Chapter Twelve: A Look Into The Past II
"Are you dressed?"
"I am."
Brielle turned, smoothing down the front of her skirt as she saw Susan coming her way, crouched low in the tunnels branching off the Beavers' damn. Susan smiled a gentle smile, pillowy lips barely moving to become as friendly as the light in her eye, the shine reflecting from the lantern she held in her hand.
"I'm sure all of this is confusing to you," Susan continued. She gently tilted her head, some of her hair falling over her shoulder. Falling out of the ringlets that had been curled into it. Brielle studied Susan's hair, reaching up a hand to touch her own, feeling her own ringlets, that had been carefully curated by herself and her mother, had fallen flat from having fallen through the water.
A part of her life in England left behind.
Brielle slowly dropped her hand from her hair. "We're not going home, are we?" She asked.
Susan parted her lips to respond, then closed them again. Shook her head. "I don't know," She said gently. "But, I don't know what is my home, either. My brothers, Lucy, and I…we were sent away from London. Because of the bombing. We were staying with a professor, so I don't know what would even be considered home, anymore."
Brielle's eyebrows pulled together in sympathy. "You were evacuated. I can't imagine what that was like. The bombing, the…" She shook her head. Closed her eyes. Worked to block out the low rumbling she could hear in the distance of her darkened bedroom. Tried to tell herself that it was thunder and not the sound of lives being ended in terror, in an instant. Lives being uprooted in its entirety. A future she knew was bound to happen to her sooner than later. "Dad always said it was horrible," she murmured, opening her eyes, looking Susan in the eye. "But I never knew just how horrible."
It was Susan's turn for her eyebrows to come together. "Your father was in the war?" Brielle nodded, but didn't push any further. Couldn't reveal the truth. Her father was a war hero in many people's eyes…but in her eyes…he was a shell of a man.
Susan lifted her shoulder in a shrug, then said, "So was mine. Or…is mine, I suppose. I don't quite know how much time has passed since we've been here." She reached up her hand, brushing her hair back from her forehead. "You see, in Narnia…time doesn't move the same was as it does on Earth." Her face screwed up. "Well, I think we're still on Earth. But in a different sort of Earth." An apologetic expression came across her face. "I'm sorry, I don't think I'm making much sense."
"None of this makes sense," Brielle agreed. "One minute I'm taking a bath, the next thing I know, I'm surfacing at the beach and traveling with some bloody talking beavers!" She chuckled lightly. "But I can't say I'm not grateful for the help."
"The beavers have become good friends of ours," Susan agreed. "They've protected us from the White Witch since we arrived."
"The White Witch?" Brielle repeated.
Susan shrugged apologetically. "I told you it was a long story; she controls Narnia. It's all part of this so-called prophecy that's supposed to end." She shook her head. "We're just looking for Edmund and trying to get home. We're not trying to fight a war here."
"We're already coming from a war, now we're thrust into another one." Brielle let out a humorless chuckle. "A war that never ends."
"The war that never ends," Susan repeated. "The one here or the one back home?"
"Does it matter?" Brielle shook her head. "We're helpless to do anything about it. Our decisions are being made for us." She looked at Susan closely. "Did you want to leave your home?" Susan lowered her gaze to her feet. Lifted it, then shook her head. "Just as I didn't want my father…" Brielle scratched at her forehead. Changed the subject. Susan didn't protest. "But if what you've told me about this prophecy is true…what do I have to do with it?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You and your family, you're the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve, the four of you. What do I have to do with the prophecy? Why did Narnia bring me here?" Her eyebrows twitched upwards. "If it has anything to do with me being here."
"I don't know," Susan said quietly. "But we're going to find Edmund…and we're going to figure things out." She reached out and grasped Brielle's hand, squeezing it tightly in her own, then motioned her back to the front of the house. "We just need to find Aslan, first."
"Hopefully sooner than later," Peter agreed as the girls joined him and Lucy around the table. Candles flickered shadows across the walls, the fire keeping the small area warm, though Brielle still felt a chill. That was to happen, she supposed, considering there weren't many places in Narnia were one was to get some clothes. Susan had traveled back through the wardrobe to retrieve some from her. But even the large jacket Brielle draped over her shoulders couldn't keep out the chill that bore deep into her bones.
