A/N: Warning! Chapter contains character deaths (but "only" OCs, no major characters) and some violence!

Lovely Realismandromance has beta-ed this once again! Great job - thank you so much :)

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There was a small path along the creek that led straight towards the steep high rocks which marked the Narnian border. Pushed and shoved roughly by Enzomian and his men, Edmund had a hard time not losing his footing. He wondered if they would let him off a little once they started to climb into the mountains, for it was quite clear that that was where they were headed. But before he could even finish the thought, he heard something that demanded his full attention. He was careful not to let it show, though, for he had an idea what he had heard. It had been only a very low sound, coming from the woods beside the path. It could have been nothing, really, but after years of experience, Edmund had developed a sixth sense.

Somebody was there in the woods, preparing for a fight.

And then there was the unmistakable war cry of Alroy and the remaining Narnians ringing out loudly, just mere seconds before they broke out of the undergrowth alongside the small path.

"For Narnia!"

How they got there without being noticed by their foes or for how long they had been following them, Edmund couldn't say (maybe the cheetahs had noticed them before him), but Alroy was an experienced warrior. He was swift and clever and he nearly always found a way, however complicated the situation might seem. He had been in command of many missions, and Edmund, when he had been younger and still learning how to be a soldier, had accompanied him. Judging by his experience with Alroy, the young king had anticipated a rescue attempt from his captain since his capture.

The Narnians crashed into the small party with such force that for a moment it looked as if the enemy would be beaten in minutes. Letting out a shout of his own, Edmund managed to wind himself out of his distracted captor's hold. With his hands bound behind his back, however, he could do little more to help than deal out a few kicks here or a shove there. Peter didn't fare any better, he noticed after a quick look around, but the High King, too, had freed himself from being held.

At sixteen and not fully grown, Edmund was not big enough to make any real impact by shoving the older, much heavier men, but his well-aimed kicks at their legs brought them to their knees easily enough – a sufficient help for the Narnian soldiers.

Swiftly Edmund managed to dodge many of the enemy's attempts to grab hold of him again. But then he felt himself bump into a big, solid body while stumbling backwards to get out of reach of one of the foreign men's hands. Before he could get away again, he was grabbed from behind. A strong grip fastened itself around his bound arms, and the sensation of coolness from a dagger being held against his neck made him stop struggling.

"Everyone! Stop fighting at once," cried out the man named Ikeros. "Or else, this boy dies." He tightened his grip on Edmund's arms and shoved the dagger a little closer to his skin, drawing blood.

"Everybody – hold it!" called Alroy as well. He was, as Edmund realised, standing very close by, signalling for the soldiers to freeze. Then he turned to Ikeros. "Are you the one in charge?" he asked.

"I am," said Enzomian, stepping forward. Being a big man, he towered over the faun.

"You ought to let go of King Edmund," said Alroy, his eyes darting between his king and the foreigner, who was looking at him with raised brows.

"Why would I?"

"Because whatever you plan, you will achieve nothing by killing the king of Narnia, except raising a war between Narnia and ... whichever country you might be fighting for." He indicated his soldiers, who were gathered around them, their swords loosely in their hands. "If you think this is our whole army, you are mistaken. We will run you over with a force you can't imagine."

Enzomian laughed – a sneering, dirty sort of laugh. "I, for my part, don't serve any country or any king, only myself," he declared. "And, to run us over, you will have to find us first. We know the mountains well and will have every advantage on our side, even if you come with a thousand men ... or beasts ... or which creatures may else serve in your army."

Locking his gaze with his king for a moment, Alroy turned to his soldiers and commanded, "Lay down your weapons!"

All around them, the Narnians slowly started laying their blades on the ground.

"Now release our king," said Alroy, who had been the first to rid himself of sword and dagger. Behind him, others were taking their time disarming themselves, and Enzomian noticed that.

"Hurry up, you! We won't let him go until you are all unarmed."

Ikeros, the man who was still holding Edmund, shifted a little, adjusting his hold on his dagger. Blood was dripping down Edmund's neck – it wasn't much, but he could feel the wet stickiness soaking into his hem.

