A/N: To see any of the story specification stuff, go to chapter one, and DON'T SUE! Anyway…
Chapter two
Aslan frowned as he led the large group of assorted creatures over the frosted plains towards the wall of hills ahead, over which he could see the arrows dance and the eagles soar. Where were the daughters of Eve? Surely they would have had the sense to stay away from the battle. How fared the battle? He knew himself they were greatly outnumbered, despite their superior skills and advanced resources.
Concerned, he called for a leopard which was sprinting by his left flank, and addressed it without slowing his pace.
"Run to the woods, and search all the surrounding hills for the daughters of Eve. If found, bring them to the crest of the third hill to the east."
The leopard, who was named Salem, inclined his head, and then leapt away across the plain, heading for the edges of the woods and the hills to the west. Aslan turned his gaze once again to the sounds of ferocious combat resounding around the surrounding landscape.
He hoped the sons of Adam fared well in the battle.
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Peter could feel his lungs burning with the effort of drawing enough breath to keep up with his senses. His body was tiring, he could feel it. He was not sure how much longer could keep fighting with sheer will power. But what else did he have? He saw again and again the image of Edmund, smiling weakly, stabbed with the edge of the wand he may well have given his life to destroy. His brother. He had sworn to protect them! He had promised his mother, his father, his God. How could he have failed them so? And where were Susan and Lucy? Were they safe?
The witch could sense his fatigue, and slowed with him, teasing him. He swung with a wild fury which was draining his strength faster than the physical exertion. The glistening, crimson tainted sword seemed to be growing heavier with every movement, and his arms arched with tiredness, his heart beating against his chest, deafening him. Edmund. Susan. Lucy. Father. Mother. God. He couldn't just give up; they had all given too much to let it all be for nothing. He stared into the cold, dead eyes of the witch and felt one final surge of strength flood his senses, replenishing his strength.
In a flurry of blows, he realized with a heavy weight settling on his chest that even this wasn't enough. He simply was not strong enough. He had failed Edmund, failed them all. Every good creature in Narnia was depending on him to free them, and he was not strong enough. He had failed.
The witch knocked him to the ground, blade descending with deadly speed. Peter watched, frozen, as his every hope, his very world seemed to shatter before his eyes.
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Susan and Lucy reached the edges of the trees, and turned for the first time to look back at the large stone structure settled neatly in between two almost identical hills. Only the large archway was visible, and Lucy gripped Susan's hand a little tighter. Susan responded in kind, and they clambered on up the hill, Lucy lagging behind a little to stare out across the plains, squinting in the bright rays of the midday sun.
Quite suddenly, she stopped, and Susan almost stumbled and fell at the movement. She turned to berate her sister, when she saw the look of joyous of wonder on her younger sister's face. Lucy turned excitedly to Susan and pointed out to the east.
"Oh, look Susan! Look!"
And Susan followed the pointing hand, and her eyes widened in wonder, too, at what she saw.
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Aslan jumped with feline grace from rock to rock, leading the way up to the top of the hill, where the glint of the sun reflected from the armour of the centaur archers positioned there. A leopard, Sorlim, brother to the scout sent to find Susan and Lucy, put on a burst of speed to catch up to him and strode alongside him, slightly out of breath.
"Begging your pardon sire, but there, to the west!"
Aslan paused and turned to stare to where Sorlim was looking, and saw the leaping figure of Salem sprinting at great speed, bearing two small figures on his back. Aslan felt a great weight leave his chest as he waited patiently for the trio to reach the bottom of the hill, where Susan and Lucy dismounted and scrambled hurriedly up the hill on foot, tears streaming down their cheeks, to greet their friend.
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The witch slammed the blade of the boy's own sword into the edges of his chain mail with malicious strength, and smiled down as he jerked violently and stared up at her with a mixture of loathing and fear. She glanced towards the prone figure of the younger boy and put on a face of fake sadness, tutting.
"Really, little Prince, I had expected better. At least the runt managed to get a hit in. Pathetic, really. Would you like to beg for mercy? I have all the time in the world."
He said nothing, glancing frantically between her and the other son of Adam, seemingly more concerned for his brother than himself. He shouldn't be. At least he was able to save his own skin, but apparently Aslan's pitiful sense of honour had rubbed off on the runts. Pity, really. She had been looking forward to a nice fresh amount of groveling, but apparently the boy was just as useless and unamusing as his brother had turned out to be. She sighed.
"Very well, little Prince. Say goodbye to Mummy and Daddy, now."
She raised her sword to strike, when a sudden uproar of noise pulsated across the battlefield like a holy mantra. Her head snapped up, and her eyes widened impossibly as she looked up at the lone figure which had now appeared over the crest of the hill in an utterly cliché emblazoned shadow of sunlight.
"It cannot be…"
Seething now, she turned her attention back to the boy, who was now struggling to see what she was staring at. Reconsidering the situation, the witch deliberated for a moment, then flipped her sword so the blade rested in her palm and struck the boy with crushing force on the left temple.
He went utterly limp almost immediately. She smiled, and straightened, eyes glancing back to where the other boy still lay, immobile, guarded by the ever faithful Krimlock.
It seemed her policy of 'no prisoners' was about to be overruled. She reached down and grabbed the eldest son of Adam by the collar and turned, sparing only a brief glance to the anomaly which had caused the complete disarray she now saw ahead. It seemed the boy would be of some use after all. How utterly ironic. She smirked.
She wasn't beaten yet.
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Henry Pevensie woke with a strangled cry, and a number of men by him hushed him irritably. He gazed around, shaking off the misty veil of sleep which still shrouded his vision, and shuddered. It had been worse this time. A sacrificial lion, Edmund, stabbed…horrible. He felt a rush of fear unlike anything he had ever felt when the shelling hours began, and the world blurred and screamed around him. He clutched the small parcel between his hands, the coarse string binding it digging into his palm.
That woman…no, that thing…had seemed so…cold. Far colder than he had ever felt before in his life. Were these predictions, warnings? Was God trying to tell him something, about his children? He surely hoped not. He would rather know of his children's safety than their danger, regardless of the price he, others may have to pay. He shook his head, dispelling sleep violently as the siren blared over the top of the trench. The shelling began in less than a few seconds. He was no use to his family dead.
Besides, as long as they were together, they would be alright. And with that comforting thought, Henry Pevensie closed his eyes and braced himself against the wall of the dugout, waiting.
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The witch contorted her fingers into a claw like formation, and a small, clear vial of crystalline blue liquid spun and weaved itself into the crevice of her palm. She flicked open the stopper with a long, marred fingernail and held it over the now still figure of the youngest son of Adam. She dipped it sharply and the cool, gelatinous liquid slid over the rim of the stopper and pooled on the gaping wound in the boy's side. It congealed and bubbled, then sank through the chain mail, undershirt and skin with a soft hiss.
Satisfied, for the present, the witch fingered her broken wand and sneered slightly towards the two boys lying unconscious at her feet. But now was not the time for such things, she concluded. She would call upon her most trusted follower in order to retreat without fear of being seen. Closing her eyes, she steepled her fingers and began to chant softly under her breath.
To Edmund, who was now half aware of his surroundings, the world seemed to spin in and out of focus, before a dreadful cold began to seep through him. It reached icy tendrils down his spin, and spun a small cocoon around his heart, and he felt his chest shudder with revulsion. Before he could ponder anymore on himself, an explosion of fragments of frosted glass and ice erupted beneath him, and he watched his world fade as he fell.
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A/N: Well, now we're veering away from the original plot, aren't we? Please review!