Oaths and Preparations
Morning bloomed, and Peter stared out the flap, watching troops prepare for battle, his hand nervously fumbling with his sword. A few feet behind him, Susan, Lucy and Edmund sat on the grass, eating their breakfast from a small table implanted into the ground.
"Narnia isn't going to run out of toast, Ed." Lucy laughed as she watched her brother eat himself to death. Edmund smiled, his mouth still full.
"And I'm sure they'll pack something for us when we go," said Susan.
Lucy looked up from her eggs, confused. "Go where?"
"Back to the lamp-post. We could be home in a couple of days." Everyone stopped and looked at Susan, causing her to shift uncomfortably in her seat. "Well, now that we've got Edmund—"
"But we can't leave now!" Lucy exclaimed in despair.
Peter turned from the flap and faced his family. "Aslan didn't take us into his care, nor did Ella go rescue Edmund so that we could just abandon Narnia, Susan."
"They need us," Lucy agreed. "All four of us. Ella said so. She said she can't rule without us either. Well... it wasn't really in those words. It was more like—"
"Lucy, it's too dangerous," Susan cut her off. She turned her gaze over to her older brother and narrowed her eyes in stubbornness. "Because it's a war." She then looked over to Edmund for support. "Lucy almost drowned and Edmund already nearly lost his life too!"
"But Ella saved us," Lucy argued. "Both of us."
"Which is why we must stay," Peter agreed.
Susan let out a small laugh in disbelief. "Well then what are we supposed to do?"
"Whatever we can." They all looked at Edmund surprised. He put his fork down, grave and serious. "I've seen what the White Witch can do… and I've helped her do it." He pushed away his plate. "Ella may be very strong, but she can't do this on her own. If we leave, we'll be leaving, not only these people behind to suffer for it but also Ella. We have to stay. We have to help."
Peter looked at his brother, respect growing on his face. Lucy took Edmund's hand and squeezed it slightly, offering comfort.
Peter turned to Susan. "Ed's right. We have to do our part."
"Does our part include getting killed?"
"We just have to make sure it doesn't."
Silence fell upon them.
After a long moment, Susan stood. "I guess that's it then."
"Where are you going?" Lucy asked.
Susan grabbed her bow and quiver from the ground. "To find Ella. I need to get some practice done, and I'm not sure how to shoot this, never mind that a man in a red suit told me it never misses."
"Those targets are about forty feet away. Luckily, there is no wind today, no doubt due to the heat around here, so I won't have to compensate for it."
"... why can't we start with closer targets?"
"Because they're the easiest. If you start with the hardest and master it, you'll be able to do the closest eyes closed," Ella explained. "Now, watch carefully."
Ella drew an arrow from her back quiver and notched it on the bowstring. The bolt had a simple metal pointed tip and looked to be made out of the same black material the arms on the bow were made out of.
"Legs shoulder width apart, arms taut," said Ella, taking a shooting stance. "Draw your arm back slowly, no need to rush it... Squeeze your back muscles and... There!"
She let loose her arrow, and it flew off, the bowstring making a quiet snap as it did so. The arrow thunk'd! into the wooden target a few inches shy of the bullseye.
She shrugged and turned to Susan. "Did you get that?" she asked.
"Yes!" Susan said with a grin. She decided that she liked archery very much.
Ella nodded. "Alright, now, you try."
Copying every moment Ella had previously shown her, Susan took her aim. Taking a deep breath, she let go of the bowstring, shooting an arrow. She missed the target by a little.
"It's alright," Ella said softly. "You did very well on your first try. Just keep practicing, and you'll get the target in no time."
And so Susan kept it going. It always got closer and closer to the red in the center of the target, but she never quite hit it. Suddenly, as she aimed her twelfth arrow, a dagger shot forward, hitting the bullseye. Susan looked to her left and scowled when she saw it had been her little sister who had hit the target dead on. With a newfound determination, she lifted her bow and arrow and took her aim. She let go, and...
Thunk!
Ella fought back a smile, giving Susan a prideful nod.
Susan continued practicing with the elves while Ella taught Lucy how to handle her dagger. The girl was good at throwing, but a dagger was mainly reserved for when there were attacks made at a close distance.
"They don't have the reach or power of a sword," Ella told her, "but they're easy to conceal and they can find weak spots in your enemy's armor. It takes a clever warrior to use a knife. And I have a feeling you're pretty clever."
Lucy beamed at her. "I am clever!"
Ella chuckled and tousled Lucy's hair.
It wasn't long before the Pevensie boys joined them. Edmund went straight to Lucy and Susan, who animatedly showed him everything Ella taught them, both dagger and archery. Ella was watching them with a fond look when Peter came up to her and, for the first time, took her by surprise.
He asked her to train him.
