Night had fallen by the time Oreius and the others returned. Adeline watched from the opening of her tent, intrigued and cautious, as they brought the lost Pevensie boy through the camp to her father. The other children had gone to sleep many hours prior and would not be seeing their brother until the morning. Slowly, she followed the returning group, all while keeping her gold gaze locked on the boy. It seemed that Jadis was no more gentle with her toys than she was with her enemies. His lip was bleeding and even in the dark, Adeline could see bruises marring his pale skin. Eyes flickering to Oreius, she raised her eyebrow. He nodded back.
"In what condition did you find him?"
Oreius had barely stepped into the Commander's tent when the question rang out, piercing through the silence. He had been aware that Adeline had questions, though he had expected them to come later when she was satisfied that the boy posed no threat to the gathered Narnians. "He was bound, Commander," he replied dutifully, "and he appeared to have been gagged, at one point." He watched her tap the flat side of a knife against her chin before she slipped it into her boot.
"Why would she silence the mouth feeding her information," she asked quietly, more so herself than Oreius. "What warranted such treatment?" Standing up, Adeline paced the length of the tent. Traitor he may be, she thought, but something must have occurred to force the Witch to view him as such as well. He had upset her, likely in going against her. She needed to know what had happened. "I must speak with him," she declared, looking up at Oreius, "and you know where I can find him." The centaur looked hesitant.
"He is having words with your father, Commander," he replied, eyeing her worriedly. "Is it terribly important?" It was a little concerning, the strange gleam. Long since had he learned not to try to find rhyme or reason with her actions and thoughts. She was a wildly unpredictable girl and it made him anxious. Oreius was, whether he liked it or not, the voice of reason in their friendship. Adeline acted on instinct, and while those instincts were honed by many centuries of practice, that did not mean that he had no reason to worry. It certainly did not help that he received no reply from her.
While Oreius seemed lost in thought, Adeline ducked past him out of the tent. Upon a rock, not too far from the tents where the Pevensies had been housing, she found her father with the boy broken bread with the Witch. Ignoring Oreius' hissed warnings, the blonde slipped closer. Feet moving soundlessly in the grass, she focused her leonine senses. In the mild breeze, she picked up his scent. Blood, dirt, sweat. The dead silent night allowed her to hear his heart beat out a rapidly hammering rhythm. He was scared out of his wits. But he spoke humbly, his words candid as he expressed regret for his actions and the damage his words had caused. Adeline slid into the grass below them, listening to their conversation. You learn much about someone only by listening, she had been told once, the tone and stability of their voice are more telling than even the most obvious of actions.
They spoke for hours. Edmund recounted everything he had heard, seen, and done while in the Witch's clutches. He spoke of witnessing her magic, of her desire for power and her ruthlessness in getting it. Though it was not new information that the Witch craved greatness, no matter its form, it was refreshing to hear someone speak of her as Adeline thought of her. The sky was glowing pink, the sun peeking over the Eastern horizon. Soon, the day would be upon them and another day of training would commence. A shout startled her. Eyes flying to her right, she saw the other Pevensies coming out of their tent, Peter with once arm around Lucy's torso to stop her from running to their brother. A rustling of fabric and the light pad of feet told Adeline that Edmund had been dismissed from her father's presence. She stood, heaving herself up onto the rock. "He is regretful," she said watching Edmund as his siblings embraced him and welcomed him back into the fold, "Will it be enough?"
"I expect your tutelage will aid him," Aslan replied, meeting her eyes as they flicked to his. "They must learn, Daughter, and you must be their tutor." She looked away from him, gaze locking on the horizon as it burned with the rising sun. He wondered if she understood her significance, if she knew that her purpose was much greater than commanding the armies. The love of a father, his love, could not save her. All he could do was pray to magics beyond even his control that she would be capable of making the last sacrifice. "Edmund possesses a good heart," he said quietly. "His mistakes are equal to yours."
A stab of pain. Tears slipped down her cheeks, pace and quantity far exceeding what she could ever allow herself to ever show. Weakness. Without waiting to be excused, Adeline left her father in favour of disappearing into her tent. There was no time for sentiment, no need. Breathing heavily, trying to dispel the onslaught of remembered nightmares and feelings of loss, she ignored the rustling of fabric as someone pushed aside the curtain covering the entrance to her tent. But not even Oreius' strong, protective presence could soothe her. He knew not of her sins. They were hers to carry, a burden to share with only one. One who would forever consider himself unworthy, one who would always hesitate so long as nobody told him that he was worthy, that he need not second-guess himself. Adeline sucked in a shuddering breath. "Have someone bring them here once they have eaten," she commanded quietly. "There is much for them to learn."
"Anything else, Commander?"
"Yes." She swept the remaining tears away, turning to face him. "Ready weapons for them, any you can think of."
