Threads
Chapter 3

Edmund didn't have much time to ponder on the landscape. He moved and continued looking around for Lucy, or any sign of life for that matter.

But there was nothing.

Soon enough, he found the ruins of a castle. His mind gave the sight a million explanations but none sufficed him—he walked in between the collapsed walls trying to figure it out.

What was that strange place? When he knew he was in Narnia, part of him half expected to find everything exactly as he had left it. Just as he had found England when they returned, but that didn't seem to be the case.

As he carried on walking, he stumbled across a chess figurine.

He couldn't deny it anymore - he was standing inside his home, but one that looked like it had endured hundreds of years. He laughed dryly to himself. All the time he had spent wishing to be back home—but this home was destroyed, too. What a bitter irony.

With a faltering breath, he carried on walking and investigating. What had happened? The castle looked destroyed, and not just by the passage of time, but purposefully. He fiddled with his chess figurine as he pondered.

Insurgence from within Narnia? Unlikely.
The reappearance of dark magic? Unlikely he hoped, but not entirely impossible.
Attacked by enemies? If so, the Carlomen seemed to be the most likely culprit.

And then he remembered Peter's letter: '…crawling with Telmarines….'

As he walked through the ruins of Cair Paravel trying to recognize the spaces he once called his own, it became clearer that he was at a loss.

Before turning on his heel, having recognized that Lucy wasn't hiding somewhere in the ruins, he saw a black mare tied to a crooked tree in the distance.

Edmund came closer, hoping that the mare could tell him all of what he didn't know. What happened, how many years had gone by? Who ruled Narnia now? Was it Miraz, like Peter had written?

Edmund came close to the saddled horse slowly, trying to make eye contact.
"Hey," he said lowly, but there didn't seem to be a response.

He continued advancing again, close enough to touch her nose. Before he could extend his arm, he felt the cold iron of a sword on his neck.

Edmund stood up straight and tried to turn his head around to look at whoever had snuck up to him. The sword tensed around his neck and he stopped moving. Still looking at the horse, he noticed metal glinting in the sunlight at the corner of his eye. He turned turning his head slightly to gain more information on his attacker. But he stopped once he noticed that in front of him, tied to the mare, was a sheathed sword with a lion as the pommel.

"Who are you?" a female voice asked before he could say anything. Had he been in England, he would have said she spoke with a Spanish accent. But since he wasn't, he identified it as Telmarine.
"If you could just—" Edmund started saying, but she pressed the blade harder against his neck, and Edmund gritted his teeth. He swallowed.
"If you would just be so kind as to ease the blade," he said with a sarcastic tone, "then perhaps I could turn around. Then I could explain without the unnecessary violence…"
"No. Tell me who you are and then maybe I'll consider it."

Edmund raised his hands as a symbol that he meant no harm.
Eirene swallowed as she moved around him, without releasing any pressure of her blade against his neck.

As she waited impatiently for the stranger's answer to her question, she tried to catch a glimpse of his face. Half of her expected him to be Caspian, but the other half knew he couldn't be.

He was dressed strangely, as she had never seen any man from any nearby land. He was taller than she was, and paler, too. A stubborn curl fell on his forehead, and his eyes were narrowed. His jawline was marked prominently.

Edmund felt her release tension on the sword. He didn't ponder on why she did, and instead, he jerked away. He lunged forward and grabbed the sheathed sword, tied to the horse. Before Eirene could react, her sword was met with another.

"How did you come across Rhindon? I almost didn't believe my eyes when I saw it," Edmund said, a half-smile appearing on his face.

But Eirene was confused. She fumbled with her words for a moment.
"How do you know the sword's name? Who are you?" Eirene broke contact and scuffled at him.

Edmund didn't answer. He'd grown unaccustomed to the weight of a sword, but after each movement, his muscles seemed to remember everything automatically.

Eirene kept on lunging at him, Edmund corresponded. He tried out his stance and limited himself to respond to her attacks, watching her move, trying to figure out who she was.

As Eirene kept trying to win the fight, Edmund noticed the details. His opponent was not dressed like a Telmarine lady, at least of what he came to know of Telmarine fashion. She was dressed in silk, but it was limited to a corseted blouse, tucked inside riding pants. A cape draped behind her, although he wasn't sure if it served any purpose or if it was merely for aesthetic reasons. She looked composed, regal.