She regarded the golden-haired boy for a moment with hard eyes. It was one thing to teach an eight-year-old how to maneuver a sheathed dagger, and a thirteen-year-old how to shoot a bow— it was less dangerous, more relaxing, and there was less of a chance she would hurt them. But what Peter was asking, was that she train him at sword fighting. That's not just swinging a sword, it's much more physical, and though she was a girl, she knew she was perfectly capable of severely injuring him. The only reason the others she usually trains with weren't seriously hurt was because they were used to the way she fought. Peter wasn't— he probably never even saw her fight. While he did, she didn't know that, so she couldn't help but feel somewhat skeptical.
"You know what you're asking, Pensive?"
Edmund frowned in confusion, then leaned toward Susan. "Did she just call him Pensive?"
"... yeah, she does that."
Peter looked at Ella, his strong gaze almost faltering under her hard one. "I am asking you to train me."
She arched a brow. "You do know I won't go easy on you, right?"
She was purposely making him hesitate, and he knew that. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. "Yes."
She regarded him a moment longer before giving him a short not. "Meet me in the sword fighting area in ten minutes, Pensive," was all she said before turning her back to the four Pevensies and stalking off.
"Ella!"
She continued on her way, though she slowed down her pace. "Edmund," she greeted.
Edmund was silent for a moment, and simply followed her; he was unsure how to start. "I believe that I owe you two huge things," he began, and Ella finally stopped, looking down at him, her eyes still hard, yet a bit curious. "The first thing is that I owe you is an apology. I heard Hunta was your friend, and—"
Ella frowned and raised her hand. Edmund flinched back, thinking she would hit him as the Witch had done many times. At that moment, however, he realized that Ella was more than meets the eye. She always showed herself to be cold and reserved, and he, nor his siblings knew why. What else he realized was that Narnia seemed to bring out the side of her she practically tried to burn back at home, on the other side of the wardrobe. She was patient, understanding, protective of those she cared for, and very forgiving as well.
She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a pained smile. She wasn't going to hurt him.
"I know what you're trying to ask, Edmund, so I'm going to stop you right there. Aslan told me what you told him: exactly what happened. So I can assure you now, there is no forgiveness needed to be asked for as there is nothing to forgive. I didn't know Hunta very well, but I cared for him, just as much as I care for every single Narnian about. I know you tried to protect him, and for that, I am grateful," she said softly, bowing her head slightly in a sign of respect.
She pulled her hand away and stepped back. "I also know you want to learn how to fight. I will teach you after I have taught your brother, but in the meantime, rest. You must still be drained from your time away."
From your time away, she said. She didn't use any reproachful words, so he knew she didn't have anything against him; if she'd had in the past, she had forgiven him.
By the time the ten minutes had passed, Edmund was walking around with his sisters, while Peter made his way over to Ella. He'd been late. Doing what, Ella did not know, nor did she care, and though his tardiness ticked her off, she shrugged it off and pulled him inside the armory where she began the lesson.
"You have your basic ground sword, your double-edged sword— good for horse-back— then you have your jagged sword which is not the best for an offense because it is heaviest, and you have your hunting blades which are used for hunting things." She pointed each sword type weapon out and waited for his decision.
"You want me to choose?" He looked her over, somewhat confused.
She rolled her eyes and replied sarcastically, "No, I want you to say 'hi' and be friends with them." She sighed through her nose and closed her eyes. "Yes, you have to choose the one you are most comfortable with, and we will go from there."
Slowly, Peter walked over to the blades and gingerly picked up the double-edged sword and balanced it in his hand with a slight frown on his face. "If I chose this one, I won't have to get on a horse, right?"
Ella bit her lip, fighting back a smile and grabbed a double-edged sword as well. "No, you won't have to."
"Hiril vuin," (My Lady) Gwaindir grinned at Ella as he threw on some chain mail.
The princess nodded her greeting to the elf, wordlessly. She eyed him warily as she noticed a mischievous glint flash through his eyes. The elf turned to look at the golden-haired boy and bowed.
"Hîr vuin," (My Lord) the elf greeted. "Im Gwaindir." (I am Gwaindir)
Ella groaned. "Gwaindir, he doesn't—"
"Ú-bedin edhellen," (I don't speak Narnian) the golden-haired boy replied slowly. "At least not more than that."
Ella looked at him and blinked owlishly, then jumped slightly, startled by Gwaindir's sudden laughter. She scowled, then looked at Peter.
"Where did you learn that?"
Peter blushed. "A Dryad taught it to me when a bunch of elves came ranting to me about something I couldn't understand."
Ella locked her gaze with his for a moment, and he realized she was trying to fight back a smile as her eyes twinkled with amusement.
Gwaindir, having stopped laughing a while ago, stepped toward Peter and looked at the boy with a smile. "If you would, Your Majesty, I would like it if you and I went head to head—"
Peter paled a little. "But I don't— I just— she was going to—"
"Nonsense! I am sure you will do just fine, Hîr vuin," (My Lord) said Gwaindir. He then leaned in to whisper in Peter's ear. "Between you and me— ignore everything the princess says. She's an instinctive fighter; that means she has no idea what to say when it comes to training." He chuckled, and Peter nodded obediently.