Or, maybe it was the guilt holding her. She had the chance to get back home to see her father again, her mother. To be there…but the cold had kept her from moving. Kept her from taking a step further, exhaustion holding her still…something deep in her gut pulling her to Narnia. An pull that wasn't all unpleasant, but unnoticeable.
"Go on dear, have a cup of tea," Mrs. Beaver said to Brielle, pushing the steaming cup toward her. Brielle carefully took it, moving it close to her face. She closed her eyes, taking in the warm steam that bathed over her face. Wafted over her, warmed her down to her bones. "You need to keep your strength up. When was the last time you've eaten?"
"I don't know," Brielle replied. "I can't remember." Had she eaten after leaving her friends? When she got back from school? Before her father had startled her? Nothing. Brielle nodded toward Mrs. Beaver. "Thank you."
"You really fell through the bottom of your bathtub?" Lucy asked, breaking through the silence of the conversation with the newcomer. They'd been on their own the past few days, with no companions but talking animals. Another human would've been a relief, a sense of comfort away from home. At least, that's how Brielle felt, having stumbled upon the Pevensies. Something familiar in an unfamiliar world. Lucy's eyes shone with mirth. "We just came through a wardrobe."
"At least you had the proper clothing," Brielle replied with a warm smile. Lucy smiled back. "Can you imagine how heavy this jacket might've been in the bath?" Her smile widened when Lucy giggled. "My mum would've had my head if I ruined one of her furs."
Peter pushed back from the table and stood. He went to the window, tilting his head as he glanced out of it. He rubbed his hands together, fingers twitching. "We have to keep moving," He turned from the window, pressing his lips together. "We're sitting ducks here if we don't keep going to Aslan."
Susan frowned, pursing her lips. "We don't even know where we're going, Peter." She gestured to the side. "We're going in circles."
"The beavers said we need to go to the stone table, they know where we're headed, we should go," Peter insisted. "We were well on our way when…" he trailed off, cleaning his throat.
"When you found me," Brielle finished his sentence. She looked him in the eye. He continued to look away, as he had since stumbling upon her. "Look, I didn't mean to stop you from finding your brother. But I didn't ask to be here as much as you all asked to be."
"They weren't asked, dear, it was their destiny," Mrs. Beaver said soothingly, yet firmly.
"They're going to save Narnia!" Mr. Beaver added. "At least…they will when they come to see that they're rightfully the kings and queens of our country." He shook his head toward Brielle. "Now, I don't know what they need you for, but you're here for something."
"Beaver!" Mrs. Beaver shook her head, wringing out her paws. "Please forgive him. He's been a bit irregular lately."
"It's your cooking."
"I've been cooking for you for years."
"It's gotten worse."
Brielle smiled. She wrapped her hands around the mug, using it to warm her even further. She lowered her chin, thinking. Thinking of her parents; they would e wondering where she went. Or else…her mother would be wondering where she was. Her father hadn't had the cognitive ability to recognize anything he was around in the last few months. Becoming worse as the days went by. Couldn't remember his house, any of the pictures that lined the walls since until he was soothingly reminded.
Until his wife would take him by the arm and show him picture after picture, gently press kisses to the side of his head as reward when there was a spark of recognition. The reward of Brielle's heart fluttering when she could go to her father and wrap her arms around him and feel him hug her back with as much enthusiasm as he would always muster. He hadn't been hugging her lately. Rather, if she were being honest, she didn't move into his open arms as much as she used to, unsure if he was going for a hug, or going to throttle 'the enemy'.
The crackling of the fire in the dam was the only thing to break the silence that settled over them after. At least, until Mr. Beaver's head shot up and he darted toward the window. The fur on his back stood on end as he whipped around toward the others inside. His eyes, black and beady, widened in horror. His voice took on a note of urgency when he barked, "Hurry, mother, they're after us!".
