I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I just have one really pushy, really agitated fan who hasn't been off my case since that last cliffhanger, so here you go, not seven hours later.


It was as if the portraits had come to life. In the mirror, Lucy saw an impossibly tall, broad man step out of his frame, lifting a wickedly sharp saber and swinging it in a furious arc. Everything seemed to slow down. There was a ringing sound as Edmund drew his sword, but the action came far too late – the man's blade plunged into his chest, ripping through mail and flesh alike. He was dead before he hit the floor, his sword tumbling from his limp fingers.

Lucy was utterly frozen in place. The portrait-man withdrew his blade from her brother's lifeless body, blood running off it as he brought it up to meet Rhindon, which Peter had swung desperately. His face was whiter than snow. Lucy watched as her eldest brother matched the murderer blow for blow, finally overcoming him to thrust his sword into the man's heart with a roar of mindless rage and sorrow and guilt. Then he was crumbling to his knees, drawing Edmund's broken body into his arms, sobbing into his brother's hair, clutching him to his chest as blood poured out over his tunic, staining the golden lion crimson.

But it wasn't over – more men were leaping down from their pictures, the women leaning back and smiling cruelly as four warriors advanced towards the two brothers on the cold stone floor. Lucy saw Susan nock an arrow to her bow, loosing it to find its mark in the neck of one of the men, and the other three changed their course to charge her. Lucy willed herself to draw her dagger, to turn and fight, to do anything – anything – to save her family, but it was as if her eyes were magically frozen on the mirror. She watched as Peter, shaking violently, set Edmund's body on the floor, throwing out a leg and tripping one of the portrait warriors. Then he was rising, Rhindon in hand, racing towards the enemy.

And suddenly, Lucy remembered.

More statues. A young woman with an arrow on her bow, grim determination on her tear-tracked face, beautiful even in stone. Behind her the crumpled form of a boy still on the path to manhood, facedown on the cold floor, sword lying inches from his limp, marbled hands. And, closest to Lucy, a warrior whose face still radiated bloodlust as he charged forward towards an unknown enemy with his sword uplifted. Beyond the madness in his face, a horrible grief and guilt.

Her voice returned and scream after scream of terror and despair ripped itself from her mouth, body rigid with disbelief. The mirror loomed above her, ensnaring her gaze, disabling her from looking away. This was no nightmare. She could not awaken to Susan's soothing words. She retched, grasping at thin air, looking for something to hold on to. It felt like an eternity before something slammed into her, knocking her away from the mirror and sending both of them skidding a good five feet across the floor. Lucy lay there for a moment and sobbed. There was a hand on the back of her neck, lifting her head up, and another wrapped around her back. She prepared for the inevitable death blow, but it did not come, and she became dimly aware that someone was calling her name as if from very far away, sounding scared and concerned; when she finally dared to look, her stare was met by two very familiar eyes.

"Ed?" she gasped. "But you…you're…"

She looked at his chest, where a gaping hole should have been. There was nothing. Not even a rip in the fabric. Running her hand over the area, she looked back up at his face, still breathing heavily and her heart still pounding.

"Lucy?" said Susan, who had knelt beside them. "Are you all right? You were screaming so loudly, we didn't know what to do. What did you see?"

She couldn't bring herself to answer. Instead, she began to cry again, her arms around Edmund's neck. She felt hands, presumably Peter's, help them both into a sitting position but it didn't stop her tears. Feeling like she had to say something, though, she attempted to explain what she had seen.

"P…portraits," she stuttered, muffled slightly in Edmund's tunic.

"What about the portraits, Lu?" asked Peter softly, rubbing her back.

" Came t…to life. At…tacked you." She sniffed, hiccupping slightly.

"I'm sorry," said Susan, and leaned forward to hug both Lucy and Ed. It felt almost like the aftermath of the Battle of Beruna, when Edmund really had been stabbed, and their family had come together so wholly in that moment. But Lucy did not feel Peter's arms, and when she looked up to see why not, it was to see him looking towards the doorway, jaw tight, eyes wide with surprise.

"What is it, Pe…" Susan began, but cut off in horror. The Pevensies disentangled themselves from one another, all revolving to face the woman who stood in the entryway.

She was tall, but not like Jadis was tall. Her height seemed more a coincidence than a sign of power or rank, and where the Winter Queen had towered above all with an air of unquestionable authority, this woman merely looked angry in a childish sort of way. Her hair, as Perick had said, was white-gold and long, hanging in ripples down her back. She was slender and lithe. A long white robe dripped water and clung to her frame as she stood there, eyeing the intruders with bright green eyes that seemed to crackle with some sort of borrowed energy, fingers twisting compulsively around the scepter she carried. On her other hand, bony, webbed fingers were curled into a fist. She opened her mouth, revealing filed teeth.

"You finally came," she hissed, striding forward into the room. Lucy felt Ed pull her tighter against himself, Susan holding them both and glaring defiantly at the nymph. Peter stood, hovering over them with his sword in hand, eyeing the newcomer with a cool distaste.

"Why have you brought thieves and murderers into our country?" he demanded.

"This is not your country," spat Zale, pointing her scepter accusingly at him. "You were not born here. You have no right to rule Narnia."

"It was Aslan, not us, who decided the matter. You doubt his judgment?" Peter asked calmly. He looked relaxed, but Lucy did not miss how tight his hold on his sword was, nor how his other hand was straying to the buckle that would loose his shield from his back.

"Aslan?" said the nymph with a bitter laugh. "Where was Aslan when Jadis overtook Narnia? Where was Aslan when she froze my lake with spells, held me captive for a hundred years? And where is Aslan now, O High King? He has fled again, leaving children to oversee his precious country! I have no allegiance to the fool."

"To speak such a thing is treason," said Edmund, stiffening. "Aslan is a great king. You have no place to slander him so."

"And from whose mouth do these words come? The very boy whose greed brought about the Lion's death!"

Edmund's cheeks burned red and he loosened his hold on Lucy, as if embarrassed to be in her company. She only hugged him tighter.

"You would do best not to speak of things you don't understand," said Susan coolly. She moved one side slightly, shielding her younger siblings from Zale's view, then bent over a tiny bit and whispered into Lucy's ear, "Lu. This will break into fighting soon, and I need you to…"

"I'm not running away," whispered Lucy fiercely, as Peter again addressed the false queen.

"I wasn't going to ask you to, Lu, now just listen!" Susan whispered back. "Ed will need his shield. Do you understand?"

Lucy gave a tiny nod, inconspicuously unbuckling the strap that ran across her brother's chest. He whispered his thanks, one hand coming away from her back to rest on the floor, ready to whip out his shield at a moment's notice. Zale and Peter were now growing more and more angry, the nymph's cheeks getting more and more flushed, her grip on her scepter growing tighter and tighter. The water at the windows was growing wilder, and waves were breaking out, splashing against the stone sills.

"You have poisoned this area with corruption and lust for power," accused Peter, raising his sword. His siblings tensed at his feet.

"True Narnia will never see humans on its thrones!" shrieked Zale, and lifted her scepter purposefully. Lucy felt herself grow faint as her vision appeared to come true, but this time they were all together as the paintings on the walls sprang into action, barreling out of their canvases to charge at the Pevensies. She hurriedly rolled off Edmund's lap and in an instant he was scooping up his shield, drawing his sword and leaping upright at Peter's side. Susan pulled Lucy to her feet and the latter drew her dagger even as her sister brought a red-fletched arrow to her bow. There was a moment with only the pounding of advancing feet, and then the final battle began.