Suddenly, there was a swooshing sound as an arrow came through the air. Edmund felt it zoom past his ear, taking with it a bit of his skin – but he didn't feel the pain it should have caused, didn't have time to concentrate on it, for now things were happening very quickly.

Behind Edmund, there was a short, strangled yelp and he felt himself being released from the grip as Ikeros toppled to the ground, the arrow that had killed him sticking out from his profusely bleeding neck.

Trained by Alroy as he was, Edmund was sure he knew what the captain was planning; going for full risk to try and get the situation back into their hands. The arrow had come with perfect timing and had caused some distraction among the enemies. On their side, only about half of Alroy's soldiers had already dropped their swords.

Somebody was suddenly behind Edmund, cutting the rope on his wrists. The young king turned around in one swift move and reached for Ikeros' sword, ready to get back into fighting mode. But before he got that far, Enzomian, standing near the faun captain, raised his blade and with a vicious cry lunged forward at Alroy. It was happening too fast for even the faun to react in time and, as if in slow motion, Edmund had to watch as, with one strong blow of Enzomian's broad sword, the captain's head was chopped off. It fell and came rolling up all the way to the Just King's feet.

X

Peter saw his brother's face pale as he watched his second-in-command drop down, his neck now ending in a dark, bleeding stump. For a moment, Edmund looked as if he were about to be sick. All around them, the soldiers who had just a few minutes ago been fighting bravely were now rooted to their spots.

It was time for the High King to take charge.

"Draw back!" he shouted, putting as much force into his voice as he could. "Narnians, draw back, all of you!"

This time, his orders were obeyed, and the Narnians started to move back into the woods. The two kings, however, along with a few, were surrounded by the foreigners, unable to make an escape.

Peter knew it was hard on their soldiers, leaving their kings behind. But it was a necessary tactical draw back, and probably the best chance the soldiers had of getting their kings out alive later.

The foreigners, as to be expected, weren't just letting the Narnians go. Watching several fauns and dwarfs being felled as they tried to get away was nearly unbearable for the High King. However, he didn't turn his eyes away, forcing himself to take it all in. The smell of blood in the air was making him feel sick. But at least he saw Castor make it safely into the woods with the faun Anjus on his back and Philip close on his heels, the arrow still sticking in his flank. One of the cheetahs, Fizz, also escaped. But the Narnians' numbers were severely reduced.

So were Enzomian's. As soon as all remaining Narnians were out of sight, he made sure that his party went on quickly. Peter felt himself being pushed forward until he was next to Edmund. Their hands were bound again, and the two kings were forced to walk in the middle between the men, out of reach of any further rescue attempts.

Among the captured Narnians now were the two kings, Carron and two other fauns, Roak and three dwarfs.

Their captors led them further through the woods, towards the place where high, steep mountain cliffs abruptly interrupted the soft hills. Peter could not make out where they were to go; the way Enzomian led them ended at a high wall of solid rock. Did he want them to climb up?

But just when Peter was almost convinced that they were to climb, they turned sharply to the left, then rounded a ledge, and finally Peter realised that they were headed towards a cave.

The entrance was low and narrow; Peter had to bend over to not bump his head, and a few of the broadest men among their captors had to turn sideways to slip through.

A moment later, they were in complete darkness. Peter moved forward with slow, careful steps, his back turned to the wall on one side of the tunnel so he could feel for bulges and unevenness with his still-bound hands. Once, he stumbled, but caught himself before he could fall. He turned back to whisper warnings to his brother and the soldiers.

After a few more steps, he was relieved to see light shining into the cave; they were almost through the tunnel.

Outside it, they found themselves at a low level in a massive gorge between two mountains, a narrow path leading upwards beside one of the scarps. A river wound its way at the bottom of the canyon, until it disappeared underground about twenty yards below them. Peter was almost sure that it also flowed into the lake at Farford, feeding it from underground.

Before Enzomian led his people and their prisoners higher up along the path, he let his men undo the ropes that bound their prisoners' hands. Relieved to be free of that at least, Peter rubbed his sore wrists, then glanced at Edmund, who was doing the same.