Mrs. Beaver immediately sprang into action, the sounds of loud panting, growling, and whining filling the dam. Brielle leapt to her feet, moving as far away from the sound as possible. The snarling, growling…she remembered the sound of a pack of dogs barking. Passed two of the more vicious ones, tied up in chains, as she passed her neighbor's house on the way to and from school each day.
Brielle pressed her back against the wall of the house, moving along with Peter, Susan, and Lucy, trying to get as far from the danger as possible. Mrs. Beaver, on the other hand, took Mr. Beaver's words and sprang into an almost frenzied action. "Oh! Right then." She started to scurry around, taking what looked to be wrapped parcels of food from different nooks and crannies in the walls.
"What is she doing?" Peter demanded, eyes growing wide. Aware of the danger coming to them. His eyes shifted back and forth from the window to Mrs. Beaver.
"Oh, you'll be thanking me later," Mrs. Beaver replied. "It's a long journey and Beaver gets pretty cranky when he's hungry."
"I'm cranky now!" Mr. Beaver shot back.
Susan stepped forward and started to help Mrs. Beaver gather everything they could get their hands on, bundling it up in a large parcel. "Do you think we'll need jam?" She asked, turning her gaze toward Peter, who cocked his head to the side and said sarcastically, "Only if the witch has toast," in response.
Brielle jumped as there was a deafening cracking sound, wolves' paws breaking through the walls of the house. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver ushered the young kids to the hiding hole Susan and Brielle had been through before. They moved as fast as they could through the cramped, claustrophobic tunnels, crouching low to keep their heads from brushing against the ceiling, dirt raining down upon them.
Kept going until Lucy tripped over a root and fell to the ground. Everyone turned back to watch her, the sound of their footsteps and heavy breathing stopped in that instant. Made it so that the sounds following them, could be heard. Lucy's eyes widened, realization hitting her. "They're in the tunnel," she whispered, her tiny voice drowned out by the excited yips of what was chasing them.
"Quick, this way!" Mr. Beaver shouted.
Peter reached back and grabbed Lucy's hand, hauling her to her feet as they took off once more. They continued to scurry through the winding tunnels, not daring to look behind them. Finally, Mr. Beaver found and opening in the tunnel and they crawled out, scrambling on hands and knees out into the snow. Brielle grasped Lucy's shoulders, pulling her back from the mouth of the tunnel, putting her arm protectively around her shoulders while Peter and Mr. Beaver moved a barrel in front of the hole they came out from.
Lucy trembled beneath Brielle's grasp, moved further backward when the yipping and growling became louder. She tripped backwards over a fallen stone, twisting to her knees to get back to her feet. Gasped audibly enough that all heads turned her way. They saw the same thing at the same time. What looked to be stone menageries of animals perfectly placed around them.
Brielle stepped forward, gently pressing her fingertip into the side of what looked to be a stone statue of a squirrel. It felt warm beneath her fingertips. Almost as if it were still alive, the stone turning from scratchy material to the softest of furs. "What happened to them?" She breathed.
"The witch got to them," Mrs. Beaver said quietly. She placed her paw on Mr. Beaver's shoulder when he reached out to touch the stone statue of a Badger. Its arms were lifted high in the air, as if to ward itself off from an attack coming his way. "I'm so sorry, dear."
"He was my best mate," Mr. Beaver murmured, lowering his hands.
"The same'll happen to you if you cross the witch," A fox said, leaping to the ground from a nearby fallen log. "Or worse. So far they've been lucky that this is all that's happening." He moved towards the group.
Mr. Beaver leapt forward, teeth gleaming as he snarled, "You take one more step traitor, and I'll chew you to splinters."
"Relax," Mr. Fox replied with a roll of his eyes. "I'm one of the good guys."
"Yeah? You look like one of the bad ones."
Mr. Fox turned his head in what would've looked like a humanesque, sarcastic cocking of his head, if it weren't for the fur that covered his face. "An unfortunate family resemblance, really," he remarked, voice turning low with sarcasm. "We can argue breeding later. Right now, we've got to move."
