"Now I bear little resemblance to the king I once was
I bear little resemblance to the king I could become"
-East by Sleeping at Last
—-
Peter was woken by a pounding on the door. He groaned.
After Edmund's broadcast, he'd stayed up late, wracking his brain trying to figure out how to get to his siblings. How was he supposed to save them from the White Witch all by himself? He didn't have an army. He didn't even have his sword, Rhindon.
It was all he could do to maintain his composure, to not break down. In all his years as king, he'd never faced something this big without having at least one of his siblings or his troops at his side. And now he was completely alone.
Save for one person. The Professor had sat up with him, mostly keeping him silent company. Actually, probably to keep Peter from running off and doing anything stupid.
They must've fallen asleep at some point.
Peter got up from the chair he'd fallen asleep in, shaking the Professor awake on his way over to the door. He cleared his throat, so at least he wouldn't sound like he'd been sleeping, even if he knew he looked the part.
He opened the door and gasped.
His mouth dropped open.
There was a faun standing on the steps. A faun. Dressed in Narnian armor. Holding a Narnia bow.
A faun.
Peter fumbled for something to say, settling on a hoarse and shaky, "Good morn."
"Good morn," the faun smoothly responded. "We are looking for High King Peter Pevensie, can you—"
Peter surprised himself by responding before the faun finished, "I am the High King Peter."
The faun studied him, and Peter added, willing his voice to remain steady, "May I ask your name, good my cousin?"
"Vimal." The faun still sounded skeptical.
Vimal. Peter paused for a moment, trying to remember who this faun was. Had he been in the army when Peter had been king?
It struck him after a moment. The faun was a lieutenant, who'd been killed by giants two years after Peter and his siblings had defeated the Witch. Peter had been there when it had happened.
"Lieutenant, I'd like a full brief of the situation."
The faun studied him closely, then said, "Follow me."
Peter glanced over his shoulder at the Professor, who looked a little dumbfounded.
"I'll be right back sir," Peter said to him, and followed Vimal down the steps and across the yard.
They crossed the lawn, walked down the road and rounded a corner.
Peter stopped in his tracks.
There was an entire Narnian regiment spread out in front of him, still loosely in formation. Which told him they hadn't been here long.
"General!" the faun called.
Peter stiffened. General? That meant—
"Lieutenant, what have you found?" a very familiar voice answered.
General Oreius moved through the crowd of Narnians. He froze when he saw Peter.
Peter was frozen too.
He wasn't alone. That was Oreius. His general, his friend, of fifteen years. Maybe there was a chance his siblings could be rescued.
But there was still the Witch. And how would they get into London? Peter didn't know if there were more Narnians, or if this was it.
A sense of despair washed over him, far more potent than any he'd felt since the first battle of Beruna.
The High King of Narnia fell to his knees with a sob, unsure if it was a sob of despair at their odds, or a sob of relief that he wasn't alone.
It took Oreius all of ten minutes to calm Peter down. His general had deposited him in a tent and shoved a cup of water into his king's hands.
Peter reached up to wipe his eyes, then took a shaky sip of the water. Aslan, when had he gotten so emotional?
"Focus," Oreius said. "I want to know the full situation before you continue to carry on."
Focus. Oreius was right, he had to focus. He might just have the tools now to save his siblings.
Peter let a small smile cross his face. Oh, how easy it was to fall back into this role. He took a steadying breath, and looked his general in the eyes.
"Jadis is back."
Oreius' face went pale.
Peter forced himself to continue.
"She's taken over a city in this world called London, trapped it in winter, cut it off from the rest of the world. I," he paused. "Edmund and the girls live in London."
Oreius opened his mouth to speak, but Peter held up one hand, calling for silence.
"We have these, devices that transport sound over long distances, Ed could tell you how they work. He got a message out using one–" Peter couldn't stop the pride that slipped into his voice, "-declaring himself as the king he is and vowing not to let her take London."
His face fell. "But I fear he was captured. And I don't know what happened to the girls at all."
"You are certain it is the White Witch?" was all Oreius asked.
Peter nodded. "Edmund is certain."
"Then you have all of Narnia's army at your disposal."
Peter stared up at him. "All of it?"
Oreius nodded. "They will be glad to have you back. I'm, glad to have you back."
"How long has it been since we vanished?" Peter quietly asked. He assumed that little time had passed at all for Oreius, even if thousands of years had vanished when they'd returned to help Caspian.
"Two years, your majesty." Oreius sounded amused as he added, "Though you seem to have aged in reverse."
Peter waved a hand as he stood up. "It's complicated. But we can catch up later." A swell of hope surged through him, so far flung from the despair he'd felt only ten minutes before. "We have work to do."
"My thoughts exactly."
The Professor had looked quite astounded when Peter had introduced him to the Narnian army.
Or what little was there. More and more of Peter's soldiers trickled in throughout the day, including a whole troop of dogs and a half dozen bats.
