A/N: I know I say this a lot, but thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has reviewed and commented on this story! Reviews genuinely mean the entire world to me, so please do leave your thoughts if ever you have any!

I started outlining Untamed back in December of 2020 (back when it was only supposed to be a standalone, lol), so it's just crazy to me that it really exists now and people actually like it. This is a dream come true in the best possible way!

Love you all the most~

xXx

CHAPTER SIX: HARBINGER

The stars were fading by the time Tirian finally collapsed onto a stiff blanket on the forest floor, the Narnian earth a welcome relief after hours of stone in the dark.

The journey back to the Shribble had felt even longer, if it were possible, than the journey in, even though they were no longer forced to be cautious and had likely halved their afternoon time.

Hosha said he would be happy never to see another rock again, and that was the last thing Tirian heard before the heavy shroud of sleep claimed him.

He woke to glaring daylight piercing the canopy of branches overhead, and rolled over with a groan, dislodging Cinder from atop his chest and bumping into Hosha who mumbled something indignant in his sleep.

The Cat bolted into the low branches of the nearest tree and pinned Tirian with a glare of betrayal.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "Maybe get your own bed."

Cinder licked his paw and stubbornly said nothing.

Tirian ran both hands over his face and stayed buried there for several minutes, hiding from the painful brilliance of the sun as he tried and failed to crawl back into his long-forgotten dream.

"You'll need a better internal clock if you want to be any kind of woodsman," said Gareth, blotting out the light for a moment as he stepped over the boys and Tirian squinted up at him, the lord carrying rolled up mats and buckling them back into their bags. "Everyone else is ready to go whenever you are."

"How?" moaned Hosha, apparently only half asleep, and secretly Tirian had to echo the sentiment.

But eventually the two of them sat up, with a great deal of groaning and eye rubbing, and hauled themselves to their feet to shake the earth from their leaf-strewn blankets and roll them up tight again.

As he gazed around in the late morning light, Tirian realized they really hadn't come far from the river last night, and he could still see it rushing just beyond the edge of the forest.

The horses were all saddled and waiting when they emerged, and Gareth herded the boys over to mount up as soon as they'd tied off their packs.

Cinder followed, leaping up in front of Tirian as he hoisted himself into the saddle, and Hosha brought his horse around to ride beside him the moment they started moving.

The fresh green scenery and the voices of the other men woke Tirian up the rest of the way, and he gazed at the passing forest until his eyes landed on Hosha, and noticed for the first time the bandages wrapped around the heels of his wrists.

"What happened there?"

"What? Oh." Hosha lifted his hand and twisted it around so Tirian could see the scrape that extended up the side of his pinkie. "Just where I broke my fall. It's not bad or anything, but Father didn't want it to get infected."

The image of the giant flashed into Tirian's head, reeling back and flinging Hosha to the jagged ground. "Hey, how did you get that thing to drop you, anyway?"

Hosha reached down and pulled something shiny out of nowhere. "Boot knife." He grinned, twirling the glittering silver in his fingers. "Mal said they were ridiculous and tried to talk me out of wearing them. Boy is she dumb."

Tirian snorted, eyeing the tiny curved blade, gold at the hilt with engravings he couldn't quite read. "I mean, it is kind of ridiculous."

"You can never have too many knives!" Hosha flipped it up into the air and caught it again, something Mal would have shut down immediately had she been there. "And besides, it saved my life, so you're basically obligated to like it."

"I never said I didn't like it."

"Good."

"I just said it was ridiculous."

"Tirian—"

"Wha— hey! Don't point that thing at me!"

Hosha smirked. "I thought it was ridiculous?"

"So are you!" snapped Tirian, and then quickly added, "And I like you!"

Hosha squinted, and reluctantly tucked the tiny knife back into the invisible sheath inside his boot.

"Where did you get it?"

"Father," said Hosha with an easy shrug. "Found a few in his old war stuff, and he said I could keep them. Guess they were Calormene. Probably looted after a battle, or something. Which is awesome."

Tirian nodded, but his mind wandered back to their own battle.

Farsight had been given the dwarf's pony to ride, the dwarf himself opting to walk back at his own pace rather than ride again.

"Well," he said at length, "I suppose they helped us win another."

"Don't be too confident about that," said Cinder from his perch draped over the saddle horn. "One still got away. Again."

"You mean ran away," said Hosha. "I'm pretty sure that's called surrender."

"They didn't seem like the surrendering type to me," said the Cat.

"Oh, bother it all," snapped Hosha, "What are you getting at?"

"I'm just saying," said the Cat primly, "Proud creatures like that don't usually give up on a prize once they've set their sights on it. We shouldn't have let even one get away, if we were thinking. It was a rash confrontation and we should have been more calculated."

"Um, I could have died?"

