Chapter 4 – Preparations and Revelations…
At the Army Training Camp…
It was a sight that neither Peter nor Edmond had seen for years, and had hoped they would never have to see again. They were making a visitation to the recruitment and training camp which had been set up on the other side of the Great River about two days hard ride from Cair Paravel, and an equal distance from the western woods where all the skirmishes had so far taken place. They had set out to inspect the military camp the same morning in which the knight of the west had departed on the back of the Narnian griffin, Fleetfeather.
They had only been informed of the knight's reversal of course and the urgent intelligence on their mutual enemy's movements while on the trail. The dryads had carried the message directly to them, delivering it even as they set up camp for the night. It was not welcome news and they had spent a sleepless night discussing how to stop Mordor's servants before any of the wakened trees were harmed, or more Narnians lost to their cooking fires. The very thought of this last sickened them to where they couldn't themselves eat.
Tents had been arranged according to companies and regiments. Centaurs, fauns, and talking animals all drilled to the sound of a sergeant's shouting, many learning how to use a sword or a bow for the first time in their lives. Weapons were easily distributed enough, but coats of mail, breastplates, shields, greaves, and other pieces of armor such as they had were distributed to each new recruit as they were able to fit. The dwarf made arms were of good quality, but the dwarves could only accommodate so many body types. Leopards could not wear steel breastplates made for fauns, nor beavers chain mail suited for centaurs. But they made it work as best they could.
The kings of Narnia had spent the earlier part of the day going over the recruitment numbers. It was no surprise to either of the sons of Adam that so many had answered the call when it was sent out. Narnians might not be a warlike people, but there was not doubting their courage. Instead, the surprise came in all those races who answered whom they had not expected. While there had been no hostilities between those peoples who had supported the Witch in battle since that time, there had been no love lost between Cair Paravel and them either. And yet, among the new recruits could be seen minotaurs, wolves, even ogres. And just that morning the kings had been introduced to the emissary of the dwarves who had brought the newly forged weapons and armor himself, along with another surprise.
The dwarf Fizzlebeard had been going over accounts with the kings in the later part of the day. He had arrived there himself the day before them with cartloads of the requested arms from the dwarvish mines and strongholds in the northern mountains. The three of them had seated themselves at a table in the kings' tent seeing to the lists of what was brought and tallying the inevitable payments from the royal treasury for it all. The cost as it was tallied was enormous, but, for what was delivered and the speed with which it came, the dwarves could not be said to be cheating them, at least not this time. Over twenty thousand pieces of fine weapons and armor had been drawn from the dwarves own armories and more were being fashioned as they spoke.
"You need not worry about full repayment yet." Fizzlebeard had told them. "And my people are open to discussing other means of payment beyond gold and silver. We know your wealth is not in precious metals." The dwarf chuckled at this. "Perhaps we can work something out for lumber," then realizing what he was suggesting he quickly and smoothly followed it up with, "from non-wakened trees of course. We also would be amenable to carts of fresh fruits, vegetables, things of this nature."
King Edmond studied the dwarf, suspicious of him. "That's generous of your people, considering we have not always been on the best of terms." He said in response, wary of the dwarf's angle. The generosity of dwarves usually came with strings.
"Indeed. But the past is the past, now isn't it?" Fizzlebeard answered him, sitting back in his chair. A mug of ale had been sitting on the table. He grabbed it and held it in the one hand while stroking his belt length gray and black beard braided with bronze and gold rings with the other. "And as you may be aware, trees and crops don't grow well underneath mountains, no matter how grand the halls may be. Dwarves need to eat and drink just as your kind do."
"I suppose they do." Edmond admitted as he watched the dwarf take a long draught of his beverage.
The dwarf drained the mug and set it roughly back on the heavy table. "Narnia is our home as much as it is yours, your majesties." He told them. "I daresay even more so as we have been here for far longer than yourselves."