Irritated, Ella pulled a hunting knife off the rack and threw it at the wood right beside Gwaindir's head, internally grinning as it released a silencing Thunk.
She glared at him. "Shut up, Felvanthar, forget not that I have spectacular hearing." She pointed her nose up in the air and looked down on the elf. "Besides— nothing is wrong with being instinctive— you should try it sometime. I mean, that is how I survived my first time here in Narnia before I even met you."
With that, she stalked out of the armory and stormed off towards the arena.
"Hey, wasn't she supposed to train me?" Peter asked.
Gwaindir chuckled. "Oh, she will. She has to. Once she agrees to something, she mutely gives her word. And if there is one thing anyone can be sure of when it comes to the princess is that she never goes back on her word." He patted Peter on the shoulder and smiled at him. "Perhaps we can battle when she's done with you."
Peter looked at him wide-eyed. "Done with me?"
"Hurry up, Pensive! I don't have all day!" they heard Ella call from outside the armory.
They quickly rushed outside to meet her, knowing that an angry Ella wouldn't be the best sight to see.
Peter soon found himself standing in the middle of the field with his weapon at his side, awaiting Ella's command. She looked him over and sighed. "No! You've got that all wrong. Rule number One: Always draw your sword before the fight!" She walked around him in a calculating circle. "Repeat!"
"U-uh, Rule number One, always draw your sword before the fight begins." He smiled tightly at her and watched her every move with slight nervousness.
Ella stood in front of him once more and lunged at him. He fumbled his weapon, and it clattered to the floor with a pitiful clank. Sighing, she picked it up and thrust it into his hand once more. "Rule number Two. Relax. If you are stiff— things like that will happen often." She smirked at him. "Repeat!"
And this was how it was for the first hour; she kept making him repeat every rule that she could think of until he could recite them all backward and forwards. However, reciting it all was one thing. Doing it was another.
"Quit being so rigid, Peter!" she grumbled, slicing her sword at his arm and watching as the fresh blood slowly dripped from her new cut.
He stumbled backward, his sword dropping to the ground as he pressed his hand over the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He slowly lifted his hand from the wound, watching, even more, blood drip down his now red stained arm.
"You could've killed me, you know?" he said.
She rolled her eyes, not even sparing a glance at him. "But I didn't," she said quietly, averting her gaze from his eyes. After a long period of somewhat comfortable silence and just staring at their weapons, she finally spoke up again. "Okay! Well, enough chitchat, we should probably continue your training, don't want you to die out in the upcoming battle."
"Yeah, we should do that," he agreed quickly, remembering the reason he and his siblings had stayed.
He grabbed his sword and held it in his hand once more, and she moved, so she stood directly in front of him. With her hand on his, sending tingles where their skin touched, she positioned his hand so that the sword fit more comfortably. He started to wonder whether she felt the same feeling as he had felt when they touched but quickly dismissed the thought when she shot him a glare. She moved the rest of his arm so that it was in its proper position, kicking her feet apart at the same time. They'd only been training for an hour and half of that she spent teaching him how to stand, hold a sword, and attack and block properly, but he still didn't get it... well, he was also kind of doing it on purpose— though it rendered him puzzled, he liked the way she made him feel even though he didn't understand how she did it, or why he felt so.
"Now, I want you to focus and listen to everything I say very carefully," she began to explain less vaguely as she stepped back and brought out her sword. "Don't be so stiff when you are fighting. It's what can get you killed. You need to let your body relax, let loose so your battle instincts can tell your body what to do. If you don't... then you'll get cut twenty times worse then I cut you. You and I are going to have a nice talk, get to know each other, but at the same time fight. Don't focus on the sword and how it moves, and don't try to make it move a certain way. That's why you have your instincts. Focus on me, on my words, because the minute you stop is the minute I win."
He blinked; this was probably the most he had ever heard say.
"But I'm never going to have a nice civilized conversation with someone I'm fighting in battle," he pointed out.
"But you need to learn to trust your instincts, especially when you're distracted," she replied.
Waiting no longer, she lunged forward and swung her sword, and he instantly felt pain shooting through the same arm she had sliced before, his free hand and his forehead. He hissed in pain, but when he saw her roll her eyes, he regained his focus as she started approaching him. She put her sword down and grabbed his arm delicately, inspecting the cut. He watched her as she furrowed her brows and placed a hand a few inches above his wound.
"Epoulo̱thoún," (Heal) she murmured, and as soon as she did, he could feel all of his cuts closing up slowly.
Once it was all healed, he looked up to thank her, but instantly got lost in her hazelnut eyes that were shining only more beautifully with that hint of forest green and gold they held when the sun reflected itself upon them. Her eyes slightly widened in shock as she stared back into his own sky blue eyes. Recognition flashed through her features before he could see many different emotions starting to cloud her face; out of all of them, he caught... hurt.
