A/N: I truly apologize for the long wait. I hope that you are reading this in good health.
'You see,' said Aslan. 'They will not let us help them. They have chosen cunning instead of belief. Their prison is only in their own minds, yet they are in that prison; and so afraid of being taken in that they cannot be taken out.'"
- The Last Battle
~O~
Part 5: Chasing Ravens~O~
The moment Peter comes to, he feels his head burn in such tremendous pain that it takes him a second before he is able to right himself, only to find out he is unable to do so when finding both of his wrists are tied together.
He feels the cold stone as he rests on his side, and almost makes out the blood on one of them where his head had been resting.
Images swarm his dizzying head: the last thing he remembers is exploring an empty cave after following an injured deer. But the beating he had taken to the head only proved the far more sinister theory that he had not been alone.
Peter tries not to make a sound as he crawls and looks around him, eyes adjusting to the void of darkness. There is the faint, ruddy glow of a fire at the entrance of the cave. From there, he could make out two faint figures stoking the flames with wood they had just gathered. He hears overlapping voices but couldn't make out who was talking, how many were talking.
"You didn't have to knock him out." He hears the voice of a boy say.
"And why do you bother?" The voice with a higher pitch responds. "Are you showing remorse for these land-stealing barbarians?" "No, I just don't feel right about this." "Did you want to stay in that stupid place your whole life?" "No." "Did you want me to get married off to an ugly old man like I was nothing?" "No." "Then quit pretending to have a moral conscience. We've already sent a raven that we're here and we're doing this. There's no quitting what we've started."
There was something familiar about the boy's silhouette: the blonde, ruddy hair and the kind, gentle slope of his nose. There was a name that came to Peter's mind but the assumption had been so ridiculous that he dismisses the possibility altogether.
But there was no time to psychoanalyze his captors; all he has is the momentary luxury of finding an escape or ruminating the possibilities of his rescue.
He had bid his soldiers that he would not come back for a few days. Even previously, he had just sent a raven to his brother and sister that he was doing perfectly fine, and the irony of it all made him want to internally kick himself for good measure but that was a matter for when he was out of this crisis.
Peter turns to his wrists and begins to work with the little wiggle room he has for untangling the knot, and miraculously it had come loose enough for him to untie the knot on his ankles.
Peter gains footing and hides behind the safety of rocks jutting out like teeth in the cave's mouth. He checks for an opening that would lead to his escape and finds that from the light emanating outside, he figured that sunbreak was afoot, and if he did not make his escape now, his trails would be far more obvious and easier to catch up to.
Whether it was luck or that the Emperor-Over-the-Sea was looking out for him, one of them had stood up, claiming to check on their net by the river.
Peter recalls the stretch of a river not far from where he remembers his troops had camped. Despite his rather unseemly condition, he was keen enough to strategize his way back.
By the time Peter assessed that the leaving companion had put a lengthy distance from the cave, he scuttles along the shadows in covert fashion, watching the boy as he fiddles around with a sword, staring at his reflection in the blade.
The boy must have seen something suspect in the glare of the sword as he had immediately stood up in a rather defensive stance. His silhouette makes him hard to read but Peter notices his body angled towards the rocks where their captive had been tied up and hidden behind.
Peter waits until the boy makes the cautious move to check for his body, all while reaching for a slab of stone that could surely put a man out.
He hopes he doesn't have to use it.
When the boy leaves his post, ultimately leaving the entrance of the cave unguarded, Peter makes a break for it and rushes with all the might his legs could give him.
Before he makes it out to the cave with haggard breathing, he feels the weight of a body slam against his ribcage and pin him down and knock the stone out of his hand. The moment Peter's chest hits the ground, he thrusts his head back and successfully lands a blow on the boy's head. His captor reels away from him as he recovers from the impact, clutching his head with his knees to his chest like a newborn.
Peter scrambles toward him with the stone in his head, ready to knock him out when the boy stops clutching his head and reveals his face in teary desperation. "Please don't!"
A sliver of sunlight shines on the boy's face, giving clarity to his features and showing revelation to Peter.
He could not believe it. Peter's jaw drops along with the stone in his grip, backing away from the stranger—or so he thought—writhing underneath him.
No. It couldn't be.