Peter and Edmond made no attempt to respond to this comment, regardless of the insinuation. The dwarves they had known were never so amiable as Fizzlebeard was being now, and so they held their tongues and let him continue.
"Aye, we sided with the White Witch during the hundred years winter and during the war. She treated us well enough, and better than the kings and queens before her, I daresay." Fizzlebeard told them, the ale beginning to loosen his tongue just a little more. Then seeing their confused looks, he went on even more. "You lot forget how long we dwarves live. I just had my hundred and eightieth birthday a month ago! I'd seen no less than two monarchs on the throne before the White Witch came to power. Sons of Adam and daughters of Eve might be the rightful rulers, I suppose that's fair enough, but they didn't always treat everyone so fairly, now did they? The queen before Jadis? Bah! Swanwhite spent most of her days looking at any reflection of herself she could find, the rest of the kingdom be damned! Bet no badger or beaver every told you lot that, did they? And where was Aslan? It had been so long since he'd graced Narnia with his presence, most of us dwarves thought he was just a myth meant to keep the pretty queen in power. Never really expected him to return, much less for you four to really show up out of the cold one day."
"And now?" The high king asked. The dwarf's words stung, but they were honest, and Peter could respect that honesty. The truth was, the picture which had been painted for him of the time before the White Witch had been a rosy one, but he didn't really know that much about it, or any of the human kings and queens that preceded himself and his siblings.
"Well, you lot have kept your distance," the dwarf went on, "but you've at least been fair with us, like you have with the others that sided with the Witch. You declared amnesty, and kept your word in not trying to punish us for it. Cair Paravel's been a good trading partner those times we've needed each other, and you've always made good on payment. That's not gone unnoticed by those under the mountains. You're not the Witch, but you're not another four Swanwhites either, and that's a good thing as my people see it. What I'm trying to say is Narnia's doing well, and so are we under your rule. The dwarven council doesn't want anything to threaten that. Peace is good for everyone, and if this new enemy is as bad as we've been told..."
"It is. Worse even as we're still learning." Edmond told him.
"Well then, I suppose our next contributions will be put to good use." Fizzlebeard replied thoughtfully.
"What contributions? We only requested weapons and armor. you've already fulfilled that." High King Peter told him, puzzled at what the dwarf was getting at.
"Aye we did at that, and then some, but we want to make sure those orc bastards or whatever they're called are ne'er allowed to set so much as one foot in our country again. Not one blasted foot." The dwarf replied. "We can't keep up our warm relations with you and these fauns and centaurs and what not if you're all dead, now can we?"
Both kings noted the dwarf's intended inclusion of everyone present, themselves as well, in his use of the word our. There was no mistake, there was a sense of unity among the races of Narnia against a common enemy which hadn't been present before.
"So what then is this contribution?" Edmond asked.
The dwarf smiled and stretched out his hands magnanimously as he said, "Three thousand of our best fighters, your majesties. They're on the march and will be here by noon tomorrow. In addition, they're bringing with them some weapons those orcs might not be expecting, if you use them right that is. I wouldn't want any Narnians nearby when you do."
"What kind of weapons?" Peter asked, truly intrigued now.
"Well, not every kind of rock and stone can be easily moved by ax or pick alone mind you." The dwarf said. "It's a carefully guarded secret with my people, but we've developed a kind of powder that, when you put a flame to it, explodes. BOOM!" He added for emphasis.
"How does that help us?" Edmond asked.
"There were many dwarves there at the battle when the witch fell. It was a clever thing you did then using the griffins and eagles to drop boulders and rocks on our forces where we couldn't touch them. After the fact, we kept it in mind, and turned it around and around trying to think how we might have done it better." The dwarf told him.
"You mean how to kill more people." Peter said, understanding what he was driving at. Disturbing images from past memories flashed through his mind again from a time long, long before of explosions and debris flying everywhere.