They ascended carefully along the path, and Peter was – not for the first time – thankful for his long legs; the path was exceptionally steep at times, and the men led them at a good pace; soon, everyone was sweaty and breathing hard.

Once again, Peter cursed his recent illness; his muscles were already protesting strongly against the exertion. A couple of steps in front of him, Edmund was making good progress. Peter snorted, watching his lanky brother move upwards without too much obvious trouble. No wonder, he thought – not only was the little imp at the height of physical fitness, he was also smaller than Peter and had less weight to carry.

Behind the High King, the dwarfs were huffing and puffing; with their short legs, they were not equipped for an ascent such as this. Several times, Enzomian threatened to push them over the edge if they moved too slow. At the mere thought, Peter felt his hands get sweaty with unease; he was not at all fond of heights (although it was a fear he could control).

They walked until the sun had sunk behind the mountaintops and the air became unpleasantly cool despite their exertion. Thinking about his leather doublet longingly, Peter tried not to let Edmund notice his shivering. In the warmth of the morning sun, the High King had pulled off the garment and tied it to his saddle, which was now more than a hundred yards below them, at the place where they had been attacked. Edmund, though, was still wearing his, and Peter was sure that his little brother would not hesitate to give it to him if he became aware of how cold the elder was.

When it became too dark to move on safely and they reached a place where the path turned wider, Enzomian called for a break, letting everyone sit down and rest for the night. With a deep moan, Pelle, one of the dwarfs, dropped down unconscious. Peter felt sorry for him.

Roak, the cheetah, settled himself right behind the High King, offering his body as a support to lean against. When Peter accepted this, he quickly realised that the animal's fur was also a perfect source of warmth.

Enzomian let one of his men hand out bread and water to everyone. Peter accepted his portions with a curt nod, and downed them all within a minute. He was still hungry afterwards, and – worse – still thirsty, but he didn't complain. He wasn't surprised when Edmund crawled over from where he had been sitting to offer his brother his share, but it irritated Peter. Did the little idiot think to take care of himself at all? Of course, he declined Edmund's offer, making sure to let his irritation show.

"All right, but take this, then." And with those words, Edmund quickly pulled off his doublet, as Peter had expected before. He handed it over, and without raising an argument, Peter struggled into it. It was too small, but he managed to pull it over and get the buttons done, aware of his brother's eyes on him as he did so.

With Edmund now being the one shivering in the cold evening air in his thin cotton shirt, Peter considered pulling him into a warm hug. But he didn't dare try in front of these foreign men and Edmund's own soldiers. Not as long as the younger was conscious and ready to snap at him if he did. So instead, Peter bent over to silently whisper an order into Roak's ear, and the cheetah obeyed at once. As if by coincidence, he shifted, then crawled over and close to his commander, causing the younger king to smirk knowingly.

Soon enough, the Just King was settled against the cheetah's warm fur, and, exhausted from the day, he fell asleep much sooner than Peter had expected. Cautiously, the High King crawled closer and wrapped first one arm and then the other around his brother.

On Roak's other side, the remaining fauns huddled together, with Carron, the highest-ranking soldier, in their middle. The dwarfs were much less sensitive to the cold. They had simply sprawled out across the landing.

For a while, Peter wondered if it were too much of a risk to sleep as well, thinking that Enzomian might decide to get rid of them after all. But then again, these men had taken them prisoners for a reason; they wouldn't have bothered taking them if they didn't have a purpose for them.

Just as Peter finally closed his eyes, Edmund let out a distressed sigh and shifted against Peter's arms in his sleep, no doubt suffering from an unpleasant dream. Once in this state of exhaustion, Peter knew his brother was not likely to wake up until he had slept off most of his fatigue. The High King placed a brotherly kiss to Edmund's forehead, which calmed the younger just the way Peter had intended. Still, he could not help grinning to himself when he thought about how cross his brother would be if he knew – especially considering that the man Enzomian had picked to stay on watch was staring at the two kings in the moonlight.

Peter stared back, making the older man looked away sheepishly.

X

When Edmund woke, everybody else seemed to still be asleep. It was not yet dawn; the remains of a small fire glowed in the middle between their captors. In the faint light it radiated, Edmund could see that Peter was still out of it, curled up against Roak.