As if to punctuate his words, the sounds of barking become louder, closer. Brielle stepped back, moving further away from the barrel that started to quiver and shake, as if something was hurling itself against it. Peter looked toward it then back to Mr. Fox.
He swallowed hard. "What did you have in mind?"
Mr. Fox nodded toward the trees that towered around them. "Trust me," he replied.
Peter looked to Susan, swallowed once more, then hurried toward the tree. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver quickly scaled the bark of the three, climbing up as quick as a flash. Peter bent down, cupping his hands together so that Susan had a foothold to reach up into the branches above her. She grasped the branch and pulled herself up two or three before shuffling to the side, making room for Lucy.
"Go on, Lucy." Brielle grabbed her shoulder and pushed her toward Peter, helping her up. Susan reached down and grabbed Lucy's hands, hauling her up into the tree next to the beavers.
Peter turned to Brielle. "Come on!" Brielle started to go next, lifting her foot to place in his hands, then stopped. Looked down at the shoes Susan had leant her. At how scuffed they'd become since running through the tunnels to get free. They'd been taken care of nicely and then became scuffed. Brielle lowered her foot and stepped back, lifting her hands to pull her limp hair back from her face, twisting it up into a messy bun. Peter's eyes widened in disbelief. "We're running for our lives and all you care about is your hair?!" He practically screeched.
Brielle glared back at him. She stepped into his foot, digging her heel into his palm for good measure, and climbed up into the tree, sitting next to the girls. Peter, last, leapt up and grabbed the branch. He hauled himself up, huddling next to the trunk of the tree, throwing his arm around Lucy just as the barrel exploded from the opening to the tunnel.
Mr. Fox, after ensuing they'd all gotten pup into the tree, turned to face the pack of wolves that converged toward him. "Greetings gents," he drawled as they circled him. "Lost something have we?"
"Don't patronize me," Maugrim shot back. He stood stock still in front of Mr. Fox, his tail swishing back and forth as he did so. The rest of the secret police growled low, deep in their chests as they encircled him. "I know where your allegiance lies. We're looking for some humans."
"Humans?" Mr. Fox tilted his head. Disbelieving. "Here in Narnia?" Then he chuckled, shaking his head. "That's some valuable bit of information, don't you think?" He cried out in pain when one of the wolves leapt forward and sank his teeth into Mr. Fox's back, lifting him off his paws. They scrabbled over the snowy ground, trying to keep himself still, unable to overpower the wolf.
Peter reached out a hand, slapping it over Lucy's mouth.
"Your reward is your life," Maugrim snarled. "It's not much. But still. Where are the fugitives?"
"North," Mr. Fox finally admitted. "They ran north."
"Smell them out," Maugrim declared. He watched as his pack took off in a sprint, but not before tossing Mr. Fox aside to collapse into the snow. Maugrim started to chase after them, then stopped, turning back in the direction the Pevensies and Brielle hid. Brielle tightened her grasp against the tree branch, watching with wide eyes.
She stared at Maugrim, watching as his head gently shifted to the side, as if watching them from the corner of his eye, before he bounded away to chase after the rest of the secret police. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver hurried back down the tree trunk to Mr. Fox's side while Susan and the Pevensies carefully climbed down after them.
Brielle dropped to the snow and looked in the direction that the wolves' paw prints led. She frowned. Only broke out of her trance when she heard Mr. Fox say shakily, "I wish I could say their bark was worse than their bite," and turned to see Mr. Fox slowly getting to his feet with the Penvensies and the Beavers helping him to his feet. "You all, stay safe." He started to lump away.
"You're leaving?" Lucy asked.
"I wish I could stay. It has been a pleasure, my queen, and an honor." Mr. Fox bowed his head to her, Peter, and Susan.
Brielle watched, still frowning. Her heart rate started to increase. They weren't lying, she thought. About the prophecy? Her gaze lowered to her feet. Then what does that mean for me? She ran a hand over her hair, chewing her lower lip, looked back in the direction of Maugrim. Feeling that familiar pull once more.