"It's not my fault you're bad at hiding." Cinder flicked his ears and turned back to groom himself.

Hosha rolled his eyes. "Don't cats ever get tired of being so stuck up?"

Tirian laughed.

Cinder looked up long enough to say "No."

The brisk ride back to Cair Paravel only took a few hours, and the sun was high in the sky when at last they passed through the gates and into the courtyard they'd departed from yesterday morning.

Mal's waiting figure caught Tirian's eye at once, and then Jewel beside her, sapphire horn gleaming in the light as Tirian's heart leapt and he jumped from his horse at the first available opportunity, boots connecting with cobblestone as he dashed over to them.

"Surprise!" he grinned, "We didn't die."

Mal stifled what he almost thought was a sigh of relief when she caught sight of Hosha behind him. "Yes, I can see that."

"And I used my knives," said Hosha before so much as a greeting could pass between them. "So there."

"Excuse me?"

Tirian glanced back to where Gareth was dismounting. There was no way to avoid it, she would have to hear sooner or later. His triumphant swell deflated just a little. "We, um… might've fought some more giants."

"What?"

"On accident," filled in Hosha.

"I would like to know," said Jewel with the slightest twinkle of humor in his eyes, "How one fights giants on accident."

Mal's eyes snapped between the boys, as if deciding who to torture for information first.

"You'll hear it all, I'm sure," said Tirian quickly, hoping very much to remove himself from that equation.

Jewel's inky black eyes glinted in the sunlight, and one glance at the gentle beast made Tirian feel suddenly very silly for ever wondering what was going on with him. There was nothing amiss now in the gaze they shared, only a question rising in the Unicorn's throat before Tirian had any time to enjoy the relief.

"What of the birds, then?"

A stone dropped into his gut.

He glanced at Hosha, but the boy seemed to have found his boots suddenly fascinating.

Then he looked at Mal.

The change in their expressions must have been obvious, because understanding dawned just as a pang of hurt struck him from her dark depths and his heart stuttered in surprise, the stern calculation he was so accustomed to in her eyes giving way to something so child-like he almost couldn't bear to meet them.

"All lost," he said at last, much quieter now. "All but Farsight. He's hurt, but alive."

"Don't let's talk about that yet," muttered Hosha.

Mal bit her bottom lip and glanced over to the rest of their party, as if she might spot another bird in amongst the throng of men and beasts.

Tirian mustered up the strength to ask. "Redwing was one of them, wasn't she?"

Mal only swallowed and nodded, organizing her expression back into something that might have been neutral but for the shimmer in her eyes.

The Marsh Harrier had been one of Mal's most constant friends for as long as Tirian could remember, despite having only spoken to her a handful of times himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and Mal just shook her head.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said, voice tight. "I'll tell mother you're back." And she turned and walked briskly off into the city.

Tirian's throat tightened as he watched her go.

Silence hung between Hosha and Jewel for several moments before Gareth called Tirian over and informed him they'd been instructed to report to the King the moment they arrived.

He shot a short wave to his friends over his shoulder and tried to push the knotting feeling from his stomach, but it only weighed heavier as they walked.

They arrived in the council hall to find only a few officials waiting, and Erlian came a few minutes later (looking as if he'd run halfway across the palace) and greeted Tirian with a hug before dropping into the seat at the head of the table and waiting for the rest of the lords to filter in.

Gareth launched into the full report the moment everyone was present, and Erlian leaned forward on his elbows, finger on his lips, listening from beginning to end.

When at last the tale had finished, Erlian rubbed his temples and then clasped his hands together to collect his thoughts. "And… the birds?"

"We buried the bones just off the Shribble," said Gareth, a deep weariness in his voice that Tirian had never heard there before, "And left a marker at the edge of the forest."

Erlian nodded, mind working behind clear blue eyes for another moment before he looked at Tirian.

"I know what you're going to say," said Tirian quickly, "I know I disobeyed orders, but I swear I didn't have any other choice, they were going to—"

"I know," said Erlian gently, and Tirian blinked.

"You… what?"

Erlian sighed. "If anything, it's my fault for sending sixteen-year-olds on a mission like this. You did everything you could possibly have been expected to do."

Tirian wanted to argue the first point, but the wave of relief that washed through him at the lack of reproach was too overwhelming to bother. He slouched back in his chair, and then the other lords spoke up.

"If these creatures have conquered Harfang's so-called gentle giants," said one, "Their forces are no more than a dozen leagues from Narnia's border even now."

"All the more alarming," said Lord Bran, "Judging as by all accounts they were far from gentle. Hunters, we know for certain, though the stories tell that their fortress was not exceedingly defensible, which in itself is a show of strength."

"Surely we have been fortunate," said another, "That their coming was caught and thwarted so quickly."

"But with one escaped," said Gareth, "They may muster a greater force in retaliation for those we have slain."