He'd wasted no time in changing into his Narnian clothes, and strapping Rhindon to his side. It was a familiar and comforting weight as he strode into the war tent.
The Professor had lent them over a half dozen maps of England, and was explaining to Oreius where they were when Peter walked in.
Peter stepped up beside them, watching as Oreius moved troop markers into place.
His general glanced down at him, asking, "How many soldiers does the Witch have?"
"I don't know," Peter admitted quietly.
"Then we'll add that to the list of things we need to find out."
"How long will it take for the rest of the army to arrive?" Peter asked.
Oreius stamped his hoof. "Too long. I split them up to look for you, and without maps, we can't tell them where to meet us."
The Professor spoke up, pushing his spectacles up his nose, "Then we send gryphons out with maps to locate the rest of your troops."
Peter exchanged a glance with Oreius, who nodded.
"We can direct them to London and amass the army there."
Oreius began to gather up the maps. "I'll issue the orders."
Peter gripped Rhindon's hilt tightly. He addressed one of his captains, "Celer, fetch me the half dozen bats that arrived earlier."
"Yes your majesty," the faun said before hurrying off.
Peter waited in silence, composing a message in his head.
The faun returned a moment later with the half dozen bats dangling from his arms, armor and even one from his hair.
Peter resisted the urge to laugh at the sight. Celer, for his part, didn't complain.
"Who is in charge among you, cousins?" Peter asked.
The tiniest bat among them squeaked out, "I am sire."
Peter reached forward and gently took the bat off of Celer's arm. "What is your name, good my cousin?"
"Twilth, your majesty."
Peter gently cradled the tiny bat in his hands. Edmund had been fond of the bats when they'd ruled in Narnia. They'd always been his choice of messenger.
"I need to get a message to my brother."
Twilth listened as Peter relayed his message. With Celer's help, the bats launched into the slowly darkening sky.
Peter watched them go. He had every faith that they'd find Edmund. The question was what condition his brother would be in when they found him. Peter could only hope that he'd be alive, and that he'd be able to tell the bats everything they needed to know.
Celer eventually left to help the steady trickle of arriving soldiers get settled. That left Peter alone in the war tent to pour over maps and wrack his brain for a strategy of attack.
He took his crown off, running a hand through his hair. For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, Peter found himself wishing desperately for his brother, for Edmund's sharp mind and strategies.
He sighed, pulling a map of London toward him. Where would–
"King Peter?"
Peter looked up.
Sir Giles Fox stood in the entrance of the tent. Satisfied that he had his king's attention, the fox continued.
"An ambassador has arrived. He claims to be of the English Army, though I will admit none of us know what army that is."
Peter shot to his feet, snatching his abandoned crown off the table. He kept his voice steady, hiding his nervousness as he said, "We are in England. The ambassador will be from the army of the land we occupy."
He hurried out of the tent, donning his crown. He could see Oreius's head over the crowd, and his general waved him over.
Sir Giles was on his heels as Peter strode through the crowd. He squared his shoulders, making sure he looked the part of king. This first impression, first contact, had to go well. Especially if they hoped to march on London.
The crowd of Narnians parted for him, and Peter laid eyes on the English soldier. The poor man looked incredibly nervous to be surrounded by creatures he'd probably only ever heard of in myth and legend.
He even looked relieved when he laid eyes on Peter, probably just because Peter was human.
Peter stopped before the man, looking around at the Narnians.
"Give the man some breathing room cousins."
The Narnians didn't hesitate to clear out, even if some of them went reluctantly.
Peter faced the man again, glad that Oreius hadn't left.
"What is your name–" Peter checked the insignia on the soldier's uniform, "-Lieutenant Colonel?"
The soldier cleared his throat, nervousness still evident in his tone, "Lieutenant Colonel Matley, sir."
"I am High King Peter of Narnia," Peter responded. He gestured to Oreius and the Narnians still milling about behind them. "This is my general and my army. We're sorry if we've caused you any alarm. We're amassing here before we march to London to free her of the sudden winter."
"Well, your majesty," the soldier added as an afterthought, "we've already made contact with someone who claims to be of," the soldier paused, as if uncertain how to pronounce something, "Narnia."
Peter exchanged a glance with Oreius.
"I can send for them if you like."
After a moment, Peter said, "Certainly."
Peter led the soldier to the edge of the camp. He could see a small group of English soldiers gathered now. They parted as Peter and the messenger approached.
The messenger stopped, turning back to Peter.
"Here is our contact, your majesty."
Peter peered past the messenger as a boy who couldn't be much younger than Edmund stepped out of the group of soldiers.
The boy gasped, exclaiming, "Peter?!"
"Eustace?!"
I hope you liked this chapter! It was more Peter centric this time, I promise we'll get back to Edmund next chapter!
Vimal, Celer and Twilth are kindly borrowed from Elecktrum. Thanks again!
The next chapter won't be up for about a week; I'll be spending the week with family. But the moment I'm back, it'll be up!
Leave a review if you liked it!