A/N: Righto…I will try not leave a cliffhanger in this one. For the next few chapters, we'll have a bit of relief from the angst and some well earned fluff. I would like to thank my reviewers for their seemingly undying loyalty! (Sniffs) I am not worthy…
Oh, and I notice 'nice' Cifel is rather popular…I wonder what I should do about that? Hmm…
Oh well! On with the drama…
This the witch thinking
This chimaera thinking
Chapter twenty eight
Faces.
Hundreds upon hundreds of faces. Light faces, dark faces. Gentle faces, angry faces, hazy faces, faces clear as day.
China blue, silver grey. Mossy green, ocean deep. Frostily grey, mountain steep.
A red bucket, green ribbon, billowing in the wind. Flowers of blue, eyes of blue, oceans blue, cold, dead blue. Blue.
China blue.
Forget me nots.
Peter.
Even though he drew no breath, and his heart beat slower with every second, Edmund frowned, and slowly, carefully opened his eyes.
And Peter was there. Drifting like a corpse above him, eyes half closed, staring downwards with desperation, helplessness, and salty tears streaming from those china blue orbs and losing themselves within the water.
PETER! NO!
Ed…mund…?
And then his older brother's eyes fluttered shut, and he fell a few feet down in the water, his golden hair dancing about his head like a halo, his face slowly turning a sickly blue.
Edmund screamed a soundless scream, and reached out, warmth dispersing the icy tendrils about his heart, setting its beat racing through his veins.
No…
Edmund would not lose again, would not fail. He wouldn't. He couldn't. He had sworn he would never let Peter down again, now, or ever.
And Pevensie's never broke their promises.
The warmth surged through him, and he flew upwards, kicking his legs with all the strength he possessed, as the water once again began to toss and turn about him.
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"Perfect. Just peachy."
Cifel muttered distractedly, as he dove into the cool depths once more and made another grab for the creature's fin. He sensed something…odd. The creature wasn't at all right.
He could sense a dark presence within it…could his earlier suspicions have been correct?
If so…
Cifel dived again, this time reaching out with a specific target clearly in sight. Sure enough, his hand soon closed around a huge, razor sharp fang within the creature's mouth, and it shrieked as Cifel tugged sideways with all his might, drawing on the river's strength to aid him.
He heard the torment within the creatures mind, and felt a rush of pity, but could not fathom how. He had lost his heart to the darkness long ago…but, he supposed, it had been no more than a vessel.
FOOL! Bite him! KILL him! Kill the ANGEL!
I…why…I…kill…I no…kill…
NOW!
Cifel grinned, a triumphant rush filling him. So. This was her ploy. Puppet magic…how very…careless. Such an unpredictable form. But, surely…she was not this foolhardy. No, there was something deeper.
But he had no time to dwell on that now. He had to end this poor, confused creature's suffering.
But, to do that…he had to break the witch's magic…
He had tried once, upon a gathering winter, long ago. And had failed. But that world had been dying, cold, a world without light, a world without hope. Now…it was alive. Lucifel could feel it draw breath, feel its joyous life pulse in its very core. His charge, his realm, lived.
There was still hope.
And with that realization, Cifel let out a strangled cry as he felt all of his old strength flow into him, forging a centre of consciousness in the void in his chest. He gasped, as he felt the warmth return. His wings ceased their aching, and he saw a swirl of black feathers rise high up above him, and fly away on the wind's breath.
A deep, blinding white light gathered about him, and he felt…strong. So purely strong. He smiled, and plucked a single, soft white feather from his right wing.
He clenched it in the palm of his hand, and a soft breeze blew gently against his cheeks. He slowly opened his hand, and a long, thin blade emerged, growing and contorting, melding into a weapon in midair.
At its hilt, the roaring head of a Lion.
Cifel gazed at it, and could almost see the warm amber eyes glowing with pride. He blinked slowly, and gazed down at the stunned creature.
'Little child of the sea…are you in pain?'