Ella let out a tired sigh that made it look as though she was giving up. "Because... I'm not. I'm not supposed to be here," she answered back, confusing him more. She looked up at him and gave him a small smile when she saw the look on his face. "You won't understand. I just… I don't belong here."
"Of course you do!" he exclaimed himself, grabbing her hand. "Of course you belong here."
She shook her head, pulling her hand away. "London may withhold a unique beauty, but it's not the same. It's not my home, Mason." She settled her brown eyes at him and sadly smiled. "I don't belong here."
"You baffle me," the young man replied, expelling a soft sigh. "I don't even know how to properly interact with you anymore. You're annoyed by me, aren't you? That's why you are so keen on going wherever you think you belong." To his surprise, she looked at him in amusement.
"I just can't be with someone. Not right now." Or maybe ever. "One'll end up hurt in the end."
He looked at her with soft eyes. "I would never hurt you."
She gave him a sardonic smile as she shook her head. "I never said I would be the one hurt." That made him look at her curiously. " My heart isn't unguarded, Mason; it's shielded with an iron dome that keeps it from entirely breaking apart. Though it may get rusted, I'm always ready."
She quickly averted her gaze from his eyes but didn't look away from him as she picked up her sword and took a step back.
"So where are you from, Pensive?" she asked.
He doesn't know how, but it was like she was trying to keep him from looking away from her and let his eyes drift down to their weapons; she succeeded, though. He never looked away from her strange hazelnut, green and gold-speckled eyes, even though she avoided his gaze. He could hear their swords clashing, and he felt her arm moving to counter his attacks, but she seemed to pay no attention.
"Born and raised here in Finchley, what about you? And I also need a nickname for you if you're going to keep calling me Pensive all the time, which I still don't know how you came up with or why you call me that," he replied.
"For nicknames, I don't really know what you can call me; no one has a specific nickname for me. Pensive... I remember answering that long ago. As for where I am from, I was born here, though raised... in London." She shrugged. "At the Professor's house."
Truly, she wasn't certain of where exactly she was raised. The Kirke family almost always left her with the Professor; that was how she had met Mason in the first place. Plus, she was homeschooled for a long while before being admitted to a public school after her mother's death.
Peter stopped dead on his tracks when he noticed her hesitation. "You hesitated. Why did you hesitate when you mentioned London?"
He knew right after those words left his lips that he was going to need a lot of training. Apparently, his instincts weren't so bad, but they had him grab his sword with both hands and slice it through the air and down at her. Without even thinking she sidestepped, missing the terrible attempt to hit her as she slowly continued to advance on him.
"It's good to know things, Peter, especially when you're near a warring time, but there are just things that are better to be left unknown," she told him in a serious tone. She dropped her sword onto the ground, then straightening herself. "Lunge forward."
He gave her a puzzled look. "What?"
She rolled her eyes. "Lunge forward, strike— attack me!" she ordered.
"Wha— why— no! You're unarmed!"
"I know," she replied in a tone that suggested it were obvious. "But forget that, just attack me."
"But I—"
"Now!"
He uneasily charged at her, but she moved out of the way, tripping him over as he ran past. Swinging his sword rather fast for an amateur, she dodged him and sent a punch across his cheek. It felt like hitting hardened sand before she knocked him over. Losing focus for a second, he swung his legs across sending her flat on her back. He placed the tip of his sword on her chest, but she just smirked at him. Flipping up her legs, she twisted his arm, making him drop his sword. Kicking it away she placed one hand on his chest and sent him flying down against the arena. Reaching her hand out, his sword flew into her hand, rendering her a bit confused at what seemed to be magic that she performed, but she did not falter; she had his own sword against his neck as he was panting.
Raising the sword up, she sent it flying down to deliberately miss his cheek. She leaned down towards his ear to feel his warm breath against her neck.
"Well done, Peter. You don't suck as much as you did at first," she murmured, holding a hand out.
"You're not going to throw me back to the ground, are you?" he asked, eyeing her hand. And she emitted that joyful musical sound that sounded like a chorus of bells.
She laughed.
"No, I'm not." Relieved, Peter took her hand, allowing her to haul him up onto his feet. "You were terrible with the sword against someone weaponless, but you're ready for any other battle."
"Thanks," he said.
She nodded and gazed off in the distance at the sun that was now lower in the sky. "Now go eat, take a warm bath, then rest. Tomorrow's gonna be tough, and you need your strength," she said in a soft voice.
"What are we going to do tomorrow?" he asked, watching her curiously.
"You and Edmund are going horse-back riding," she replied.
"And you?"
"I'll be the tour guide," she replied sarcastically before turning away from him and making her way towards the woods.
"Wait," he called after her. She stopped, letting him catch up. "Aren't you going to eat?"
She looked down at her feet and smiled down at herself, shaking her head. "Nah, I'll pass. I'm not really hungry." She glanced sideways at him and saw him blushing while shyly scratching the back of his neck.