"Aye, precisely that." The dwarf answered. "We figured out how to trigger the blasting powder from an impact and put it into metal casings. You drop these on the orcs, and instead of taking one or two of them like with the rocks, it'll take ten or twenty close by. Just make sure to keep any Narnians clear until after the griffins and raptors have finished their work. And use them sparingly. They're costly to build. Also, I'd not go tossing them around for fun either. They're a bit sensitive, if you know what I mean."
"We do, actually." The high king replied, he then turned his attention to the matter of cost. "How much more do you want for the troops and these new weapons?"
The dwarf then did something decidedly un-dwarflike and held up his hands as if in protest. "Nothing, your majesties. Consider it a donation of our good will in hopes of more and better trade."
Both brothers raised their eyebrows and looked at each other in surprise. Recovering quickly, the high king spoke first, "Tell your people they have our deepest gratitude, and much to look forward to when this business is all done with."
The dwarf nodded and smiled. It was a sincere smile, and one which the kings could share with him.
Then a steward, a young faun wearing a chain mail shirt not much older than they had been upon arriving in Narnia, came into the royal tent to address the two kings. "Your majesties, there is a knight, a son of Adam, who is requesting an audience."
"Of course. We'll see him as soon as our business with Fizzlebeard is concluded." King Edmond told the steward, first looking for unspoken confirmation from his brother who nodded his assent.
Three thousand more troops. Peter thought to himself as the steward was dismissed to relay his message. It was an encouragement to say the least, but as he did the maths in his head, that only brought their number up to a little over twenty thousand archers, foot soldiers, and centaur cavalry, not including the patrols that were already deployed to the western border. With the addition of King Lune's men, that would add another four thousand. It was all Archenland could spare having to guard against Calormene treachery from the south. There had been no response from the giants in the north, and he had expected none. They didn't recognize Narnian sovereignty, and didn't usually care about what happened to their more southerly neighbors.
Would it be enough to defend Narnia? Twenty four thousand? Maybe, for a time. He thought considering what the knight told him of his people's history with Mordor. We could deal with the laborers he warned us of. But if Mordor decides to turn east, and the knight's words about their numbers seeming endless are even partially true…
The dwarf made his gestures of politeness and departed from the tent even as Peter's mind had already turned elsewhere from trade and payment of goods and services rendered. After a few minutes, a recently familiar face with dark blond hair and new beard growth entered the tent to stand before the kings of Narnia. He looked somewhat disheveled, and there were circles under his eyes as though he had little sleep for the past few days. As much as Peter and Edmond knew, that much was true.
Remembering himself and seeing the two kings still seated at the table, the knight dropped to one knee and bowed before them, waiting for them to give him leave to rise.
"Rise, Sir Eric. There's no need for such formality here among friends and soldiers in an army tent." The high king told him.
The knight did as he was bid and rose to his feet once more saying, "As you wish, your majesties."
"Come, sit down here at the table. You look dreadful." Edmond told him, then called for some wine and what food could be spared to be brought to all three of them for their supper. Though their rank might have permitted it surely, they had not even thought of taking anything more rich for their meal than what the rest of the soldiers in the camp would sup on.
"I suppose I do, King Edmond." the knight agreed. "Fleetfeather and I have been running the borderlands and the wastelands since we left Cair Paravel to gain a better picture of Mordor's encroachment.
"You have our sincerest thanks for that, sir knight." The high king told him. "Had you not thought to turn back and warn us instead of continuing home, we would have been caught completely unawares when the first trees started to fall. We are deeply in your debt. What have you learned since?"
The steward returned with steaming hot bowls of stew and three metal goblets of wine, placing them before each of the men seated at the table, starting with King Peter. The king thanked him and then he was dismissed when all were served. Edmond and Sir Eric held their spoons our of deference until Peter took up his and began to eat, and then hungrily dug in themselves. The knight spoke between spoonfuls.