Her horse was geared with half a battle armor. The mare had a breastplate with an engraved sigil. Edmund wanted to look at it more closely. But from what he could tell from afar, it was the sigil of the Telmarine royal family.

That would explain his opponent's impeccable sword fighting. Royal, military training.

Edmund tried attacking her, charging at her. Eirene stopped the blow swiftly. Edmund tried jabbing at another angle to which Eirene moved quickly. Edmund moved faster and closer to her, swinging the sword rapidly. As the speed of the battle increased, Eirene's eyes opened wide, trying to keep up. She had never fought with anyone this capable.

She didn't seem to have any trouble with her footing, Edmund noted. She had no issue in changing sides, nor with an attacking or blocking strategy. She had quick reflexes, and so far, had managed to block Edmund's every move.

He smirked as a bead of sweat rolled off his forehead. What she had in speed, she lacked in strength. Her sword was visibly leaner, with a smaller handle. He noticed how she already looking stunned and growing out of movements.

She, on the other hand, noticed his smirk and furrowed her brow. She came at him with more strength. Edmund still blocked her. As they quarreled, with both the swords above Edmund's head, Eirene stepped closer to him and then kicked him. Edmund lost some footing - it was Eirene's time to smile.

That was everything she needed. A small distraction.

He disengaged his sword and lowered it. Eirene hit it again and tried to keep the tension between their weapons; one or two more hits and she would disarm him. Eirene knew it worked every time.

But Edmund knew what was coming. He stepped back and ignored the pain on his knee from her kick. Eirene tried to charge her sword at him again, but in that second he flew his sword across onto his other hand. Eirene looked aghast at how he caught it without even looking at it. That was the distraction Edmund needed.

He lunged at her now, quick movements like hers, but stronger.

One, two, three strikes. Three blocks to correspond. Edmund kept gaining ground and kept on pushing her backward. She didn't seem that light on her feet now.

Eirene tried to block everything, trying not to show the effort it cost her.
One, two, three more strikes. Eirene was bearing her teeth already.
Four, five, six strikes. Edmund tilted his head and struck a seventh time. Her sword skidded in the sandy ground and she fell on her back.

Edmund kept Rhindon pointing at her as he slid sideways to recuperate the other sword. He raised it with his shoe and caught it in the air. He pointed both swords at her opponent.

Eirene raised half her body to her elbows, trying to regain her breath.
She looked at him as her chest heaved. He too breathed through his mouth. She took him in, without breaking eye contact. His eyes were deep, dark, and hypnotizing. His aura was quietly commanding, alluring. The sea breeze suddenly seemed heavy around them. It was as if the sound of the waves carried something else with them.

"Who are you?" Eirene spat once again. Her eyes moved across his body, unwillingly noticing his figure. She observed his muscles for a moment. Then, her eyes traveled to his hands that held the swords pointing at her.

She had never fought anyone like that before. Her teachers were masters of swordplay, from Telmar or Archenland, and none of them were ever able to move like that.

And then it clicked.

But no, it couldn't be. Not really.

It couldn't be. Despite all the magic she had learned about in books. Despite all the magic she had tried to seek out across the years. Despite all that, she still didn't let her eyes believe what she was seeing.

"Who are you?" she pressed, as she began to stand.

Even with both weapons on his hands, Edmund wasn't sure if it was wise to tell her who he was.
"Who do you think?" he returned the question.

All the stories she read, all talked about the best swordsman that Narnia had ever seen. She wondered if he was the one standing in front of her. She wondered if the stranger with a strange accent who had defeated the crown princess of Narnia was one of the Kings of Old.

Eirene stood up, her long braid moving with the breeze. Stray hairs fell on her face, and Edmund saw them move in slow motion.

She stood and breathed. She looked at him again and remembered all the illustrations in the old books she had of the Kings and Queens of Old. She remembered the illustration of the book she read to Caspian, just before he was taken away. The likeness was unbelievable. And somehow, he still looked more handsome in person than in all those depictions.

But it couldn't be. It just couldn't.
"It's impossible. You cannot be who I think you are."