"Oh, okay... then I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"
"You're done for today," she confirmed. "Tell Edmund to come see me for his lessons when he's done."
"Alright, then... um... bye," he said.
Ella suddenly froze when she felt a soft pair of slightly chapped lips press against her cheek. She blinked owlishly, though when she turned, the golden-haired boy had already run off to meet his siblings.
She stood there for a long moment, dazed. "Am man theled?" (Why?) she finally said, more so to herself as there was no one around.
"Ánin apsenë, Hîr vuin," (Forgive me, My Lord) an elf greeted, lifting her gown up slightly as she bowed her head and curtsied before him. Peter did not understand the language, but he had heard that elf— Gwaindir say it a few times, so he knew she was calling him by title and apologizing for coming abruptly.
"Yes?"
"I was wondering if, perhaps, you knew where Her Majesty is? Gwain— a knight said you had been the last to see her?"
"I was, erm...?"
"Borneth."
"Borneth," he repeated. "I was one of the last to see her. She is currently training my brother in sword fighting, though."
Borneth sighed. "She hasn't eaten yet, has she?"
Peter shook his head. "She said she wasn't hungry."
The elf sighed again, then nodded. "Thank you, Hîr vuin," was her reply before she spun on her heels and glided away from Peter and his sisters.
Clang!
"Why can't I use a shield?"
Clang!
"Because your brother didn't use one."
"But he's older!"
Clang!
"And you're younger, which means—" She paused for a moment as the boy lunged towards her again, another loud Clang rattling only to follow a loud thump. Edmund's sword was under her foot as he laid down flat on the floor on his back, with a sword resting on his silver breastplate.
"You could easily be disarmed due to your age making you slightly weaker. You have to learn how to defend yourself without of shield. I'll teach you later on how to do so without anything at all."
"You mean naked?!"
She rolled her eyes as she sheathed her sword. "No, you egghead. I mean without a weapon; a mere dagger just in case, but you need to know how to last even after you're completely disarmed."
"Were you this hard on Peter?"
Ella snorted. "No, I was harder."
"So you call this nice?"
"I call this being understanding. You only got back last night. I should have made you undergo what I did Peter, but I didn't, so deal with it," she said. "Now, go rest."
Edmund grunted as he stood. "But I've rested enough."
She merely raised an eyebrow at him as she began to count in her head. Three. Two. One...
Yawn.
She fought back a smile and shook her head. Placing a hand on his head, she tilted her own, giving him a small smile. "Go rest, brown eyes."
And soon, Ella was left alone once again, staring at the darkened sky. Sighing to herself, she walked back to her tent and shed herself of her weapons and clothes, slipping on a green gown she knew Borneth and put aside for her. She then untied her hair and undid her braid, letting her hair fall loose past her shoulders, before placing her crown on her head. Subconsciously, she then made her way toward her mirror. There, she stood before it, gazing down at her golden necklace which she never removed; it had belonged to her mother, Queen Radriella.
Ella sighed again; thinking of her biological mother made her think of her biological father. Instinctively, she glanced toward the sword and shield she had hidden behind her clothed wardrobe. Staring at it for a moment, she finally willed herself to grab the sword after having put it the moment she had gotten it. She strapped the belt around her hips and, after admiring herself with it in her mirror, she unsheathed it and wandered her eyes over the blade, allowing one single finger on it to trace her father's name and title.
"Child." Ella sheathed her sword, turned around, and saw Aslan standing before her. "Follow me," he said.
Ella slipped her green cloak on, then gladly followed the lion. They quietly walked out of her tent and into the dark night. It was silent between them for a moment before Aslan spoke.
"You've done a brave and noble thing, and I do not just speak of your rescuing Edmund last night." Aslan turned to look her straight in the eye. "Forgiveness is something many people have not mastered, yet your heart gave it freely."
"Grandpapa, I have always heard that you should treat others the way that you want to be treated," said Ella in a soft voice. "I would want forgiveness for my actions, as he wanted forgiveness for his."
Aslan nodded his head and began walking again. Ella followed.
"What does your heart tell you to do now?" he asked.
She pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "I have many doubts in myself, and I still do not think that I am yet a warrior, nor a princess fit queen. I am not even sure that I should even be considered either."
"You still doubt the fact that I chose you, you mean."
No word was needed to confirm that as her betraying eyes gave it all away. However, she felt the need to say it because she wanted to know...
"You could have chosen so many others who are stronger than I. Quicker, smarter— you could have chosen anyone better than me." She paused. "Yet you chose me. Why? Is it simply because I am your granddaughter?"
Aslan was silent for a moment, but not because he was thinking about what to say. "When I choose someone, I never make a mistake; it has nothing to do with your relation to me. I chose you not for your strength or speed, but for your heart."
"I am a broken girl, Aslan. My heart and soul have been torn to pieces long ago," said Ella, finally willing herself to cry for the first time in a long time.