"Time is short and Aslan himself as asked me to gather more troops," Mr. Fox continued.
Now he had Brielle's full attention. Just as he did everyone else's. "You've seen Aslan?" Mr. Beaver demanded.
"What's he like?" Mrs. Beaver asked, eyes wide and wistful.
"Like everything we've ever heard," Mr. Fox replied. He looked to Peter and nodded. "You'll be glad to have him by your side in the battle against the witch." He lowered his head, as if bowing toward Peter, who took a step back, holding up his hands. His mouth opened, trying to find the words to say.
Susan was the one who spoke up, taking a step forward, lifting her chin as she did do. "But we're not planning on fighting any witch," she said quietly. Slowly. "We just want to find our brother and get home."
Mr. Fox's ears flattened against his head. He heard Susan's words but only addressed Peter. "But surely, King Peter, the prophecy-" He broke off, looking to Mr. and Mrs. Beaver for help.
Mr. Beaver stepped forward. "We can't go to war without you."
"We just want our brother back," Peter said.
"Then we should keep going," Brielle spoke up. All eyes turned to her. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, her arms brushing over the fur on her coat. "No matter what you lot decide, if you're going to find your brother, or follow this prophecy, those wolves are going to come back once they've seen that we didn't go that way. My father says the worst thing you can do in times of war is to stand still. We need to get as far away as possible."
And so they went, leaving Mr. Fox behind as they traveled through the snow, moving as far away from Maugrim and the Secret Police as they could. As they traversed, Mr. and Mrs. Beaver explained the prophecy to Brielle. Two separate saying that stared foretold the end of the long winter.
Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,
When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,
And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.
When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone,
Sits at Cair Paravel in throne,
The evil time will be over and done.
The winter they continued to slush through over the rocky terrain as they continued forward. Over hills, down mountain sides they walked. All until they came to the end of a gorge, where they found themselves staring out over a long, blank white sheet of ice.
Mr. Beaver pointed to the other side, where trees lined the edge of the river, the beginning and end of a forest. "Aslan's camp is near the Stone Table, just across the frozen river."
"River?" Peter repeated, eyes flickering over the ice.
"The river's been frozen solid for a hundred years," Mrs. Beaver explained. Her voice was reassuring. Nevertheless, Peter stared at the river, watching it for any movement. For any sign of a witch who was coming after them for a wolf pack who may have beat them to where they were trying to go. "What's wrong, dear?"
"It's just…" he stuttered. "It's just so far."
So close and yet so far, Brielle thought. So close to what they would see as sanctuary, so close to what may have been there to save them. But still so far from the safety they warranted. So far from finding Edmund, so far from determining why Brielle had been summoned to Narnia—or maybe, escape to Narnia, so far from the one thing that may save them.
Aslan.
"It's the world, dear," Mrs. Beaver replied. "Did you expect it to be small?"
"Smaller," Susan corrected with a smug smile. Peter glared toward his sister, watching her as she stepped by him and started down the path that led them down a rocky slope that led to the frozen river's edge. She hesitated for the briefest of moments, inching her foot out onto the ice.
Lucy, on the other hand, started forward, stepping onto the ice with only a little slide. She held her arms out, wind milling them to keep herself upright. A giggle escaped her lips as she looked back to Peter and Susan. "Look, it's like ice skating," she declared before continuing forward. With the first step taken, the others followed.
"Do you like to ice skate?" Brielle asked Lucy, walking alongside her.
"Yes, it was lots of fun," Lucy replied. "We used to go with our mum and dad every year." Her nose wrinkled as she shook her head. "Ed isn't very good at it."
"It does take a while to get the hang of it," Brielle agreed. She wind milled her arms, coming to a stop when she nearly fell over.
"Do you know how to ice skate?"
"Not so much. It wasn't something we did very much at all. We went skiing a lot, though. Have you ever been to the Alps?"
Lucy shook her head. "Are they nice?"
Brielle smiled but didn't respond. She continued to look over her shoulder as the seconds passed, expecting to see the pack of wolves sprinting behind them at the last second for them to react. They had to have been getting closer. But every time she turned, there was nothing behind them. Just their footprints in the snow.