Gaze sweeping critically over the four siblings, Adeline tried to think of where to begin. They had much to learn, too much given the limited time she had to teach them. History, etiquette, and customs were just the beginning, and yet she somehow needed to tutor them in various forms of weaponry. A tall order. Never let it be said that she did not at the very least attempt to take on all challenges she was issued. "My name is Adeline," she began. "Fortunately, you're not yet my superiors and you shall call me Commander until the day comes that sees me under your rule." Her words drew affronted looks from all of them and she rolled her eyes. They may be little princes and princesses, but if they sought the be treated as such they could very well spend time with anyone else. She had not the time nor the desire to coddle them. "Assuming that the war is not at our doorstep quite yet, we will be spending rather a lot of time together over the next few days." Satisfied that she had their attention, she gestured for them to move out of her tent. The siblings shared confused glances and though only minutes had passed, Adeline could feel her patience running thin. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she took a deep breath. "When asked to move, it is only polite to do so unless the situation calls for refusal," she informed them tartly, "whether that command is silent or not." One by one, they gracelessly hurried out of her tent.
"Where are we going?"
"Elsewhere."
Peter bit back a frustrated retort. The way this commander was treating them was a complete turnaround from her at least mildly humorous manners just a day prior. It was reminiscent of how he had been treated by his father's associates whenever they were required to attend or host tea parties. He had killed a wolf, had been given a title. It was tiring to be treated like a child, particularly by someone who seemed to be nearer Edmund's age than his own. Yet, he said nothing as the strange girl led them away from the encampment, out onto a stretch of open land.
His jaw dropped. A table laden with weapons awaited them. To the side, a couple of satyrs and fauns were raising targets. The centaur, Oreius, stood silent, expression stoic. Taking it all in, Peter felt a sneaking suspicion that perhaps Adeline would treat them a little less like children than he had believed. A suspicion that was proven correct when, out of nowhere, a knife came soaring past them. It lodged in the grass far too close to Lucy's toes for comfort. Eyes following its trajectory, he found Adeline nodding to herself.
"Well, their reflexes seem to be partly in order," she muttered, running a finger along the selection of sharp objects laid out before her. "It's not ideal, but it is something." A battle-axe caught her attention. It was beautiful, intricately made by the best blacksmiths Narnia had to offer. Adeline picked it up, testing its weight with a grimace of distaste on her face. "What a waste," she murmured. "So much work to create beauty that will only be tarnished." A test swing. Another nod. She held it out, handle first, to Edmund. Hesitant hands wrapped around the axe. The little prince met her gaze uncertainly. Stepping aside, she gestured to the targets. "Throw it."
Four identical looks of horror. "Throw it?" Edmund's wide eyes travelled from the axe handle to the blonde girl watching him.
"Well yes, that is one of the many uses of a battle-axe," Adeline quipped. "But if you'd rather just chop down a tree for practice, that can be arranged." She walked back and forth a few paces in front of the future rulers. Each time she passed one of them, her eyes met theirs searchingly. They had come to Narnia, had fled from the Witch and survived thus far. One had defeated the Captain of the Secret Police, another had betrayed Narnia and the Witch all within a few days. Yet they were reluctant to pick up the weapons used in the wars they would be forced to wage. "Understand that war is unpredictable," she said, pushing Edmund to stand directly in front of the targets. "To be a proficient wielder of only one weapon will kill you." Prodding, kicking and bending, Adeline helped Edmund find the proper stance to throw the axe and took a few steps back. Once again, he hesitated just slightly. A rush of air and a thud. He had not hit dead centre. But he had hit the target. "If you are disarmed in battle, you must be able to use whichever option is closest," she continued, "which is why you all shall take turns throwing that axe until all of you can at least hit it."
Never before had Lucy been allowed to play with knives. Halfway through what was growing into a far longer lesson than she had anticipated, that was what she was doing. Adeline had handed them several different weapons to throw at the targets. Spears, axes, daggers. She had asked them to use bows and arrows, crossbows, slings. As the sun started to slip past its highest point, she had them practising close combat on each other with blunted knives and daggers. Using her smaller size, Lucy ducked under Peter's arm and tapped his side with the blade.
"Excellent," Adeline praised, pleased. "It is imperative to take into account your opponents physical disadvantages in battle." She waved Garion, one of the watching satyrs, closer. He was taller than her and also just a smidgen terrified of her. An ideal example. Breathing steady and gaze focused, she lashed out at him with her own blade. He lifted his axe to parry just a moment too late, allowing her to duck under his arm and make an imaginary cut along the underside of his arm. "Someone tell me what Garion did wrong."