"Which is why you must let me mend it, Henig," (My child) said Aslan. "Your heart has so much good in it, but you are right, it is broken. And so is your soul. They are hurt. They are weak. But to be well again, you must let me mend them."
Ella fell to her knees before her grandfather, the Great Lion.
"Then mend it. Mend it all," she whispered.
Aslan came up closely to Ella's face. Opening his mouth, he breathed upon her. Suddenly, her heart felt light— it felt life. She closed her eyes as it moved through her. She no longer felt as if a burden was on it anymore. She felt the power that had surged upon her the first time she had gone to Narnia in her awareness. She felt strength, bravery; a love fill her to the core. When she opened her eyes— oh, her once hazelnut, green-specked eyes glowed gold as they shed tears.
"Hold out the hilt of your sword to me," Aslan said.
Ella took out the sword, and as Aslan's paw touched the hilt, the sword changed. The already long blade became even longer and sharper, and on the hilt, a ruby, much like the one on her necklace, appeared, only larger.
"You, Erella—" She blinked in confusion but remained as she was. "— daughter of King Richard Thomass and Queen Radriella, have sworn an oath to yourself, as a ruler to come, to protect Narnia with your all. But now, I ask you this; do you," Aslan said, "promise to protect Narnia when enemies cross its borders? Do you promise to guard its people when danger comes through your path? And do you promise, to protect your fellow rulers, Kings, and Queens of Narnia, no matter what the cost? Even unto death?"
At a younger age, Ella would have said no. But not know. Now, she was ready.
"I, Erella—" He called her so, so why change it? "— promise to protect Narnia when enemies cross its borders. I promise to guard its people when danger comes through my path and to protect my fellow rulers, Kings, and Queens of Narnia, no matter what the cost. I cannot promise that bad things will not come. I cannot even promise that I will not fail. But I do promise to do these things to the best of my abilities, unto death takes me."
"That is all that you can give," Aslan said, smiling. "Rise, Erella the Lionheart—" And she shed a tear; her father was called so. "— the First Warrior, and soon First High Queen of Narnia!"
Ella stood up and felt that finally, she had found peace within herself. She had broken free.
She readied herself to sheath her sword, though stop short when her now unglowing, hazelnut eyes saw something else had changed about it. Her father's name was no longer the name engraved upon it. No. Now, it was hers.
Erella the Lionheart
A tear slid down her cheek, but a small smile graced her lips.
The silence remained as the walk under the moonlight resumed. Ella loved this new feeling; she felt genuinely calm, at peace. The battle was still on her mind, though for once she paid it no ounce of her care. She pushed it to the far back of her mind and focused on the peace surrounding her as she walked quietly, her hand entangled in the lion's mane. But then, what is inevitable when it comes to Ella happened.
She thought.
Peter... Susan... Lucy... Edmund...
"She will come for him, won't she?" she asked quietly.
"She sees him as a traitor," said Aslan. "She will want the boy to die as tradition demands it. On the Stone Table."
Ella felt her breath get caught up in her throat. Of course. Of course, the Witch will call upon traditions when it's most convenient to her.
"Grandpapa—"
"No, Ella. I forbid you."
She pulled back and frowned. "You just made me swear an oath, Aslan. Part of it was to promise to protect my fellow rulers, Kings, and Queens of Narnia, no matter what the cost. Even unto death. I swore. If she comes to demand this, let me take his place. I know you will offer yourself, but it's not fair—"
"They will need you to rule."
"Four will be enough," said Ella. "I know you saw them today. They learn quickly— they will learn to rule better than I would ever have alone. Aslan, please..."
And Aslan said nothing, but merely stood looking at her with his great unchanging eyes. And it seemed, then that there was nothing to be said. She had made an oath.
She could not turn her back on it.
"Riding lessons? You can't be serious!" Edmund cried in shock and dismay, trying not to drop the saddle and material Ella had given him. The look she was giving him, however, made him realize she was— as she normally was— quite serious.
"You're seriously asking me that? I've been serious for practically the entire time you've known me since you stepped into the boarding house," she replied as she stopped in front of the area where the horses were left to roam around freely.
Ella then inwardly smiled as she watched the boy get over his initial shock of the set of new lessons. She chuckled when she noticed the smug look on Peter's face as he too watched his brother trying not to throw a fit for having to do something he had no idea how to do.
"Relax, Edmund," said Ella. "For a first timer, you did quite well with the sword, yesterday. I'm sure you'll do just fine in these Equestrian lessons." That brought a small smile to Edmund's face. "Word of advice? Don't disrespect the horses; they're rather proud creatures."
"Why did we bring our swords if we're learning how to ride horses?" Peter asked, his arms shifting under his own given saddle.
"Because the sooner you learn how to ride, the sooner you learn how to fight while riding. And the sooner that happens, the sooner we'll be able to tone down your training and rest more."
