THE TELMARINE army is seven thousand strong to our meager ten hundred, and we don't need a smartass dwarf to remind us of that. The sheer amount of armoured men gathering across the plains is enough to solidify our obvious disadvantage in numbers. They're spread out and organized in ten battalions at the edge of the wood, marching with flags held high and towering war machines at their backs.

Edmund shifts his weight anxiously beside me, watching as a sixth trebuchet emerges from the trees to take its place amongst the infantry unit. Six trebuchets; six ballistae. It's never-ending.

The cavalry appears next, filing past the footsoldiers to line up along the head of the army. Miraz isn't planning on a long-lasting siege — he's ending the war today.

"Your Majesties," comes a voice from behind us. I'm beyond relieved to have Glenstorm here.

The Pevensies and Caspian all turn around to greet the centaur, who had been summoned to the war room council meeting. Behind him, the remainder of the Narnians are filtering inside to take part in the meeting.

Glenstorm inclines his head, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "Our scouts in the northern woods are all accounted for and have returned with their reports. There are additional troops in the trees from here to the river, and they speak of Miraz being crowned king."

That bastard. I spare a glance at Caspian, expecting an angry response. But his expression is controlled and his voice even.

"The council will have coronated him after the attack," he says. "We must come up with a plan quickly. Is everyone here?"

"Yes, your majesty. They've all just arrived."

"Thank you."

Glenstorm nods and retreats into the war room while Caspian looks to each of the Old Kings and Queens, waiting for them to enter first. The Pevensies step inside the How after the army general. I stay where I am on the archers' post a moment longer, sparing a last glance across the plains of Beruna at the Telmarine army.

Seven thousand, I reckon, echoes Trumpkin's voice in my head. Now what are we going to do against seven thousand armoured Telmarines? Throw nuts at them?

I turn away from the mocking, black rows of soldiers marring the grass, the bandaged wound on my arm burning like the sun. Caspian catches my eye as I do so, communicating a silent reassurance as he gestures for me to follow the others.

Inside the stone walls of the How, Glenstorm, Rainstone, and Diomedus have taken their places between the pillars lining the wall. In the corner nearest the army general is Bultitide, looking terribly nervous and on the verge of sucking his paws. Electrus and Nausus are present as well, standing against the wall opposite the centaurs. Reepicheep is perched on the stone map table in the room's center, with Trumpkin leaning against its edge, appearing deep in thought.

The absence of Thrisnon feels incredibly striking to me now that I'm so used to having him around again. But Peter sent him and few others off to Cair Paravel's ruins for their armour, as Edmund tells me. And the gryphon wouldn't have fit up the narrow staircase or through any of the doorways, anyway. All the same, I still miss his presence.

Peter approaches the abnormally-shaped map table while Susan and Lucy stand together in one of the corner arches. I find a spot next to Edmund on a set of worn stone steps near Trufflehunter and Diomedus. Caspian and Cornelius are the last to enter from the archers' post just outside, taking a seat on an identical set of stairs across the room from me and Ed.

The war room is silent as we await the High King's commencement.

Peter's heavy sigh echoes through the ancient room as he looks up at everyone, hands braced against the table before him. "Based on what Caspian knows of Miraz's army and what our scouts have gathered, we're outnumbered about seven to one," he tells us. "And with his war machines, I'm afraid the odds against us are not very good." His solemn eyes skim over the gathered council before saying, "We have to find Aslan."

The air in the war room changes in an instant. It's thicker and questioning and heavy with unspoken disquietude. And I'm not sure what else the king expected. It's obvious, isn't it? The Narnians tried for years to enlist help from the Great Lion but to no avail. A last-ditch effort to seek him out in the thick of a war will be no different. If he had wanted to help us, he would have by now.

Peter must realize the Narnians' doubts after a moment of silence. "I know it's a bit of a long shot," he admits. "But if we can find him before our army's overrun, we might have a chance."

Lucy steps forward, her soft voice full of conviction. "I can do it."

I can't see the young queen around the edge of the stone wall, but the Narnians pay their full attention to the little girl in the corner; Peter's turned around to smile gratefully at her while Trumpkin stares, not bothering to conceal his aversion.

"I know you all think he doesn't exist, or that he's left us to sort this out on our own," she says, her words growing louder and more confident. "But...I think all along, he's just been waiting for us to find him."

"We'll take one of the horses," Susan offers, solidifying her brother's plan. "Head west into the woods."

"Your Majesties." With the momentary lull, Glenstorm takes the opportunity to provide counsel. "The surrounding trees will be guarded by enemy scouts by now. It will not be easy to leave undetected."

Reepicheep stands taller and turns to look at Peter. "My mice can make easy work of them, sire."

The king inclines his head to him before returning his gaze to Glenstorm. "Send for the birds to scout a way through their lines. And if they're needed, Reepicheep will lead his team to clear an opening before Lucy leaves."

The general bows his head respectfully. "Yes, your majesty." The centaur then turns to his son, quietly passing along his orders. Rainstone nods, bids a silent farewell to the occupants of the war room, and leaves to carry out the General's orders.

Trumpkin still looks furious as Peter's idea takes form around him. And I know before he says anything that he's going to fight this, especially with how well the palace raid went and what just happened at the Stone Table. He doesn't want Lucy running off into the woods, and I can't help but agree: she's only just a kid.

"So that's your next big plan?" The dwarf demands bitterly, lifting a finger at Lucy as he makes his way around the map table, glaring heatedly at the High King. "Sending a little girl into the darkest parts of the forest. Alone."

Peter's eyes look pained — his voice tired. "It's our only chance," he insists.

"And she won't be alone," Susan reminds him gently, but her words do little to reassure him. The red dwarf looks at his little friend with fear and desperation heavy in his eyes.

