A/N: Attention! This is the last chapter, besides the epilogue (which will be far longer than previous chapters, and probably take longer to write). Well, it's been a long and bumpy ride, but all the loose ends are going to tie up here!
Well, most of them, anyway…
Point of mild interest: while perusing random current pictures of the actors who play Peter and Edmund, I suddenly realised something really quite funny; Edmund's actor has grown about a foot, and now stands only about an inch or two shorter than Peter's.
How ironic! (cringes) At least they didn't have to feed the guy a potion like I did in order to make him grow…
The poem interwoven into one of the scenes is one I wrote myself; I'm actually quite proud of it. Don't steal! Ask me if you want to copy it or something … (unlikely, but still…just making sure).
This chapter contains Lucy, Aslan and Jadis POV. Be warned, it may get a little confusing.
Chapter forty
Cifel ducked in the air as he saw the girl stumble and turn in her flight, staring back at her assailant with wide, fearful eyes. He cursed loudly as he put on a burst of speed, drawing his blade with eyes fixed upon the dwarf's unprotected back.
He had realised from the moment he set eyes on the dwarf that he was not entirely what he seemed; he smelt fishy (quite literally, as he had evidently sat beside that river for quite some time). And now, as the creature raised the head of his axe above the defenceless child's shocked, frozen form, he knew his fears had been confirmed.
He couldtell the influence of the witch from a mile away. But he had not wished to alert her of his insight into her plans.
He kept his gaze fixed upon the back of 'Rabadash's' neck, determined not to allow the girl's terrified expression to stay his hand. If he was merely a fraction out of line, he would cut off her arm with the dwarf's head.
He gritted his teeth and swung the blade with a yell as he dropped in his flight, an ominous swish and then a thump announcing that he had found his target. He drew upwards with a strong beat of his wings, watching with morbid fascination as a spurt of blood from the severed neck splattered crimson all over the girl's dress.
He had no time to watch the proceedings, however, as the older girl had jumped down to drag her sister to her feet. They should be safe, now. That particular attack had come from an unexpected angle, and judging by the older girl's grim, livid expression, no other assailant would meet a kinder fate.
He raised his sword once more, idly tutting as blood trailed out behind him from the tip. The dwarf had been grating on his nerves, anyhow. His fist clenched about the shards of the witch's blade as he saw her, blockaded within a thinning wall of defence.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Grimold touch lightly down on a nearby hill, and the two Son's of Adam slid off him, Edmund bearing an expression of relief, Peter of reluctance. Grimold took flight once more, and came up to fly just behind Cifel himself.
The guardian closed his eyes, the wind whipping at his hair and sending soft feathers spiralling out behind him.
Freedom reared before him; he could taste it on the very tip of his tongue, feel it singing a surreal song within the air he breathed. His land begged for release, cried out for vengeance.
His eyes snapped open.
On this day, upon this field, creatures fell in the name of the way, the truth, and the light. The quest for salvation, for the freedom of the realm, lingered yet in the hearts of all the creatures in the land.
They had nothing but hope left.
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Susan's very blood had frozen in her veins at the sight. That horrible creature, sneaking up behind her sister like a contorted shadow. For one terrible, gut wrenching moment, she had feared it would be her Lucy's last.
But then…a winged, humanoid creature had decapitated the dwarf even as Susan had knocked an arrow to her bow and took aim. She had nearly released it in shock, gazing in awe as two huge, widespread wings flexed powerfully in the currents of wind.
'Well, this has certainly been a strange day.'
She resolved to ponder on it no more, and to simply take their good fortune at face value; the first time she had done so in a long time. She had forgotten long ago what it was to simply, childishly, accept and believe. It had always seemed so foolish to blindly follow an invisible path with no guiding light to show the way.
Maybe it was she who had been the fool, all along.
As she clasped her little sister close to her side protectively, she shivered as she felt sticky blood seep onto her hands. God…this could have been Lucy's life, spilling out across the shining grass.
Susan's brow furrowed as Lucy glanced up at her, then over her head. Her sister's mouth fell open in shock, and then turned to an expression of complete and utter joy and rapture, raising an eager hand to point excitedly at the top of a hill in the distance.
"Oh, Susan! Look, Susan, look!"
Susan looked, confused.
And as her heart leapt in joy mirroring the emotion shining in her sister's round, flushed face, she suddenly felt more whole than she had felt in years. She felt her eyes welling with salty moisture, and then slipping silently down her cold cheek with relieved joy.
She clutched Lucy tighter to her as her little sister let out a choked laugh and buried her tear stained face in Susan's side.
"Oh, thank God…"
Susan smiled tremulously, eyes riveted on the two solitary figures, stood defiantly upon the grassy hill which seemed so near, and yet so far, away.
"Thank…God…"
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Edmund leant heavily against a nearby rock as he caught his breath, glaring as his brother hid a smile behind a hand which was shaking with suppressed. He had never flown before…and vowed now to never do it again as long as he lived.
"You shut up! Just because you can keep the contents of your stomach intact…"
Peter patted his back consolingly, but still chuckled lightly. Edmund scowled, and then his face fell as he surveyed the carnage before him.
