THE GREAT Lion looks like he's leaped straight from the pages of my old books, with a coat spun from gold and a mane so magnificent as the sun. He's everything I've read about and everything I've always wanted to believe was real — all that Lucy promised he'd be.

Whispers of his name float along the mouths of the Narnians, telling of hope and deliverance and lighting a fire in my heart.

Aslan turns his head to Lucy, with no need to look up or down upon her. For his height matches the young queen at his side. The Telmarines do not dare advance. Even without knowing who exactly they face, the weight of his power on the wind is enough for them to realize his strength.

Lord Sopespian weighs his options: facing a girl and a lion, or the Narnian army again. I'm not surprised when he draws his sword, lifts it to the sky, and shouts for his men to charge. The soldiers echo his war cry and follow him across the bridge with their weapons raised. Those who can't fit on the bridge wade through the river, desperate to escape the Narnians emerging from the woods.

My stomach fills with nerves as they bear down on Lucy Pevensie. I tighten my grip on my sword and watch anxiously as Aslan seems to draw himself even taller, an incredible roar exploding from his maw. The force of it tears the air from my throat and sends small waves across the river's surface.

Sopespian halts the charge halfway across the wooden bridge, staring in fear at the mystical Lion and his gleaming, ivory fangs.

Aslan steps back as a sound like thunder descends from upriver, the water receding upriver to form large, crashing waves. It builds taller and heavier as it moves further down the river, nearing the bridge and the Telmarines all around it. The soldiers in the water begin to panic and Sopespian resumes his attempt to cross the bridge when the wave, against gravity and all logic, explodes upward with a mighty splash and forms what appears to be a man. A god made of frothing, moving water and taller than the trees; summoned by Aslan himself.

The river surges forward, sending water cascading up the shore and soaking through my boots. But all I can do is stare in awe and disbelief. It peers its head over the bridge, watching as the Telmarines leap off into the river, screaming in terror. The roar of the moving water as it continually retains the god's form is almost loud enough to drown their cries.

The river god seems to wait a moment for the soldiers to decide their own fate, then it reaches forward with hands of shifting blue water and dives straight through the bridge. The wooden boards creak and splinter, the entire bridge with Telmarines still upon it lifting from the river bed. With it on his back, the rive god stands to his full height once again, tearing away the middle section with Sopespian and his horse and lifting it into the air. Those still in the water make for safety as quick as they can.

The Telmarine lord looks incredibly small and helpless held before the might of the moving river, brought forth by the Lion's will. Sopespian screams and swings his sword as the god rears forward and swallows him whole, crashing downward upon the remainder of the bridge.

The water swells and heaves, an enormous spout raining fine mist all across the crowded shore. The great waves retreat and the flow of the river returns, taking the last pieces of the bridge downstream with it.

Aslan and Lucy, unmoved where they stand together, watch the Telmarines initiate surrender. On both sides of the river, the soldiers throw down their swords and shields as they emerge from the water. The Narnians oversee this, ensuring none of them walk away armed.

Peter turns to Caspian, sliding Rhindon into its sheath. "We should organize groups: one to the How for survivors and another to escort the Telmarines."

Caspian nods. "Yes, they should gather in the palace courtyard for now. And weapons should be collected immediately."

I notice Susan look across the river where her sister and Aslan wait while the boys discuss everything that needs to be done. They should be over there right now. Someone else can take care of the aftermath.

I gracefully insert myself into the conversation. "I'll find Glenstorm and get everything sorted out. You guys should go."

They trade uncertain glances, hesitant to accept my offer. Edmund looks like he'd sooner challenge the river god to a fight than leave me so soon again, even for a minute. And by the soft current of emotions drifting between us, I know he's determined to do just that. Stubborn king.

"We can handle things without you for a few minutes," I tell them. "Don't worry."

To Edmund, I send a firm I'll be fine down the line. He's not thrilled, but I can feel his conviction fade.

Peter nods, a grateful smile on his lips. "Thank you, Arryn."

Susan echoes her brother's sentiments and follows him into the river. Caspian, however, lingers and pulls me into a quick hug. It takes me by surprise, but find myself glad for the moment.

"We did it," he breathes.

I almost start crying, remembering our tearful conversation at the archers' post earlier today. I knew he could become the king the Narnians needed. Somewhere deep inside me, I knew it was him since we were kids. I just wasn't sure if he saw it in himself and believed enough to embrace it.

"We did." I pull back, willing myself not to shed any tears. "I'm really proud of you, Cas."

His face lights up, a soft grin claiming his features. And before he can make the Pevensies wait any longer, I usher him to go.

Edmund sends me a last smile before he and Caspian wade into the river.

I don't waste any time in finding Glenstorm among the masses of Narnians and Telmarines. The centaur general stands in the very center of it all, issuing orders to groups of talking beasts and dwarves when I reach him and relay the kings' wishes. He passes on the new orders and asks me to catch up with the team of medics already headed back to Aslan's How.