"Haven't enough of us died already?"

Yes, I think, images from the raid flashing in my mind. Far too many.

"Nikabrik was my friend, too. But he lost hope." Trufflehunter glances at the young girl standing before us. "Queen Lucy hasn't. And neither have I."

The metallic sound of a drawn sword slices through the dusty air, drawing everyone's attention to Reepicheep as he rests the hilt of his rapier against his heart in reverence.

"For Aslan."

Bultitude's rumbling voice echoes his declaration. "For Aslan!"

I wish I could say those words with as much hope and certainty I hear in theirs. I wish I could lay my faith so confidently in a lion who hasn't so much as shook his mane in our direction — that I believed so wholeheartedly in his return after all this time of suffering and death. I wish that Aslan was one myth I could believe in.

I'm pulled from my wandering, morose thoughts when Trumpkin speaks up again, declaring his accompanying the Queens in their search.

Lucy steps forward to place a placating hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "No," she protests gently, "we need you here."

I fidget anxiously on the cold, stone steps, opening my mouth to offer my company as well when she looks over and says quite firmly, "You too, Arryn."

I want to fight this and insist she lets me come along. But the resolve within the blues of her eyes is unwavering; there is no changing her mind. And so I relent with a quiet sigh and a nod.

Peter takes this as his cue to continue the meeting. "We have to hold them off until Lucy and Susan get back. Now, we know Miraz's army is about seven thousand strong. And by the looks of it, at least four hundred make up the cavalry."

I clear my throat, rubbing my cold palms together in my lap. "Pardon me, your highness. The cavalry is five hundred men, and at the very least, one hundred footsoldiers will be operating the machines. A single trebuchet requires ten men to function, plus an additional team to supply ammunition and the flag signallers. I'd estimate two hundred men of the seven thousand to not cross blades on the battlefield." Unless, of course, Miraz orders they abandon his precious machines to fight with the infantry, which he would never do.

"Well, that's at least some good news," Trufflehunter notes, offering me a pleased smile.

"Not exactly," Edmund muses, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

Peter nods grimly. "We still have to worry about those machines." His heavy gaze falls on me again. "Is there anything else we ought to know about them?"

Pursing my lips, I try to think back to the meetings I snuck into and the dozens of blueprints I stole and set fire to. "The ballistae can fire nine bolts at once, or in three bursts. I can't remember the range on them, but the trebuchets can clear a boulder across the plains easily. They have four shots before needing to reload, and that depends on how quickly the ammunitions teams are moving."

Trumpkin grumbles distastefully, his expression stony. "Those things will destroy us before we even have the chance to pick up our weapons and fight back."

The look in Peter's blue eyes tells me he's thinking the exact same thing. There's no way we can get past Miraz's men to take those down before they kill us all. He put seven thousand soldiers between us and those stupid machines for a reason.

Wait a damn minute… We aren't going to get our whole army past his, but we don't need to. All we need is a Telmarine.

I look up at everyone. "I'll take care of them."

The war room falls silent and Edmund turns to stare at me.

"I've impersonated Telmarine soldiers a hundred times," I continue. "All I need is a uniform to sneak in and I can disable the machines."

Peter contemplates my request for a few seconds. "Are you sure?" He asks, his voice holding a silent offer.

"Yes."

"Thank you. We can take a uniform from one of the scouts." He directs this at Reepicheep, who nods his understanding, before spinning around to look at Glenstorm. "How are preparations in the northern caverns coming along?"

"They're finished, your highness. The moles have completed everything you asked and we are ready to carry out the attack."

"Good, thank you." He addresses the next question to Susan. "Are the archers ready?"

His sister nods. "As ready as they can be."

"And the gryphons?"

"They've been running practice dives with the dwarves all morning. They'll be ready."

Across the room, I notice Caspian suddenly perk up. He catches my stare and smiles briefly, then clears his throat. "If I may…?"

This garners the attention of the council in an instant.

Caspian appears to consider his next words carefully, glancing at Cornelius before getting to his feet. "Miraz may be a tyrant and a murderer," he begins, approaching the High King with growing intensity. "But as King, he is subject to the traditions and expectations of his people. There is one, in particular, that may buy us some time."

Peter looks intrigued. "What is it?"

"A challenge to single combat. You are, after all, the rightful High King of Narnia. And now, as King of the Telmarines, he is expected to duel any who challenge him for the throne. He has to accept the offer."

Confused, Susan interjects. "But he clearly has the stronger army. Why risk his life and the outcome of the battle?"

"Because if he rejects Peter's offer in front of the lords he'll be considered a coward and unfit to be King," Caspian explains. "He will be under immense pressure to defend his throne and his honour."

Smiling fondly, I shake my head in disbelief at the prince. I have to admit, his idea is clever. It's exactly what we need to buy the girls time to find Aslan. And, hopefully, save the Narnians from a slaughter.

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author's note

i was hoping to get this chapter out like two days ago but i was hit with sudden inspiration to make new covers so i got a little sidetracked lmao please let me know what you guys think of chimæra's new cover! i feel like there's def something i can improve about it, so don't be afraid to let me know and offer some advice!

im so sorry this chapter turned out so mf boring. like. i was legitimately bored writing most of this so i apologize. i think i'm just so damn excited to start the votd timeline i've become completely uninterested with finishing pc. which is an issue because i still have quite a few chapters to crank out before we're done haha yikes. and with school starting next week idk when im gonna have time to write them. but we'll worry about that laterrr becuase i aint stressing myself any more than i have to lol my skin can't handle it

but good news is 2020 is almost over and uhh

what in the ever-loving fuck was that

2021 better be my glow up year or ima be having some real issues lmfao