Tirian swallowed, and Bran nodded.

"We should be on our guard. I would post sentries along the northern front, to alert us at the first disturbance."

Erlian agreed to this, and Tirian's stomach only sank further.

Cinder's words rang in his head. They didn't seem like the surrendering type to me.

He'd been too preoccupied with Hosha and what might have happened there to think about the escaped giant, but now the weight of it settled into his blood, and he wanted to crawl away from that poisonous dread, wanted to dig it out from under his skin.

They had won. That should be enough.

But his mind wandered back to the birds, the pile of bones silhouetted against orange flame, the grave Gareth must have dug while Tirian was sleeping, which he hadn't even seen before they rode out, the shimmer of tears in Mal's usually steely eyes.

And the weight clung to him, unshakeable even as the council dispersed half an hour later and his father sent him off ahead, the issue of sentries claiming the King's attention no matter how badly Tirian wanted to talk to him.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked from the doorway, lingering in the hall as other lords filtered out around him.

Erlian glanced up from Gareth and Bran, and gave Tirian a soft smile. "No, son, go find your friends. I'll see you tonight."

Tirian bit his lip. He wanted to argue, but only watched them fall back into deep conversation for a few moments before reluctantly turning to obey.

The power he'd felt last night—drenched in giant's blood with a sword in his hands—slipped away into helplessness now, and he turned into his own quarters, hoping to scrub the frustration away with the grime, but the steaming bathwater could only scald the surface of his skin.

It rained for the next three days.

Tirian only saw his father in the evenings, and even then the King always seemed to be preoccupied, the nutty scent of pipe smoke filling the royal apartments, grey brows ever troubled until Tirian distracted him with a quip or a story from his day.

He and Hosha spent most of their time cooped up indoors, so his stories weren't particularly riveting, but the downpour made very little difference to their plans as Gareth had already forbidden Hosha from leaving the city for at least a week following his near death experience.

Mal was a ghost.

She floated in and out of rooms but barely spoke, setting herself to every conceivable household task until she'd dusted the mantle three times and mended all of Hosha's play clothes as if they were his finest.

"Will you quit?" he snapped once when she spotted the torn hem of his tunic and reached for it. "I'm wearing this one."

She only dropped her hand, muttered "Sorry," and walked back into the kitchen, no doubt to bake another unreasonably large batch of some obscure pastry.

Hosha's eyes went as wide as if she had torn the shirt from his back; which, in fact, would have been much less alarming given their history.

"Did she just apologize to me?"

Tirian only gazed after the girl as she disappeared, skirts fluttering over the stone floor like some kind of indigo phantom.

Even after Hosha came back to his right mind, it didn't take long to exhaust every pastime they could think of.

Neither of them had the heart to track a river of rainwater in through the front door just to watch Mal mop it all up again, and Lady Shadoht confiscated their practice swords the second time they almost broke a window.

So when the fourth day dawned cloudless and bright over a dripping city, Tirian burst out through the palace gates with only one destination in mind.

"Jewel!" he cried, boots splashing through puddles across the courtyard. "We must do something." He skidded to a halt outside the stables and almost crashed straight into Jewel's strong neck. "I cannot remain here a moment longer."

"And what exactly do you mean by something?" chuckled the Unicorn.

"I don't care. Anything. I must get out of my head, it's suffocating here. Father is busy, and Hosha and Mal aren't fighting, and if I eat another apricot fig scone I'm going to burst."

Jewel tossed his mane. "I could use a good run, myself."

"Perfect."

And that was how they found themselves running through the plains, Jewel on four legs and Tirian on two, dew drenching his trousers up to the knees as adrenaline flushed every other sensation from his body.

It was a very long time before his legs began to give out, and he slowed, Jewel galloping in a wide arc back around toward him and slowing to a walk as he came up to his side, both panting, Tirian stumbling along on burning calves until the throbbing dulled and his lungs stopped stinging.

"I am glad the rain kept you at the Cair," he said when he could breathe again. "I was afraid you would leave before I saw you."

"Little chance of that," said Jewel with a puff from his nostrils. Ordinarily he only visited the city for a few days at a time, but by now it had been over a week since he came up. "Not without saying goodbye, at least, and certainly not now with everything…"

He trailed off, but Tirian could well enough guess what he was getting at.

They both fell silent for a few minutes, and then Tirian realized they were heading north.

"What is it?" asked the Unicorn.

Tirian wondered what on earth had given him away.

He glanced over at his friend's elegant face, soft eyes already looking back at him.

"I was just thinking, I never saw the grave. For the birds."

Jewel bobbed his head and looked forward again, toward the forest, and beyond that, the mountains. "Is that where you're going?"

"I don't know," admitted Tirian. "All my thoughts have been of the north. I suppose I can't escape it."