"You're a sweet couple, the two of you," a sarcastic voice said, right above Edmund's head. It was Enzomian himself, hovering above the Narnian king and holding a piece of leather clothing, which he dropped into the boy's hands.

"Put that on," he ordered gruffly. "If I see the two of you cuddling again like last night, I might empty my stomach."

Cuddling?

Oh, no … it dawned on Edmund that Peter must have spent the night huddled against him, probably even holding him. But then, Edmund conceded, he would have been frozen stiff by now if Peter hadn't. He was already shivering madly again. There was nothing for it; he had to put on the oversized tunic Enzomian had given him. Chances were good that he could get Peter to swap with him later.

It took another couple of minutes, but then everyone was awake, stiff and freezing and hungry. Another small piece of bread was given to each.

Edmund found himself in a dilemma, just like he had the night before. He felt hungry, starving actually, but every time he closed his eyes, even if he only blinked, he was reminded of the terrible sight of Alroy's headless body, and the image made him feel sick to his stomach. In the end, he had to force down the bread, despite his hunger.

Their journey continued, still upwards, but more slowly than the day before. Everyone's legs were aching.

But, Edmund mused, the ascent would have been quite enjoyable under different circumstances. The view over the gorge and the massive rock on the other side was impressive and more than beautiful.

After about an hour or so, the path ended. In fact, as Edmund saw a moment later, it didn't really end. It continued several feet above their heads. They would have to climb that bit, then they could continue. Staring up, Edmund couldn't help feeling a little excited at the thought, knowing full well that this was a dangerous thing to do.

The young king did not think of it as too much of a challenge for himself. He was good at climbing and felt little more than a healthy respect towards heights. What made him a bit anxious, though, was that there was no telling if Peter would be fit enough to overcome this obstacle. Under normal conditions, of course, Edmund would not have given it any thought, but after the exertions that lay behind them, and with Peter still not nearly as fit as he had been before falling ill for so long –

And the climb proved to be trickier than expected. After half of Enzomian's men had pulled themselves up with some difficulty, the prisoners were forced to follow.

Roak, of course, made it safely and without trouble, and Peter followed suit, looking just as steady – much to his brother's relief. Next came the fauns, who had a lot more trouble; their short, bent legs and small hooves were a hindrance.

But the dwarfs had the biggest trouble; though they were trained soldiers, they weren't too agile, and Edmund could barely watch them as they clumsily made their way. It was just when Pelle, the last in line, was almost there that his forerunner made an inept movement and stepped heavily on Pelle's fingers.

The exhausted dwarf yelped and pulled his hand away reflexively. In the process, he lost his footing and fell.

Edmund reacted automatically, dropping down on his stomach and trying to catch the falling dwarf's hand. He felt the slick fingers brush his own for a split second, but didn't manage to keep hold of them.

With a terrified yell, Pelle fell into the canyon, and Edmund could only watch helplessly as his soldier hit a ledge around fifty yards below, where he remained, lying unmoving.

Edmund turned to Enzomian at once, trembling with anger and pain at the loss.

"We ought to get him," he said.

Enzomian smirked at him scornfully. "You don't think I'm going to waste my time on that, do you?"

"He might not be dead," Edmund argued hotly. He stood up and wiped his dirty hands on his trousers, peering over the edge. "We ought to help him. He is a soldier of Narnia and he deserves to be treated as such!"

But Enzomian had unsheathed his sword threateningly. "Move on!" he roared at the young king. "I don't care about your soldiers."

Glancing down, Edmund saw the wounded dwarf move ever so slightly. "He is still alive," he mumbled, then he raised his voice. "Since we can't do anything else, can one of my men have his bow back for a moment? We ought to shoot him, otherwise he'll lie there, wounded and in pain until he dies from hunger or thirst."

Hesitantly, Enzomian finally agreed to this. Edmund had to bite his lip not to cry out in frustration as Carron shot a mortal arrow at the wounded soldier.

Why, by his holy mane, had Aslan allowed such a thing to happen?

XXX

TBC