Edmund blinked. "... that was a lot of 'sooner's," he muttered.
Ella rolled her eyes. "Alright, let's see which steed is up for the young prince."
Edmund blushed, though it quickly died down when he noticed a chestnut colored stallion cantering over. It let out a snort as it stopped before them, shaking its head. It was Philip. Ella gave him a soft look as she raised a hand to pat his head. The horse leaned into her gentle touch for a moment before turning toward Edmund.
Ella smiled. "Well, he seems to have taken a liking to you?"
"A liking to me? He's giving me the stink eye!"
"He's giving you his calculating eyes," Ella corrected. "Horses are rather good at choosing their riders." She turned to the horse. "You like him?"
"Are you seriously talking to the horse?"
Ella rolled her eyes at the boy. "Yes, I am." And she turned back to Philip. "Do you?"
He neighed.
Ella turned back to Edmund and gave him a smug look. "Told you."
"That's supposed to be a 'yes'?" She didn't reply. Edmund sighed in defeat, knowing he'd probably never win against her. Peter laughed and shoved his brother lightly on the shoulder.
"Come on; I'll show you how to put the saddle on and mount it." She looked at Peter and nodded toward the other horses. "Try to find one that..."
He frowned when she trailed off. "One that what?"
"I was going to say one you'd get along with, but I see one's already set his eyes on you."
Peter gave her a confused look, though he faltered, jumping in surprise when he felt something bump against his shoulder. He turned and found a white unicorn standing tall before him.
"Are you sure?" Ella asked quietly. The sleek white, uni-horned stallion neighed and got down on his knees. "Well, alright then. Peter, meet Silver. Silver-Moon. I found him a while back with Midnight over there," she said, nodding toward the black unicorn that was heading their way.
When Midnight had reached them, she proceeded by showing them how to put a saddle on a steed by demonstrating so on her unicorn. It took the boys a while to place theirs on their stallions, but they eventually managed. Then, they mounted and started off with a slow trot, which slowly morphed into a rhythmed canter, then finally a galloped race. The Equestrian lessons went on for about three hours. By the end, they had mastered riding their steeds rather well, so Ella decided to move on to sword battling while riding.
"Alright, draw your swords, now," said Ella. "But draw them high enough, so you don't cut the head off your horse..."
Soon, with Ella leading them, Peter and Edmund found themselves battling against each other on their steeds.
"Come on! That's right! Good! En guard! Keep your sword up!"
The boys practiced so for a long while, and, under Ella's eye, got better and better. However, around two hours later, their lessons were interrupted when Mister Beaver came running up to them. The chestnut-colored horse reared as he was taken by surprise.
Slightly panicked, Edmund tightened his hand on his horse's reins. "Whoa, horsey!"
The horse scoffed. "My name is Philip."
Edmund looked down at the horse, shocked. "Oh..."
Ella calmed her own stallion down at looked down at the Beavers with confused eyes. "Mister Beaver, what's going on?"
"Aslan asks for your presence, Your Majesty," said Mister Beaver.
"Did he say what for?"
"No, Your Majesty."
She gave him a small smile and a nod. "Alright, thank you. I will attend in just a moment." She turned to the Pevensie boys. "You've done well. Keep it up. And remember, keep your swords up." She turned back to the Beaver. "You can go back to your doings, Mister Beaver."
He bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Then they both set off, Ella going to meet Aslan, while Mister Beaver, his wife.
"Have you noticed how she smiles more?" Edmund suddenly asked.
A small smile curled its way onto Peter's lips. "Yeah, I have." He tore his gaze from the retreating figures and looked back at his brother. "Come on, let's practice a bit more."
Ella and Oreius stood in Aslan's tent with the Great lion himself. They had been trying to come up with a good plan of attack and defense for the upcoming battle for the past half hour.
"There is no need to divide a plan," Aslan cut Ella off in mid-sentence.
She frowned. "But Grandpapa, she'll be here soon. It's best we start preparing."
Aslan had been about to reply when, suddenly, a leopard came in and said, "Sire, there is a messenger from the enemy who craves an audience."
"And she's here," Ella muttered under her breath.
"Let him approach," said Aslan, as he, along with Ella and Oreius followed the leopard out of the tent. Oreius went to join the other centaurs while Aslan and Ella remained by the entrance of the tent. The leopard too went away, though soon he returned leading the Witch's dwarf.
"What is your message, Son of Earth?" asked Aslan.
"The Queen of Narnia and Empress of the Lone Islands desires safe conduct to come and speak with you," said the dwarf, "on a matter which is as much to your advantage as to hers."
Being within earshot, Oreius scoffed. "Queen of Narnia, indeed!" said the General. "Of all the cheek—"
"Peace, Oreius," said Aslan. "All names will soon be restored to their proper owners. In the meantime, we will not dispute about them. Tell your mistress, Son of Earth, that I grant her safe conduct on condition that she leaves her wand behind her at that great oak."