The boy doesn't make a single move when Peter staggers backward and freezes, almost as petrified as a trapped deer. He snaps out of it when he hears fast approaching footsteps and clambers out of the cave as fast as he could, hopping over the rocky sediments barefoot and disappearing into a foresty groove.
The moment he looks back, no one was following him.
But a far more horrifying discovery has unraveled before him, and a far more pressing riddle he could not solve.
What was the Prince of Archenland doing in Ettinsmoor?
"Are you sure you'll be alright? Without me?" Edmund hesitates packing the last of his belongings for the trip to Archenland. Perhaps it had been the wrong idea to leave his youngest sister alone.
"Either way it wouldn't matter. What's critical is the moment all four of us are together again," Lucy says as she safe-keeps Peter's letter into the closet drawer.
Edmund seems to ignore this because instead, he brings out a scroll of reminders he had written out just in case Lucy needed guidance. "I prepared a list of things for you to remember: one, you must conduct regular drills of siege defense—"
"Two, rotate battle posts of both naval and field attacks; Three, inspect fortifications in the walls, towers and gates; Four, send gryphon scouts for daily patrol," Lucy recites without missing a beat.
"Yes, but you're forgetting one last thing—"
"And finally, facilitate the weekly break-out sessions of rehabilitated Narnians." She finishes, dumbfounding Edmund with her extraordinary precision, no doubt a hard-wired trait of a great leader.
Edmund beams, reborn with confidence his sister will have no problem filling exceptionally large shoes. The last bit was crucial; after the Battle of Beruna that allowed the followers of Aslan to reclaim Narnia, the turncoats and traitors that made up the immense army of Jadis had retreated deep into the woods. Several of them, however, thought better to surrender and live amongst those who conquered the magic they once thought infallible. It was difficult in the beginning for they had qualms welcoming new monarchs that once again posed sovereignty over their freedom.
But overtime, whatever hostility they harboured against the Pevensies was tempered by the children's warmth and principled approach to reintegrating them into Narnia. The upheaval of the Deep Magic, instigated by Aslan's resurrection, no longer bound them to Jadis as traitors, but as free-roaming, self-determining, and dignified creatures.
With the growing number of Dwarves and Wolves incrementally accepting reintegration, the Monarchs are quite confident they will soon persuade the Minotaurs to come to their side. Hopefully, before the wars in the human-populated kingdoms arise as a bigger threat. Edmund prays that nothing disrupts the fragile routine they've safeguarded to make it work.
"And when you come back, you'll find me an exceptionally more seasoned swordsman than you and Peter combined," Lucy chides.
"My skills and Peter's combined is simply just me with blond hair." Edmund lets a smile through. "Combine my brain and Peter's, however, and we make up half of Susan's."
"Quite," Lucy grins, but finds her smile falling apart at the memory of banters with her siblings. "I miss them, Edmund. Peter would have smacked you in the head this very moment."
"Susan would have approved, which is about as rare as it gets," Edmund says fondly, but the mere mention of her absence sends Lucy's tears falling. He grabs his sister and locks her in a deep embrace. "Oh, Lu." He exclaims, sharing her distraught. Edmund pulls away and meets her tearful gaze with conviction. "I'll bring her back, I promise. Or die trying."
"Don't die, too, you idiot!" She smacks him in the head. "That was for Peter."
"He would have liked that," Edmund chuckles as he scratches his head. "Just focus on running this kingdom for a while, alright? Who knows? You might even like it. Perhaps a bit too much."
"There will surely be a coup d'etat when you get back," Lucy jokes, trying to indulge in his humor to lighten her mood.
Edmund laughs out loud this time. "By the Lion's Mane, there is nobody I'd trust in Narnia's care more than yours." He says before hugging her once again for (quite possibly) the last time. "But remember: always keep your guard up. Especially with two strangers we've just welcomed in our midst."
"Oh, but there's one last thing," Lucy says as she pulls away. "As a gratitude for saving your life, I thought of it as the mighty proper thing to do."
"Where were you?" Calla asks Bane but does not look over her shoulder as she scribbles on paper.
Bane makes sure to close the door when he enters, always apprehensive if someone is eavesdropping. He approaches where she is sitting by the window overlooking the Eastern Sea. "I… erm… went… I was curious—"
"You had gone sight-seeing, haven't you?" Calla remarks without gleaning the answer from his giddy expression.