The chimaera's eyes faded from crimson to an icy coloured green, and it blinked and raised its head uncertainly.
Yesss…I…hurt…
Cifel smiled gently, and it seemed so right, so real, upon his face that he couldn't help a small shiver of happiness. He had forgotten…this.
He understood.
What it was to love…his love for his land, his people…was worth any hardship he could have possibly endured.
Had the witch made him forget, as she had done so Edmund? It all seemed so simple, yes so clouded now…
'Then allow me to free you.'
Cifel drew all of his power about him, and thrust his newly forged sword across the creature with a cry of pain as the strength fled him, flying across the icy barrier which had been erected about the creature.
He could hear as each string of the witch's magic snapped, and the sound echoed about like the reverberation of a gong, and the creature fell limp into the water, weak, but thankfully still alive. Its eyes dulled to a twinkling, forest green.
Thank…you…Lord…Lucifel…
Cifel dropped down beside the creature's head, placing a hand between its wide, grateful eyes, and smiled.
'You are entitled, chimaera. May you do me a small penance?'
Yesss…Lord. I will…
Cifel looked across, to see the youngest son of Adam break the surface, his older brother draped over his back like a rag doll. Cifel shuddered as Edmund floundered, face pale but cheeks flushed, as he took great gasping breaths and slipped below the waterline again. He didn't seem to care for himself as long as Peter's head stayed above water.
The eldest himself looked very much dead, but Cifel could feel the pulse of his heartbeat and his jagged breaths through the strengthened bond. They were erratic, but strong.
Cifel heard again, that echoing, desperate voice.
Peter? No…don't…I said I wouldn't let you die! You can't…please…Peter, I…love you…you hear me?
You can't die, because…because I love you too much to let you…
I'm so selfish…
Cifel urged the chimaera forward with a gentle nudge of magic, his own legs trembling from the exertion of breaking the witch's magic. If he moved a muscle, he felt he would black out…and the world had begun to spin in lazy circles…
My…Lord…? You are unwell…
'No, chimaera…please…the Sons of Adam…get them safely to the shore…and the dwarf, too…'
They did it together. Chimaera took Cifel over to the two limp bodies, the youngest now barely conscious, but still clutching his brother and determinedly holding him up above the water. Cifel smile weakly and hoisted both boy's up onto the chimaera's head, breathing heavily as he closed his eyes tightly. Black spots whirled about his vision.
The youngest's eyes briefly sought his own, wild confusion and grief burning in their dark depths. Cifel looked away, swallowing heavily. They were only children. Although they were strong, they were not infallible.
But from what Cifel had learnt, hardship was what forced them to grow stronger. An ironic twist of fate, indeed.
All three were gently nudged onto the bank beside the now calming river, and the chimaera swiftly left to retrieve the now thoroughly petrified dwarf. Cifel clambered shakily to his knees, pulling both of the Sons of Adam onto their backs, the youngest immediately coughing weakly, and attempting to get up, desperately trying to reach his brother. Cifel placed a hand on his shoulder, staying his panic.
"He's…"
Cifel swallowed. His voice was quavering, reflecting his own exhausted state within. He smiled shakily, to which Edmund's eyes widened.
"Your brother's…fine, Edmund. Just fine. We all are."
Cifel reached over, and placed two hands on Peter's chest, then pressed down, hard. Immediately, the boy began to convulse, and shot upwards. His younger brother caught him, holding him up with the little strength he had left as Peter coughed up the water he had swallowed.
For a few moments, they all sat, and trembled.
Then the eldest Son of Adam's clear blue eyes began to flutter shut, and he sank into his younger brother's side, and Edmund, still spasming from the exertion, sunk to the floor with his brother's head cradled against his chest. For a few minutes, silence reigned, and the world continued to spin about them.
Soon, their breathing quieted from harsh sobs to soft gasps.
