matter," said Edmund, shaking his head. The boys looked around, listening for any approaching danger, trying to reach above the scent of blood that stained the mossy ground. Eventually, they heard a rustle in a nearby bush. "Look," said Edmund pointing to where the leaves were shaking gently. He stepped forward and pushed the branches aside with the tip of his sword, Eustace raising his own in defence.

There was a shock of white that stood out amongst the brown and green of the foliage. "What is that?" Eustace asked.

Edmund bent down and reached into the bush, sacrificing his own hand, and pulled out a small white furry ball. "Direwolves?" replied Edmund, almost disbelieving his own eyesight. Another rolled out of the bush onto the ground before them, then another. "Direwolf pups, to be exact," Edmund added.

"Wolves?" Eustace gulped. "How many are there?"

"Direwolves," Edmund corrected him. "There's a difference. Four, I think." He reached into the bush again to feel around for any more that were lurking.

"What's going on?" Peter called from on top of his horse, his voice added to the dull chatter that had broken out amongst the company. Peter slid down from his saddled and strode over. "What on earth –?" he said, looking down at where Edmund was kneeling.

"We found some direwolves?" Eustace replied, still unsure exactly what a direwolf was.

"There are no direwolves south of The Wall," said Peter, even though his eyes were gazing upon the very beasts themselves. "Not anymore."

Edmund held two puppies in his hand, nodding for Eustace to grab the other two, and got up. "Susan! Lucy!" he called over Peter's head.

The chattering in the group grew louder as people saw what Edmund was holding. Susan and Lucy dismounted and hurried forward. Lucy beat Susan to it, as she had dressed for the occasion in leather armour, whereas Susan was wearing a dress that she was making sure didn't tear on the passing thorns.

"Direwolves?" Lucy exclaimed to Edmund, taking one from his grip and cradling it like a baby.

"How do you know about direwolves?" asked Susan, as she caught up with them. Edmund held a pup out to her which she reluctantly took into her arms, holding it out in front of her as if to be inspected first.

"I read about them in one of Doctor Cornelius's old books," replied Lucy, stroking her pup's head. "Some direwolves can grow to be as large as a small horse. Imagine riding a direwolf into battle!"

Peter picked up one that Eustace had rescued by the scruff of its neck and held it up, his face contorted with shock and disbelief.

"They don't belong down here," said Edmund to Peter, eyeing the wolf his brother was holding. "You're right, they shouldn't be south of The Wall."

"Can we keep them?" Lucy asked.

"No!" chorused Peter and Edmund together.

The sound of gentle giggles broke out over the silence. Everyone looked to Eustace who chuckled gleefully as the direwolf licked his face.

Lucy turned back to Peter. "They won't survive without their mother anyway."

"Better make it a quick death then," he replied, turning on his heels, about to call a guard.

"NO!" cried Lucy, loud enough to scare the birds from the trees.

"Look," Susan said, pointing towards the bush again. Another flash of white fluff crept out from under the leaves. "There's another one."

"There's five all together then," Lucy said. "One for each of us."

"Would it really be so bad if we kept them?" Eustace asked, escaping the wolf's tongue long enough to talk.

"I suppose it's not the worst idea in the world. The direwolves are beasts of Old Narnia," Edmund added. "The one we knew before -,"

"Don't talk of it here," Peter snapped, looking around. Everyone fell to silence, hoping that no one who was eavesdropping had heard. "Fine," he sighed. "Keep them. Train and feed them yourselves, and if they die, don't come crying to me. I won't help you dig their graves."

Peter stalked off with the direwolf still in his hand, giving it to a nearby guardsman held the pup precariously in his hands, and didn't quite know what to do with it.

"I'm going to call mine Cordelia," said Lucy, giving her a little kiss on the head and walking back to her horse, followed by Susan who was already cooing the name Beau at her wolf. Edmund bent down and picked up the small direwolf that was left, clearly the runt of the litter and tucked it into his shirt where it nestled down in the warmth of his chest and fell asleep.

"What will you call yours?" Eustace asked Edmund, nodding to the direwolf lump in his shirt. Eustace had wrapped his direwolf in a scarf to keep it warm. "I'm going to call mine Bramble."

Edmund looked down at the small wolf that was breathing gently. "Snow," he replied. "After all, if he's coming with me to The Wall, he may as well fit in."