"The orcs are nearly ready with their lumbermills to begin harvesting the western wood within the next two days." The knight told them. "Fleetfeather and I counted close to a thousand orcs total spread across the border from north to south with a supply train stretching back towards Mordor. What's more, the sun no longer shines over the wasteland. As the orcs advance from the west, dark clouds go before them like a rainstorm that never drops, blocking out the sunlight and leaving the day there dim and gray. It stretches from north to south, and westwards toward the mountains, pouring out of Mordor like steam from a kettle."
Remembering what Sir Eric had told him about the orcs and their aversion to light the high king observed, "So our advantage in the sunlight will be gone, and they are free to send any of their troops they want whenever they want."
"That is how I read the situation too, yes, your majesty. I'm sorry to say." Sir Eric confirmed. "But I can report that so far they have not sent a force of any significant size, and no machines of war. Neither Fleetfeather nor I believe they consider you a serious military threat for the moment."
Peter took another bite of his food and chewed on the hunks of potato, meat, and vegetables just as he chewed on the knight's words. When he had swallowed, he remarked carefully, "They may be right about that."
"What does your majesty mean?" Sir Eric asked.
"Yes, Peter, what are you saying?" King Edmond also asked.
"You've seen the numbers yourself, Ed." Peter told him. "At most, we'll have twenty four hundred troops in total. It's enough perhaps to deal with these lumberjacks, or even a legion or two from the west should they choose to invade. But..." He trailed off, gesturing towards the knight.
"But?" Edmond asked, looking towards the knight. "Surely it is no small congregation we have assembled here. Twenty four thousand troops would be enough to make even Calormen tremble should they see us coming!"
The knight understood the high king's concern. He had seen the numbers of Mordor's hosts himself, and even then not the full might of them but only a small part along the borders. He had no illusions of how many troops Mordor could field if it so chose.
"I do not know the size or strength of this Calormen of which you speak, your majesty, but I have seen hosts of orcs too numerous to even begin to count marching across the outskirts of the black lands just in their patrols alone. If I were to put a number to the forces Sauron could commit to the field, it would be in the hundreds of thousands, and this not counting those remaining behind to watch over their own." The knight told him.
"So then you're saying we have no chance no matter what?" Edmond questioned in disbelief. "We have no hope at all?"
"I have to believe there is always a chance, that there is always a hope of victory, your majesty." Sir Eric replied, his tone serious and sincere. "If I did not, I should surrender my lands, my family, and my life right here and now, and yet I will not. I will fight on against this filthy darkness. I should be dead now except for the hope that somehow I would survive, and whatever deity there might be, whether it be Eru or Aslan or some unnamed God of whom I have not yet heard, heard that hope and kept its flame kindled. It was against hope that I should find refuge and friends here in the east, and yet here you are."
"Every Narnian in this camp will fight to the last breath for our land. The courage of Narnians is our greatest advantage." The high king said, ingesting the knight's words. "The dark lord will be made to pay for every inch he tries to take. Even the lowliest mouse will fight like the lion in defense of his country. Of this we can be assured."
"I do not doubt it. It struck me as I thought I saw several mice upon arrival carrying tiny sabers on their hips through the camp. The sight astounded me in this land in which my astonishment never ceases." Sir Eric mused in reply.
Peter also had the thoughts of the mice in the camp on his mind, as well as the leopards, bears, fauns, and minotaurs. No, there was no doubting their hearts. But courage alone could not always make up the deficit in numbers on the battlefield. The knight had said the lumberjacks could begin within days, hours even now. They had to field their troops if they were to save lives, but in so doing, they would draw the ire of a force maybe ten times their own size or more. What then?
And it would be his responsibility to give the order.
Silently, he looked to the east once more, and without words cried out as his brother and the knight of Gondor continued to speak together, Aslan, help us! Grant us your guidance!