This was agreed to, and two leopards went back with the dwarf to see that the conditions were properly carried out.
A few minutes later, Narnians gathered around Aslan's tent as well the Pevensies themselves. Together, they all watched with hardened eyes as the Witch herself was brought in, sitting on a bier carried by four Cyclops'. She got up, came straight across and stood before Aslan and his scion.
The three children who had not seen her before felt shudders running down their backs at the sight of her face, and there were low growls among all the animals present. Though it was bright sunshine, everyone felt suddenly cold. The only people present who seemed to be quite at their ease were Aslan, Ella and the Witch herself. It was the oddest thing to see those three faces— the golden face, the matured childish human face and the dead-white face so close together. Not that the Witch looked Aslan nor Ella exactly in their eyes; Edmund particularly noticed this.
Wordlessly, Ella walked down the step that led inside her grandfather's tent and soared forward in all her grace, stopping a few seconds in front of the Witch to glare at her before going to stand before the Pevensies, taking on a protective stance in front of them, her eyes never leaving their enemy.
"You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan," said the Witch.
Of course everyone present knew that she meant Edmund. But Edmund had got past thinking about himself after all he'd been through, and after the talk, he'd had with Aslan, and then Ella. He just went on shifting his gaze between Aslan and Ella, who stood in front of him. It didn't seem to matter what the Witch said.
"Well," said Aslan. "His offense was not against you."
"Have you forgotten the laws upon which Narnia was built?" asked the Witch.
"Do not cite the Deep Magic to me, Witch! I was there when it was written," answered Aslan gravely.
"Then you'll remember well that every traitor belongs to me… His blood is my property."
Peter drew his sword, sidestepped Ella, and took five steps toward the Witch. "Try and take him then!" he all but shouted.
The Witch just looked down on him and taunted, "Do you think that a mere force can deny me my right, little King?"
Ella's glare on the Witch hardened, though she did not speak. Now was not the time just yet.
Peter's face dropped, and he lowered his sword. The Witch again spoke, but this time, turned to speak to the other Narnians as well
"Aslan knows that unless I have blood as the law demands, all of Narnia will be overturned and perish in fire and water. That boy—" She pointed at Edmund. "— will die on the Stone Table… as is tradition." She looked to Aslan. "You dare not refuse me."
"Would the blood of another pay the price?" a shout suddenly rang out. Peter turned to see Ella had stepped forward from where she stood before his siblings.
"And who might you be?" the Witch asked, annoyed.
"Princess Erella," said the girl, voice strong and powerful as she held her head up high. "Daughter of King Richard Thomass and Queen Radriella."
"She is the one," a wolf beside the Witch growled. "I recognize her scent. She is the one that took him."
The Witch's eyes steeled, but not for finding out she had rescued the boy. "And what is it that you said?"
"Would the blood of another pay the price for King Edmund's life?"
"Ella!" Aslan roared.
Ella looked over at the lion and gave him a stubborn look. "The oath," was all she said before turning her gaze back toward the Witch.
"Are you saying that you would take the place of King Edmund?" the Witch asked, fighting back a nasty smirk.
"Yes," Ella replied, her eyes set.
"Enough," Aslan said sternly, "I shall talk to you both alone."
It was a terrible time this— waiting and wondering while the Lion, the Princess, and the Witch talked earnestly together in low voices within the red draped tent.
Lucy said, "Oh, Edmund!" and began to cry.
Peter stood with his back to the others looking out at the distant sea. The Beavers stood holding each other's paws with their heads bowed. The centaurs stamped uneasily with their hoofs. But everyone became perfectly still in the end so that you noticed even small sounds like a bumble-bee flying past, or the birds in the forest down below them, or the wind rustling the leaves. And still the talk between Aslan, Ella, and the White Witch went on.
At last, the three came out. The Witch was first to submerge from the draped house, looking like she was trying to hide her pleasure but couldn't. Aslan and Ella came out walking side by side, their faces still and unreadable. For a few moments, there was silence.
Then Aslan's voice rang clear as he said, "I have settled the matter. She has renounced her claim on the son of Adam's blood."
And all over the hill, there was a noise as if everyone had been holding their breath and had now begun breathing again, and then a murmur of talk.
The Witch was just turning away with a look of fierce joy on her face when she stopped and said, "But how do I know this promise will be kept?"
Ella's eyes glowed gold as she glared at her ferociously, while Aslan roared angrily with all his might at the Witch, his great mouth opening wider and wider and the roar grew louder and louder. The Witch quickly sat down in her chair and was soon carried away from the camp.
As soon as she had gone Aslan said, "We must move from this place at once, it will be wanted for other purposes. We shall camp tonight at the Fords of Beruna."
Of course, everyone was dying to ask him and the Princess how they had arranged matters with the witch; but Aslan's face was stern, Ella's clearly stated she would not pipe a word, and everyone's ears were still ringing with the sound of the lion's roar, and so nobody dared.