Their exhilaration with the snow and ice melted into frustration as the minutes ticked by and the other side of the river seemed to be even further away. It didn't help that Mr. Beaver continued to edge them along the further they fell behind.
"Come on, humans," he barked. "While we're still young."
"If he tells us to hurry one more time," Peter warned. He stopped walking to stoop down, allowing Lucy to climb onto his back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to keep herself upright. Lucy rested her cheek against his shoulder. "I'm gonna turn him into a big, fluffy hat."
"I could use a hat right now," Brielle agreed, bringing her hands up to cover her red tipped ears.
"Sorry, but I don't think they are any expensive ones around here for you," Peter replied, a hint of sarcasm coming to his tone. "I suppose I could just take one of the Beavers and ask them if they'd like to climb on your head. But I don't think you want to mess up your hair."
"At least I have the hair to be messed up," Brielle shot back. "Has anyone ever told you it's not normal to go bald this early?"
Lucy giggled from over Peter's shoulder, her smile wide, showing off her missing teeth. Peter hitched her up his back as she started to slide down, "I thought you were going to get some rest," he teased her. "How can you rest when you're making fun of me?"
"From where I stand, it's pretty easy," Brielle shot back. "You're fourteen, right?" A slow grin came to her face as she folded her arms. "Have you really never seen a girl, before?"
"Oh, shut up," Peter replied darkly, cheeks turning red.
"Hurry up!" Mr. Beaver called again. "Come on!"
"He is getting a little bossy," Lucy murmured.
"No!" Mrs. Beaver shrieked. She pointed behind them with a paw before starting off in a run. "Behind you, it's her!"
Peter instantly dropped Lucy to her feet as the four humans turned to see a sled hurtling their way. He grabbed Lucy's hand then started off, dragging his youngest sister behind her like a rag doll. "Run!" The order came before he moved, Susan and Brielle taking off ahead of them.
They charged through the snow and ice, slipping and sliding, feet threatening to spill out from beneath them as the sounds of the jingling bells on a sleigh and thundering hooves came closer and closer. Brielle's heart rammed against her chest, her heart ramming against her throat as she ran, just behind Susan, just before Peter and Lucy. Her shoes threatened to fly off, a half a size too big than her own, but she kept moving, pushing herself harder and faster.
Just as she used to, to get back home in time. Breaking away from her friends and racing home so that she could take care of her father, before he had too much time to himself. Too much time to stew in his memories, his horrific memories of an experience she and her mother would never experience. She always waited until the last minute, to tear herself away from the excitement of the day, to return to the bleakest point of the day.
She loved her father, but…
Brielle made it to the other side of the river, turned and held out her hands towards Peter and Lucy, to help them across. They made it to the side, careening into Brielle and Susan, the four nearly falling over as they came to a stop. The sleigh came up behind them, stopping to spray snow everywhere.
Peter flung out his arms, keeping the girls behind him as if to protect them from the onslaught of snow. They watched, gaping in disbelief, Peter slowly lowering his arms, when a tall man with a long gray beard, wearing a robe as red as holly berries, climbed out of the carriage and regarded them all with a smile.
"Aslan's man," Mr. Beaver breathed.
Lucy's face nearly split in half with her wide grin. She pushed her way from under Peter's arm and beamed up at the man. Santa Clause, Father Christmas. "Merry Christmas, sir." With gusto, she reached out and took his hand, shaking it firmly.
"It certainly is, Lucy." Father Christmas's eyes shone with merriment. "It certainly is. Since you've arrived."
Susan, on the other hand, shook her head, lips parted in disbelief. Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Look, I've been up nearly since we got here…" She gestured toward Father Christmas. "But this?"
"We thought you were the witch," Brielle added. She brought a hand up to her chest, feeling her heart continue to pound. She swallowed hard, trying and failing to steady herself.
"Yes, sorry about that," Father Christmas replied with a chuckle. He placed his hands on his hips. He leaned towards the humans, lowering his voice to an inconspicuous whisper. "But in my defense, I've been driving one of these since before the witch."