I've never felt so grateful to shed the weight of my armour and sword. And even though my body aches in protest, I almost can't wait for the transformation to finish before spreading my wings and leaping into the air.

━━━༻❁༺━━━

The smell of death is heavy on the winds over Beruna. It coats my feathers and lungs and seems to black out the sun like a cloud of soot. It makes me want to close my eyes and turn around — put the approaching battlefield so far behind me I might be able to forget it. Today would have been beautiful.

I never considered how I'd have to see it again. Returning after it was all settled and done has never once crossed my mind. Not while my biggest concern has always been winning and how we might manage it. With the almost constant chaos of the past two days, I could never think much past the present issue. But now, finding ourselves free at last and with peace so close on the horizon, I'm realizing how much we truly lost.

Like many things, as I'm coming to learn, the aftermath was never mentioned in the stories. After every glorious battle, there was victory and a feast and all the wonderful things that followed after. Like peace. There was no further mention of anything dark or sad, not when it's the worst of it all.

Because if the stories had spoken of the scarlet plains and piles of broken bodies upon it — the smell of the iron-tainted soil and the feeling you get like this place should only exist in the furthest corner of Tash's Country — I would have sobbed and hated the tales I instead grew to love. But at least I might have been prepared.

Because when I clear the hills and trees and Aslan's How and the plains of Beruna come into view, I feel the sky collapse.

The shapes of all the creatures of Narnia and men of Telmar, never to rise again from their beds upon the grass stained red. The broken armour and abandoned weapons and the eyes that watched the sky. The unworldly silence that no bird or insect or whisper of wind dared to break over this place; this kingdom of death.

The faces of friends who taught me to seize the world and fight for it until it ends, who helped me love and hate and all the things between. The faces of those I grew up racing through the woods, who taught of our forgotten history and cultures.

I can hear the echoes of their voices fading into nihility. And I cling to them for as long as I can, hoping to imprint each of them in my mind forever; to remember the ones who died for Narnia's freedom. It's the least I can do for them. They deserve to have their names carved into stone and shouted into the night, preserved through time for all those after them to know. But this is all I can offer.

Far below me, the medical team emerges from the trees.

I tuck my wings in and fall, letting gravity take hold. Starlock sees me before I reach them, watching as I flare my wings and slow my fall to land on the matted grass before her.

She nods her head in greeting, then turns to the rest of the Narnians: fauns, dwarves, other centaurs. "We check everyone," she says. "Bring those who can be moved inside Aslan's How and treat those who can't on the field. Weapons and armour reclamation will be addressed with funeral rites later. For now, we focus on the living."

The medics nod solemnly and proceed onto the battlefield to begin their work. Starlock, however, doesn't move. Instead, she asks me how my arm is.

I almost forgot about the cut and the infernal itching I've endured all day from her cursed salve. My shifting certainly hasn't helped the healing process, but it's not something I'm terribly concerned about at the moment.

"It's fine," I respond. "Thank you. What can I do to help?"

She sighs and glances across the plains. "Distribute supplies where they're needed and move the injured." She fixes me with a concerned look and a silent question. "It will likely be a lot of shifting."

"I'll be fine." Bruising and sore muscles won't kill me.

As a doctor, I know she wants to tell me to be smart about it, take breaks and don't strain my body. But as someone who feels the same pain for the sight of our fallen friends, she understands and doesn't speak another word.

The first flag goes up, signalling an injured Narnian.

I don't wait to spread my wings and take off, hoping for some way to help.

The dwarf is kneeling on the ground beside the animal, digging through his supply bag. I can see the long, lithe body laid out before him — the yellow and black patterned fur — and I fly faster. Furiously, I sift through my memories, trying to remember when I last saw Nyssa. It was so long ago. Too long.

No no no…

I land in the grass beside the black dwarf, finding all the telltale marks and scars of my best friend on the cheetah before me. Nyssa.

The rhythm of Starlock's approaching gallop drums through the war-torn earth.

Today would have been beautiful were it not marked with so much blood.

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author's note

yikes i really left writing this entire chapter to the last minute like i'm in high school all over again lmfao it was a combination of wisdom teeth recovery, my new teen wolf obsession, and being completely unmotivated to make it past the river god scene and write something original. which is why it ended up being hella boring and depressing, buuttt it is war so it seemed fitting

also i've realized i'm stupid and the great river is not the one with the bridge crossing it lol so i had to rewrite a few parts in this chapter and the last one to fix it. whoops

i apologize for the shorth-ish kinda boring chapter. i've basically just been a potato for like the last week bcuz surgery hit me like a fuckin semi truck on the interstate and i had no desire to write anything. i'm hoping the next few chapters, with the coronation and all that jazz, will be a little more interesting and full of edryn & even some suspian fluff! if y'all have any recommendations of what you'd like to see in those chapters before the pevensies leave narnia *cries* let me know!