Later that Night…
Peter could not sleep that night in his tent in the military camp. He lay awake on his cot going over those conversations and figures again and again. Across from him his brother appeared to be sleeping, though fitfully. No doubt having nightmares akin to his own waking thoughts. Wars were ugly business for any involved in them. Images of orcs, black arrows, troop numbers, and the scenes of Narnians dying bravely in battle flashed through his mind again and again. He did not fear combat, or risking his own life to defend his people or this land. But he did not want to place his people into harm's way if he did not have to. The losses that they knew of which they had already incurred through kidnappings and raids into the western woods over the past week totaled into the hundreds. Narnian citizens taken to be what? Roasted on a spit? Torn to pieces and thrown into a stew? Or perhaps eaten raw as he did not know if the evil fiends even cooked their meat. This was horrifying knowledge enough. But that figure paled in comparison to the number of casualties they would incur if he ordered their march beyond the western border and into the wasteland. There was no doubt they would be able to dispatch those orcs already there. But then what? How far would they need go until Narnia was safe, and could they really ensure that? Would their sacrifices stand for something if they did, or would they all be destroyed and leave their kingdom defenseless at the last?
After lying awake for hours, Peter was stiff and sore in his cot. He sat up, put on his boots, and strode outside into the fresh, fragrant Narnian night air. Normally it would be invigorating to him, but his cares and worries wore him down so that at best he was only a little less worn out than when he first lay down. There was a beaver and a hare in small chain shirts that nevertheless seemed too big for them standing guard at the entry to his tent, halberds in hand. Both snapped to attention as he emerged from it.
"My king, is something amiss?" The hare asked, whiskers twitching and long ears turning this way and that to detect even the slightest hint of trouble, looking for all the world as if he was ready to sound the alarm and wake the whole camp because his high king could not sleep.
"No more than usual, friend." Peter replied. "Peace. I only desire to take a walk and clear my head."
"Do you wish for an escort, your majesty?" The beaver asked, ready to follow him at a mere gesture.
"No, thank you. I wish to walk alone tonight." The high king told him, both appreciative of the gesture, and letting it add to his deep melancholy of decisions and responsibility. Both he and the hare would follow their kings and queens into hell itself should he ask it, and would do so without the slightest hesitation, he knew. How close that very request might come disturbed the son of Adam greatly.
"As you wish, your majesty." The beaver stood down and bowed, and the hare followed suit, though their faces displayed uncomfortable concern for him still, worry that they might lose sight of whom they were charged with protecting.
"I'll not stray far, I promise." Peter then reassured them.
"Very good, your majesty." The hare replied, relief showing in his eyes.
The orcs had not strayed yet this deep into Narnian territory, but everyone was alert and wary in this crisis, and many were scared having heard the reports of loved ones disappearing. Perhaps the hare had visions in his own mind of his king turning on an orc spit somewhere because he hadn't done his job properly. It was a touching concern and expression of love which was not lost on the high king of Narnia.
Peter moved off and through the camp, passing the night watch guards occasionally and having nearly identical conversations with them as he did with the guards at his tent. The touching concern of each only added more weight to his mind as to sending them into battle. He was not a king or general whose troops were only faceless numbers to him. While he did not know all Narnians personally, as strange as it might sound, he felt a father to them all, responsible for them all as though they were his very own children. He had taken Bristlefur the bear's death as personally as if it had been one of his own.
He had never had children of his own otherwise. Neither he nor his brother or sisters had ever married. There had been occasional romances in his youth, but never improper or inappropriate. There had been a water nymph, a naiad with whom he had shared an affection. She had been his "first love" so to speak, and still spoke to him as a dear friend to this day even when they both knew nothing more could come of it. Later in life there had been the daughter of a knight of Archenland with whom he had struck up a friendship. She was smart, pretty, and everything one might hope for in a princess-consort for the high king. But always his first responsibility had been to Narnia and the execution of Aslan's will therein. His duty had come before his happiness in this respect, and would be made to come before any wife or family. He did not feel he could put any woman or child into that position, or even possibly the position of having to see him off to a war from which he might not return as… as his own father had done.