"How do you mean?" asked Jewel, and they never stopped walking steadily northward as they spoke, the same way they'd gone so many times, even before their newest adventures.

"This feeling… it's… choking, I don't know if I can explain it. Ever since the battle, in the Moors, since the birds, I wonder…" He sighed. "I don't know what I wonder."

"You wonder whether you made the right decision."

Tirian looked at him and squinted, mind turning it over. "I— no, I mean, not— I… I know it was right, I do, I just… I don't know." He almost laughed at the nonsense in his own words. Then he glanced at Jewel again. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Wonder about it. Regret it."

The Unicorn shook his head. "I don't regret any lives we've saved, certainly not. But I suppose we'll always wonder, a little."

Tirian thought about it and nodded, his chest lightening ever so slightly. "I suppose. But, we haven't done anything wrong. Those Narnians would have been dead now, too, the rabbits, Farsight, who knows how many others if we hadn't helped."

Jewel didn't respond, but the buzzing in Tirian's head was not quite so muddled as it had been.

His mind seemed to calm whenever he talked to Jewel.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he felt as if an age had passed since they last talked properly, and the next few hours flew by as their conversation shifted from one subject to another so easily that anyone listening in might have thought they were speaking with more than just words.

He barely even thought it possible when they came in clear sight of the mountains, but sure enough, within another few minutes they hit the river and turned to walk along it toward the far edge of the forest.

Tirian was just trying to remember where they'd camped the other night when a noise caught his attention and he looked up.

Jewel's ears pricked at the same time, at the same muffled splash, and they both looked to their right toward the river.

Tirian's heart rate picked up as he scanned the edge of the Moors.

At first he saw nothing, only the bleak grey of the mountains shrouded in mist from days of rain, the river swollen two or three times its usual size. But then the skitter of a rock and another splash made him stop.

Jewel stopped beside him, brushing against his shoulder, and that was when they spotted it.

"Well," said Jewel, "That's no giant."

Tirian shook his head slowly and stepped forward again.

It was a girl, or he guessed so, though really all that was definable was a mop of ruddy copper hair and a heap of a heavy, dirty fur cloak as she stumbled into the rush of the Shribble.

He almost couldn't comprehend what he was seeing.

And then the figure slipped suddenly waist-deep into the dangerous churning water, and before Tirian had time for rational thought he leapt down the riverbank and splashed into the current, boots and all, a shock of icy mountain water striking up to his thighs as he grabbed an arm and the figure latched onto him with a squeak, wide grey eyes snapping sharply up to his.

It was a girl. But just barely.

The arms that flashed out from under her cloak were bone thin, clothes tattered and face smudged and filthy, nothing but a bow and an empty quiver strapped to her back.

"Hey," he said breathlessly, "Careful." He braced one leg more securely against a stone under the water. "You want to cross further downstream when it's this high."

The girl said nothing, and he wondered for a moment if she was mute, or perhaps mad, from the way she was staring at him.

"Here, step to this patch." He shifted to make room for her, and at last she looked back to where she was going, taking one wobbly step and then another as he helped her over to the other side.

A minute later they were both clambering up onto the bank, his hand still gripping her skeletal arm for fear she would topple right back in.

"Who are you?" he asked, taking several sloshing steps further up onto dry ground. "What were you doing up in the Moors?"

Her clothes didn't look Narnian, and she'd clearly been out in the wilderness for some time if the state of them was anything to go by.

He glanced back at Jewel when no response was forthcoming. "Do you suppose she could be Archenlandian?"

"Perhaps, though I don't know why she would be this far north."

The girl jumped and nearly fell again, and Tirian tightened his grip just in time to catch her.

"Woah, steady." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and glanced from her wide eyes to the Unicorn. "Have… have you never met a Talking Beast before?"

She shook her head.

It was the first indication that she even understood him.

"So it is true," the girl breathed at last, voice small and cracked from disuse. The faintest hint of an unfamiliar accent laced her words. "I have long heard tales of a land where beasts speak with the tongues of men, but I did not believe them."

"So you can talk," Tirian muttered, almost more to himself than to her. All at once curiosity and confusion flooded him. "Where are you from? I didn't think any humans lived in the north."

She tore her eyes from the Unicorn to look up at him again, but she didn't answer right away. Instead, her gaze held a fear that he didn't think belonged to him or Jewel.

He glanced back up into the Moors, sharp against the bright sky. "How far have you travelled? Why would you…" And then the pieces snapped together in his head and he looked back at her. "The giants?"

She gasped sharply and stepped back as if struck. "Are the mountain demons here, too?"

"No, no," Tirian said quickly, "I mean, they were, kind of. Scouting. We killed most of them. One got away."

But the girl's expression didn't change, and something about it sent a pang of dread through his very core.

Her next words flooded his chest with ice water.

"They will come back."