Cifel's hands shook violently as he extended his palms, carefully crossed, above the two bodies and gritted his teeth as he used the last of his strength to heal them. Small, golden threads of light twined down from his fingertips and sunk gently into the Sons of Adam, a small hiss and a gentle sigh the only indication that the magic had, indeed, worked.
Edmund wrinkled his nose, and sighed softly in his sleep, his hand subconsciously curling itself in his brother's hair.
Cifel barely repressed a smile, instead forcing a scowl as his wings faded and his elbows gave way. He too sank to the ground beside the two boys, just barely managing a last, choked comment.
"Stupid…humans…"
But Cifel's eyes rolled backwards in his head, and he slumped to the ground unconscious before he could finish his train of thought.
In the peaceful quiet of the dying day, as the sun set over the horizon and cast long shadows across their broken forms, you could almost feel the world lay itself to rest; and if you listened very, very carefully, you would hear the far off voice of a little boy, tears rolling endlessly from china blue eyes.
And if there was anyone to listen, they would have heard his words weave a calm, relieved blessing over Edmund's sleeping face.
"…thank you, Edmund…thank…you…"
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Aslan's eyes snapped open, as a sudden pulse of fiery energy surged through the bones of the land. He felt it flow from the living, breathing grass beneath his feet and fill his body with a familiar, tingling power.
The great lion raised his head and looked out across the hills towards the source, and saw a fading web of light spiral down from the deep bowl of the sky and cover the land with a light, creamy gold coloured shower.
He knew the rituals such as this well.
Long ago, they had been used by guardians of the realm to re-awaken the land in Spring, drawing it out of its deep, refreshing slumber. A quite contrasting ritual placed the land into a deep sleep as Autumn ended and Winter fell, and a cold, inky black shadow encompassed the land until the necessary darkness had passed.
Strangely enough, Lucifel had adapted such rituals for his own purposes, using them to test the valour of possible knights for the realm and as an outlet of his own emotions. Lucifel had always been quite an unorthodox angel.
Which was perhaps why he was so suited to this land; after all, it was quite the dearest realm to Aslan's own heart. It had been the first which had been created; by his own hand (or paw) no less.
Lucifel had understood the delicate balance of the light and the darkness. Day and night, shadows and blazing sunshine. Such things could not exist without the other to contrast against them. He had embraced, and maintained such a prosperous balance to its full potential.
But he had slowly forgotten how, and lost the will to fight, to love.
And Aslan supposed he himself was more to blame than any other; and thus, Lucifer had been born. The land cowered and shriveled to a dry wasteland, reflecting the very centre of its guardian's grief.
And so a plot had been devised.
It had been dangerous. A gamble. Like the precarious edge of a knife, one slip and all was lost. But it was working. The land was slowly returning to its former glory, the sky clearing of its melancholy barrier, the grass swaying a fresh green in the healthy Spring breeze.
The land breathed easy once again.
And so, too, did its creator.
And with a joyful leap of his heart, Aslan threw back his head, shook his mane and roared with rapture, and love. And the land rose, and rallied beside him, eager to join the battle.
Willing to gamble all, and perhaps give all, in the well fought fight.
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I can feel a WAR approaching, and I don't mean the one over who eats the last strawberry yogurt which I am bound to be an unwilling part of…
A/N: The fact that Simon (the little boy mentioned at the end of the Cifel sector) is crying indicates the trials of Edmund's love. Simon also sort of represent's Peter's pain, now, too. Well, he is rather useful…
Cifel is now almost officially redeemed. Don't worry though; he'll still be his sarcastic, grumpy self.
Cifel: (humphs) grumpy, indeed…hot tempered, certainly but grumpy!
Yes, well (yawns) long day, exams abound. Be a good Samaritan, leave a review and make a severely depressed person's day. Oh, and I may just give you a hint for the sequel too…if it's a LONG review…
Hint hint…
Cifel: Why the hell are you still reading! Review, or face my wrath! (waves REALLY sharp pointy sword dramatically)