He walked from the center of the camp where the royal tents were out towards the periphery, yet still remaining in sight of his guards as he promised. The middle aged man reached the outer tents and looked out upon the open grassy fields beyond it to the east where the Great River lay, and much further where lay the battlefield on which he first fought as king. Not terribly far to the north lay the ruins of the White Witch's castle, and to the west, the woods to where the army of Narnia would be fielded and tested against powers of darkness perhaps the likes of which none of them had ever seen.
He had been younger then in the battle against the Witch. Everyone in Aslan's army knew the stakes and what they were up against. Neither he nor his brother or sisters had purposefully kept anything from those that answered the call to serve, but he was certain they did not know the extent or power of the enemy they faced.
Would they have come if they did? Probably. He decided. They are Narnian.
As he looked out over the fields into the night, a large shape emerged in the darkness on the wild grasses. The moon was only at half that night, and he could not see the shape as clearly. It was still at some distance from the camp. He looked to the watchmen nearby who had their own eyes turned outwards toward it, but either they did not see it, or it did not give them any cause for alarm regardless. Turning his attention back to it, the shape materialized more clearly.
It was the form of a huge male lion, and he beckoned with a turn of his head for the high king to follow.
"I am going out there to investigate something. I won't go far." He informed the guards, two centaurs who themselves then began to voice their concerns again as before. "I shouldn't go out of sight I should think. If I need help, I will shout."
Uneasy with this, there was protest and alarm in their eyes as well, but the high king would not be stopped. He marched out onto the grassy field beyond the camp where the lion waited patiently. As he reached him, recognizing the True King of Narnia, he took a knee before him and waited.
"Rise, son of Adam." Aslan told him. "Rise, and walk with me. The night is pleasant, and we have much to discuss."
Peter did as he was bade, and came to heel at Aslan's side as they walked, not away from the camp, nor too it, but in a parallel path to its side so the high king would not be made to break his word.
"You know the situation, Aslan?" Peter asked, recognizing the silliness of the question even as he spoke it.
Aslan betrayed no irritation or slight, but simply responded with a gentle tone, "I do."
"I called to you, Aslan. I had not expected a crisis of this kind." Peter began. "Narnian lives have already been lost, and I fear I may have already failed you in this, and may still continue to fail you no matter what decisions we make. I would know your mind on this if you would."
Aslan smiled and replied, "I heard you calling, my son, and I am here now. You have not failed. You, your brother, and your sisters have done exactly what I wanted and ruled Narnia well, neither more nor less. This is not failure."
"We face a war from an enemy we know almost nothing about. Aslan, I must know, do we dispatch those on our borders, but hold our lines here and defend Narnia until they overwhelm us with their numbers as Gondor has, or should we press our attack westwards and risk a quicker annihilation in their land? I do not see any good options with which I have been presented." The king asked, pouring out his worries and cares upon his own sovereign lord. "In either case, good Narnians will die, and my heart breaks for the thought."
"As does mine." The Great Lion responded, a grieved expression on his face. "Narnia is my special possession. It is the apple of my eye in this world, and it grieves me when any of my people are made to suffer."
Peter then asked, "So what do we do then?"
"Peter, this is a hard truth, but it is the burden of kings to wage war and ask their subjects to risk their lives, and yes die if need be so that others might live." Aslan told him. "They feel for them, memorize their names, and lose sleep at night over their deaths. You are no less a king for doing the same, and a great deal better than most for it." The Lion told him paternally. He then continued, "Narnia is my special possession. But the world is bigger than Narnia alone. I have other sons and daughters out there to the west, north, and south. Creatures I brought into being as I did those here. Sons of Adam, Daughters of Eve, and races you have never met. And those children are suffering and dying as well at the hands of Mordor, and the fallen one, Sauron, who is its lord. There is the will, but little strength left in the west to contain him and his horde, much less defeat him outright."
"But what can we do against so many as I have been told of? We cannot stand against hundreds of thousands, not for long. I am not so arrogant a general as to believe that much in my military prowess." Peter told him. "We might win a battle or two, but in the end..."