"You would not believe this place!" Bane finally exclaims in a heart beat. The way horses run around free as if they own the pastures. The way simple fowl fly around without ever thinking they would get shot from below—it absolutely bewilders me."
"Excellent, you're getting familiar with the place, as is plan," she says as she puts the quill back and begins to fold the piece of paper into a tiny scroll.
A raven appears at the sill of the window and Calla gingerly ties the scroll at the base of its leg.
"What insidious plan have you devised at a moment's notice this time?" Bane asks in disbelief.
"I've spoken to the Queen," she says, tying the knot. "And I've convinced her to let you stay in Narnia."
Bane is pleasantly surprised at the news, but not without reservations. "And you'll stay with me, right?"
Calla watches the raven as it flaps its wings and drags along the breeze of the ocean, growing smaller as it disappears in the glare of the sun. She only shakes her head when she finally turns to look at Bane. "There's no reason for me to. If I insist any further, it might only raise suspicions. So I've agreed to take the ship back to Archenland… with her brother."
Bane pauses with a curious expression. "You don't mean to say…"
"I know. It's too brilliant." Calla says, clearly satisfied with herself. "With you here finishing what we started, and with me making sure we have no loose ends, we could do more than anyone in the guild has ever come close to," she then leans in to a whisper. "Imagine—two of the Royal Four by our own undoing."
Calla is much too held in rapture by her own devices that she does not notice that Bane is in paralysis. "Just how am I supposed to do this by myself?"
"I don't know, Bane. Think of something! But you must wait until I have my way with the king. This time, he won't be within reach of any chances of survival. And once I'm done with him, I'll come right back for you."
Bane is still shaking his head. "I still don't think this is right."
"Bane, stop being ridiculous," she raises her hands to her temple with an exasperated sigh. "I've already had it all planned out for you—the easiest part is simply doing it so why can't you simply follow through?"
"Honestly, Calla. Your alarming lack of hindsight is what had gotten us into this in the first place," Bane says. "First, you run away from the Guild, trying to make a sacred mission your delusional coming-of-age story. And when you slip up, you won't accept the consequences and continue to salvage whatever is left of your dignity—which is hardly anything since you've become a turncoat!"
"Oh, spare me, noble fox. You're not mad at me. You hate yourself all the same for choosing to come."
"Calla," Bane finally snaps with a sharp tone. "I've done nothing but help you each sunbeam and sunbend but not once have I heard a word of gratitude nor apology from you." The low growl in his voice sounded like a father reprimanding a child.
She only stiffens. "I have done almost everything close to honor, and far from anything that warrants an apology."
"Can we for one moment," Bane almost begs, "put aside trying to prove your worth and just spend your remaining suns with those who truly value you?"
The idea only makes Calla grind her teeth. "You're deliberately misunderstanding how important this is to me." She steps away.
It is a long pause before Bane speaks. "Calla, I've been a slave all my life before I met you," he says in a hushed, gentle voice as he tries to meet her eyes. "You are worth far more than what you can offer to other people. You deserve love, too."
But she only looks unfazed by his words, untouched by the amount of affection and care he tried to inject in his voice.
"I think it's better that we should part, too," Calla turns away, pretends to be distracted by something beyond the window. "You'll warm up to the plan soon."
Upon hearing her conviction, Bane only sighs. He knew Calla long enough to pick apart why she behaved as she did, but spent the better half pondering what he could have done to stop it.
He decides it best to leave her alone in the room, in the four walls of her dogmatic belief and unrealistic ideal of redemption.
"When you die alone—" Bane pauses mid-leave. "Remember it is not your incompetence that led you to your undoing, but your pride." He tells her, voice starting to break.
Calla, still unwavering, shakes her head. "Pride is what separates excellence from mediocrity."
Bane only bows his head in disappointment and whispers under his breath as the door shuts behind him. "No. It separates much more than that."
~O~
A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, it would mean the world to me if you let me know—whether it's through kudos, comments, constructive feedback, keyboard smashing, one-worded reviews—anything to let me know how you feel!
Your appreciation is my motivation.
- nimf