He shuddered.
"Battles are ugly affairs... I never really understood what he meant by that."
Edmund decided not to ask, as he stood up straighter, moving closer to Peter as they stood alone atop the hill, their hair tossing about their heads as a swift cold breeze whipped past them.
"I never thought…it'd come to this."
Peter turned to look at him, smiling sadly, a haunted look in his eyes. Edmund closed his eyes and drew a deep, steadying breath as Peter wrapped an arm around his shoulders and drew him closer to him.
He rested his head against his older brother's, smiling as Peter's familiar smell wafted across his senses, soothing his trembling nerves.
Peppermint… and blood.
But it would wash away; like everything else, it could be wiped clean and start afresh. All it needed was the strength and courage to begin the cleansing.
They moved apart as if of one mind, both faces becoming drawn into a tense grimace, a shadow of emotionless resolve and determination dancing like a roaring fire within their eyes.
China blue met deep brown for what would, perhaps, be the last time.
"Ready?"
It was a hushed whisper; strong, but barely discernable beneath the wind's breath. Edmund smiled weakly, as they simultaneously drew their swords with a ringing echo.
"Am I ever not?"
And they were; after all their trials, all their sufferings, they were finally ready to face the final test; the destinies which fate itself had so cruelly, yet so kindly, gifted them at birth.
But they would not face it alone.
For to love another person…is to never be alone.
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The guardian appeared almost like a shadowy reaper of death as he ploughed through her carefully constructed defences towards his goal. She smiled mockingly, watching those pretty emerald eyes shine in anger.
They had been so much nicer as a bright red…
But no matter; she had expected no less from Aslan's second in command. And the silly, foolish child would need more than just anger to defeat her. She was the embodiment of evil; only the very antithesis of evil itself could defeat her.
And he possessed none of those qualities.
Why, she had ripped his very heart from his chest with her own hand. Felt its pulsed beat wither and die within her palm, even as he gasped, choked, and eventually screamed in pain.
He was no more than a shadow of his former self; and a shadow is made merely of darkness and the deepest fears of mankind.
The lion was currently otherwise occupied, trapped within a defensive ring of Minotaur's which she had designated to this specific purpose. However…she was slightly worried by the stampede of re-enforcements which the angel had brought with him.
In fact, it seemed almost that their forces were now evenly matched.
But it would make not a scrap of difference; the eldest Son of Adam was dead, forced by his own hand to kill himself. The prophesy would never be fulfilled, and an empty throne would forever stand testimony to her victory till the end of time.
Jadis raised a radiantly smirking face to the sky, and quite suddenly reeled in horror.
Two figures had alighted upon the hill to the west; painfully, terribly familiar, but utterly impossible. No. Surely her eyes deceived her…
But there was no mistaking it…it was the eldest Son of Adam. Golden hair tossing in the wind, arm wrapped tightly around his younger brother's shoulder, and cold blue eyes now staring straight back at her with a burning fire.
She shuddered.
The deep magic had yet again thwarted her, ripped her victory from her very closing grip.
She would not go down without a fight…she would take the four humans, the lion, and the guardian…and the entire realm…with her.
Jadis raised the shattered, but nevertheless still deadly wand in her hand and shoved it with disinterest into a nearby faun's throat.
She shivered with a delicious thrill as he gurgled, his lungs failing him, then collapsed like a rag doll, limp and fading.
Her blood, if it were to be spilt, would be blessed with the blood of the innocent.
And thus, she would have her revenge.
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Cifel felt a small sense of triumph as his blade hewed through flesh of all sorts and textures, coupled with a shudder of revulsion. It was really quite disgusting that a creature of his stature had been reduced to such crude methods of violence.
Unfortunately, it was necessary. As was always the way in war.
Blood which was not his own slid down his face and matted his hair into straggly crimson strands. A single trickle slipped into his mouth and he spat out violently as he gagged.
It tasted quite vile.
He froze as two chips of icy dignity met his own gaze, and his own eyes narrowed as he idly wiped the blood from his face. He shot forwards as she smirked at him, decapitating a nearby bear with a vicious blow.
He leapt lightly to the ground, his wings retracting and fading in a swirl of soft feathers.
She raised her blade, and Cifel clutched his own sword in one hand, and the reassuring weight of the shards of the witch's other sword in his palm lent him strength.
They began to circle each other.
Their eyes were locked in an inner battle of wills, icy grey boring into smouldering green. With neither word nor warning, the witch lunged forward, and Cifel parried her blow with ease, a wild grin splitting his face.
This battle was his to rule. The fate of his land, of his charge…rested where it belonged at last.
In the palm of his hand.
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Edmund and Peter attacked in a frenzied blur of shining metal; ruthlessly carving a path through the ranks of the witch towards the ring of minotaur's which enclosed Aslan.
Neither looked at the other, nor spoke a word. But they seemed to be of one mind, of one will, turning this way and that in an intricate dance of power. When one's back grew exposed, the other immediately was there beside them, blocking it from peril.