"A battle or two is all you may have to hold out for." Aslan told him, and then turned to face the west
Peter followed suit asking, "What do you mean?"
"You are right in that even should you slay all the orcs in Mordor, you could not win by sheer numbers. Sauron is a creature who is not born of this world. He cannot be slain by mere force of mortal arms, and he would eventually rebuild his armies as he has done these last centuries, and the world would face his domination yet again." Aslan told him.
"He sounds the very devil himself." Peter remarked.
With a sad expression as though remembering something painful, Aslan remarked, "Just so."
"What hope is there then?" The high king asked. "What good will winning a few battles do to be rid of him and secure peace for our country, and every country?"
Aslan took a deep breath and sighed. "Because Sauron made a foolish mistake millennia ago. In his lust for power, he tied his own life's essence to a gold ring, a vain piece of jewelry, in the attempt to bring Middle Earth under his complete control. And in this foolishness lies his downfall at the hands of two dear little people who even now have crossed into the swamps on the northern edge of his territory. For they carry this hateful ring with them with the intent to destroy it at the heart of the volcano where it was forged."
Peter took in this information trying to fill in the gaps and discern Aslan's strategy, but pieces were still missing. "And how do we then help this endeavor?"
"As you have been told, Sauron's eye is turned west," Aslan explained, "and he fields troops at his leisure against Gondor and its allies, but there are still countless orcs and creatures of darkness standing between these little folk and their goal; those hundreds of thousands which you now lose sleep over. The leaders of man in the west will try and field their own troops to draw them out for the same reason, as they are intimate with these plans, but they no longer have the troop strength to draw all of them away from their path. They have recently suffered great and painful losses while defending their capital. They cannot field enough troops for Mordor to take them as much of threat now, regardless of who leads them."
"And we can?" Peter asked.
"Their border with Gondor is heavily guarded and fortified. They know the forces of men could not hope to break through it. But they are not expecting a sizable force to attack from the east, from a direction which has next to no defense in comparison for that reason. You have already seen that, though they now know of your existence, they see you only as a source of lumber and food. But when your forces do attack from the east at the same time as those in the west, they will mobilize all of their troops in a panic and send them both east and west, clearing the way for the ring to be destroyed right under Sauron's nose." The Lion told him.
Peter considered his words, and the strategy behind them. It was clever and bold, and he saw the irony in such a large and powerful enemy being taken down by such a small thing. "And once this Sauron is destroyed, will it be over? Will we be able to return home?"
"Yes. You and all those with you will finally be able to go home." Aslan affirmed for him.
"And those orcs we take prisoner?" Peter questioned. "What do we do with them?"
"This will be difficult for you and these here." Aslan gestured with his muzzle towards the camp. "But you must take no prisoners. You must accept no surrenders. You must destroy every orc, every troll, and every servant of Sauron which you see. The only exception to this may be the Calormene troops which you encounter who may throw down their arms at the sight of you. But every last orc be it male or female, young or old must be put to the sword."
"It is to be genocide then?" The high king asked, shocked at the Great Lion's words. He had never heard the Lion call for no mercy and no quarter be given.
"Unfortunately, it is." The Lion confirmed for him. "I would not that it be necessary, but it has come to this. Where once their people might have been redeemed, they are no longer even creatures of nature but birthed through foul sorcery and abominations. There must not be one orc left alive when this war is done. Am I understood?"
Peter took a moment before responding, letting the dire sentence which Aslan had pronounced sink in. Then, steeling himself, and setting his face like a flint to carry out Aslan's pronouncements, he responded, "Yes, Aslan. It will be done."
After another moment of silence, the son of Adam asked him, "One more question, Aslan. Will you be with us?"
"I have never truly left you, son of Adam. I will always be with you." The Great Lion told him.
"Will we then see you in the fight?" Peter then pressed his question, heartened by Aslan's response.
"When you need me the most, I will be there." The True King of Narnia responded. "I will never abandon you or forsake you."