"I thought there was no Christmas in Narnia," Peter said, finally finding his voice.
At his words, Father Christmas became silent. His voice was soft when he spoke once more. Soft with sadness, but equally strong with indignant fury. "No. Not For a long time. But hope you have brought, your majesties, is finally starting to weaken the witch's power! Still…" He turned back to his carriage and pulled out a large sack. He dropped it to the ground. The top opened to reveal toys and presents filled to the brim drawing Peter, Susan, Brielle, and Lucy closer. "I guess you could do with these."
Father Christmas reached inside and first pulled out a tiny cordial covered in a velvet pouch. He held it out toward Lucy. "The juice of the fire flower," he said to her. "One drop will cure any injury." Then he reached into the bag and brought out a small dagger that he pressed into her other hand. "And I hope you will never have to use this."
Lucy's eyes widened as she gazed at the dagger. Even bigger than when she held the vial. Her lips pressed together and she turned her gaze, uncertain, up to him. "Thank you, sir. I think…I can be brave enough."
"I'm sure you could," Father Christmas agreed with a chuckle. "Battles are ugly affairs." He went back into the bag and pulled out a quiver full of arrows as well as a bow. He passed them to Susan. "Susan, trust in this bow and it will not easily miss."
The side of Susan's mouth turned up, uncertainly storming through her blue eyes. "What happened ot 'battles are ugly affairs'?" She asked, her voice taking on a light teasing despite it filled with a dark seriousness.
"Well, you don't seem to have a problem making yourself heard." Father Christmas smiled. He took out a horn and handed it to Susan as well. "Blow into this and wherever you are, help will come."
"Thanks."
Brielle practically trembled when Father Christmas looked to her. She wasn't supposed to be in Narnia, wasn't part of the prophecy, but the way Father Christmas looked at he before digging into his bag…the way he handed her a leather bound book, pressing it firmly into her hands… "There're a lot of unspoken things about you," he said. "Things you haven't managed to say out loud. It's dangerous to keep them all in, your wishes, hopes, and dreams…they hold more power than you'd ever imagine." Then he produced a brooch on a thin, black choker and draped it around her neck. "Your power, stronger than you could ever imagine, lies within you." Brielle nodded, bringing her fingers up to touch the brooch around her neck. It felt cool to the touch, but simultaneously burned against her skin. Finally, Father Christmas reached into his sack and pulled out a sword and shied, handing them to Peter. The friendly twinkle in his eye turned serious. "Peter. Time to use these."
Peter took them graciously. "Thank you, sir," he murmured, examining his sword, slowly pulling it from its sheath to examine it. He was silent for a long moment, eyes roving over the weapon in his hands. Taking it in for what it was. His weapon against the war. Much different than the guns and bombs their fathers had used.
"These are tools," Father Christmas continued, as if reading her mind. Peter looked up. "Not toys. Bare them well and wisely. Now. I must be off. Winer is almost over." He flashed a grin, swinging the bag of presents back onto his sleigh. "Things do pile up when you've been gone a hundred years. Long live Aslan!" He jumped onto his sleigh, readied his reindeer to start running once more. "And Merry Christmas." With a wave and a shout, Father Christmas raced off through the snow.
The thundering of hooves faded off into nothing.
Silence.
"He said winter was almost over," Peter murmured. "You know what that means?" Susan looked at him meaningfully. "No more ice."
Brielle didn't want to point out that, 'no more ice' didn't just mean that the witch's reign was slowly ending. It also meant it would be much easier for the wolves to find them.
A/N: Again, I had to change some of the timeline of things that happened in LWW for some of what happened here to make sense. That's something that, I feel, is a staple of some of my writing that's set directly in canon.
I especially liked giving you all an even bigger look into Susan and Brielle's burgeoning friendship. They come from different worlds, but there are some things that can really bring people together
I hope you enjoyed another look into Brielle's past, as well as what she'd done in LWW and how it affects her. Eventually you'll see what happened in PC, too.
Cheers,
-Riles