Neither felt tired, nor did their strength wane as the enemies grew crueller and more skilled. They faced each oncoming fight together with fresh, renewed determination, until they had finally fought their way to Aslan's makeshift prison.
Not that the lion needed much help; he was merely repressed by the sheer weight of numbers pressing in upon him. But the creatures of darkness were not expecting an assault from behind them.
They fell with ear rending shrieks, but neither boy flinched at the pain they inflicted. They faces remained impassive, only a slight frown of concentration marring their brows.
When they stood united, they created a force which even the greatest creatures of evil cowered and ran from, fleeing in fear of their lives.
The revered, long awaited monarchs of the realm; truly the saving grace which Narnia had awaited for so many ages.
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Aslan felt his heart burn with loving pride as he watched all three of his children fight with a strength beyond what they were physically able of, drawing upon their inner prowess.
No, no longer children.
His eyes sought out the witch, now engaged with furious battle with Cifel; his first born, the first of his creation. He could still remember the first moment those drowsy emerald orbs had smiled adoringly up at him.
He, too, had grown beyond the boundaries of his duty.
And that was true courage.
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Cifel knocked her blade to the side, and relished in the split second of complete and utter terror he saw in her eyes.
Before he drove the shard of her own blade straight into her heart.
He grinned weakly as she raised the blade which had once been wielded alongside the shard embedded in her chest, trembling but still smirking, and plunged it into the cavity in his shoulder which once had held his own heart.
It ripped through the scar like tissue paper.
Cifel refused to scream, only feeling a weak, half hearted tremor of protest from his body as they stared each other down, each waiting for the other to fall.
After a few moments, they sank to the ground together, each breathing heavily.
"This is…not…the end…angel…"
She hissed through gritted teeth, her eyes flashing with anger filled with utter detestation. A trickle of blood oozed down her lip, slipping down her chin and dripping from her neck. He cocked his head to the side, that infuriating smirk curling his lips as his eyes glittered with malicious enjoyment.
"Oh, but I think you will find it is."
He drew back his blade, and brought it down with crushing force upon her exposed neck, her relic of Aslan's mane falling about her headless shoulders like a cascading curtain falling upon the final encore.
"Or at least, it is now."
He dropped the shard and his sword to the floor, and pulled the blade lodged in his chest out with slow, agonising precision. He studied it with drowsy disinterest as the world began to spin and grow dark around him, noting the surface of the metal was completely untainted by blood.
"Goodbye…your majesty."
He managed to mutter, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped over her limp body, chain mail and the soft tresses of the relic mane cutting into his side.
As the world grew blurred around him, he just managed to catch sight of two sorrowful, cat shaped amber eyes in the darkness.
And he smiled weakly.
"…Aslan…"
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In the aftermath of the battle, all was deceptively calm. After the witch's army had retreated, having seen their leader fall, the remains of Aslan's followers gathered up the (few, thanks to Lucy) dead and prepared them for burial. Once this was done, they carried their fallen comrades back to camp, wearily setting about raising tents, and crawling into comfy corners to sleep.
For the four Pevensie's, it seemed so silent even the smallest sound would break their resolve.
They stood facing each other, Peter, Edmund and Lucy all covered in blood, sticky and sweaty, but they didn't care. Susan's hair was in complete disarray, but for once, she didn't reach up to fix it.
There was an awkward pause.
And then, Lucy smiled, and started forwards joyfully.
It was a simple reunion; no questions asked, no exclamations of either sorrow or joy. Lucy latched on to Edmund, who wrapped his arms around her, while Peter held a shaking Susan to him while simultaneously curling his free arm around his brother's neck.
They all sank to the ground, too weary to cry, too filled with bitter sorrow to laugh. They simply sat, and basked in each other's familiar presence, till their tremors ceased and the world grew quieter still around them.
And the land of Narnia rejoiced, for salvation had come at last; in the form of four, perfectly ordinary, but somehow extraordinary children who grew stronger and wiser with each stumbling step of the way.
And they had emerged, whole, changed, and not entirely unscathed; but all the better for it.
But most importantly, they were together at last.
And that meant more than any battle, defeat, failure or even victory, ever could.
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This is not the end! Still the epilogue to go…
A/N: So. Susan believes once more, Cifel is well on the way to a full recovery, Lucy is just as valiant as ever and Peter and Edmund are getting some well needed rest.
Now all that is left, is to tell the tale of their departure…
About Cifel and his heart…angels don't technically need a body to live. The soul of an angel can appear as anything, (for instance, a dove or a shroud of mist) but they prefer to remain in humanoid form (as, according to the bible, humans were made in the image of God).
However, the heart has become a vessel of all positive emotions, and so without it and angel is almost completely lost. They become 'fallen angels', and thus, Cifer (as the witch renamed him) was born. Cifel is, however, back now for good.
The next update, as an epilogue, may take slightly longer to update. Expect it to be up in about two to three days…who knows, I may just get it done in one day, but no promises.
Cifel: You know the routine! Review, and ohcEEcho would like to know if anyone has any questions which she could answer in the 'special features' section, which will be up after the epilogue…
Either way, review!