"Well, he tried to parry, as anyone would," Peter replied. "Problem is, he exposed a weak point in his armour, and you used the fact that you are smaller to attack that spot." Adeline nodded slowly, eyebrows raised pointedly. He thought back to his mock-duel with his sister. Lucy had done the same thing with him. "I made the same mistake," he acknowledged. "And I thought I would win because I'm stronger."
Lips quirked into a small smile of approval. "Indeed, and I hope you remember that brute force is only half the battle," she commented, giving Lucy a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. "However, you made another mistake." Peter frowned.
"You are afraid of hurting her," Oreius explained, walking up to them. "You stay your blade for just a moment, afraid to strike because you see your sister, not an adversary." Adeline looked up at him, irritation flashing in her eyes. He bowed his head respectfully, deeply unwilling to upset the warrior. She would spar with him until his eyes blurred with sweat and pain if he did. "I was told to let you know that Mrs. Beaver demands that the kings and queens be fed, Commander."
"And she believes she is in a position to make demands, does she?"
"It would appear so, Commander."
"Very well then," Adeline relented, admittedly amused. "We shall reconvene in my tent for lessons promptly after lunch." Several groans were heard and she shook her head. With the slightest twitch of her hand, she had Garion and a faun named Argus disarm the Pevensies. "You needn't worry, it will be a sit-down lesson," she assured them, picking her own weapons up from where she had left them in the grass. "I expect you will be quite interested in what I have to teach."
Without another word, Adeline left them. Peter stared after her. "Who is she?"
"Commander Adeline of the Land Beyond the Sea," Garion replied, keeping pace with the children rather than rushing with Argus and Oreius to get food. "Surely you have been made aware…"
Susan interrupted, smiling apologetically. "Peter meant her story, Mr. Garion," she said kindly. "Where she comes from, what she's been through." In an instant, the satyr's demeanour changed. His hooves clappered nervously against the flagstone beneath their feet and he bleated quietly between unintelligible murmurs. He looked positively horrified. "Is something the matter," Susan asked, "Mr. Garion, did we say something wrong?"
"Silver struck, once, twice, thrice," he sang quietly, pulling at the fur on his wrist, "now she who hurt must pay the price." Looking around cautiously, Garion tried to ignore the looks he was receiving from the children. It was a subject not to be taken lightly and legend had it that it brought terrible luck to those who dared speak the prophecy in its entirety. He shuddered. "No one knows much about the Commander," he stated. "There are legends, though none have been proven to be true."
Edmund frowned. "What kind of legends?" The satyr appeared too jittery to even form an answer, gaze flickering back and forth as though he was doing something that was most forbidden. He could not understand. What unspoken rule did the poor sod think he was breaking? Sharing a look with his siblings, he knew they were all in agreement. "I command that you tell us the legends," he tried, watching Garion slump in defeat. "You must, don't you?"
"Some speak of their ancestors meeting her hundreds of years ago." Argus smiled at the children as they whirled around to face him and could not help but snigger when Garion pulled in a breath of obvious relief and ran off. Setting down the tray he was carrying, he gestured for the siblings to join him for a bite to eat. He waited patiently for them all to start eating before he continued. "They say she was a woman of great age then, grey and wise." He chewed thoughtfully on some toast, considering how much he had right to divulge. His own friendship with the Commander was recent, formed after his arrival to the encampment. Only Oreius had known her prior. "My grandfather once told me that his great-grandmother encountered the Commander, but they were both little then," he said quietly. "All we do know is that the Commander is not a born Narnian."
Curious as ever, Lucy met the faun's gaze. "Mr. Argus, just how old is she?" She studiously ignored Susan's interjection that one should never ask for a lady's age. But to her utter disappointment, Argus merely shrugged and told her that he did not know. "Surely you must know how old she is," she said, surprised. "What about her birthday?" The faun smiled apologetically.
"I don't think you understand, Your Majesty," he said kindly. "Until we were summoned by Aslan, only Aslan and Oreius were aware that she was still alive."
Susan frowned. "What are you saying, Mr. Argus?"
"I'm saying, Your Majesty, that the whispers about Commander Adeline of the Land Beyond the Sea started hundreds of years ago," he stated, setting down his tea cup. "For all we know, she is as old as Narnia itself."
"But Mr. Argus—"
"If you're all quite finished, you have lessons to attend."
Edmund turned around, chills shooting down his spine as gold eyes flashed dangerously at them. He nodded meekly, watching Adeline stalk back to her tent, tense with anger. Who was she? What part did she play in Narnia's history? Better yet, what did she have to do with the war? He needed to know. It did not feel right to listen to someone who was so very obviously keeping secrets. Together with his siblings, he stood and thanked Argus for bringing them food and keeping them company. Silently, he vowed to find out what Adeline was hiding. He had made the mistake of trusting a stranger once and he was determined not to do it again.