Rating: T for violence

Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia in any way shape or form, however, the twist that this works off of and much of the following plot is my own. Do not use them without permission, please.

Author's Note: Thank you once again to all of those who sent me reviews. This is by far my most successful story, and I thank you for that. Unfortunately, this chapter didn't come quite as easily as the last chapter, but I'm hoping that it will serve all the same.

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Edmund didn't realize his strength was beginning to flag. The slowing of his arm was so subtle as to not be noticed by him or, indeed, those he was fighting. Still, he'd spent a lot of time fighting recently and it was starting to wear him down.

All he knew though, was that there were still many Telmarines to kill and none of those in sight bore Susan's red-fletched arrow or the golden armor of Miraz. At one lull he paused and stood as tall as he could, trying to spy the man through the sea of faces. Predictably it met with no success. Gritting his teeth and eyes blazing, he threw his shoulder into the nearest enemy before spinning and sending his sword slicing across the man's midsection.

Continuing the motion, he suddenly pulled up short as a sword dove toward him. It stopped. The man holding it gasped and collapsed on the ground. "Aha! There you are, your Majesty!" cried his diminutive rescuer, but Edmund didn't hear it, he'd already turned and struck down yet another foe.

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Parrying a blade, Caspian quickly switched his grip to Half-Blade and swept the pommel into the other Telmarine's face, shattering the cheekbone and several teeth before twisting the sword so that the blade slid smoothly through a gap in the armor. The wide eyes of the dying man fixed on him for a long moment, and he got the awful feeling that he knew him. Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, he turned away.

Swiftly, he took stock of the situation. Somewhere out there in that swirling mass, he knew, or at least hoped, that Edmund and Susan were still fighting. For a moment he thought he saw Trumpkin a ways off, but he couldn't be sure. The overwhelming fact was they were loosing. The evidence was all around him, taking the forms of Narnian dead.

Then he came to an even worse realization. He was alone. No curly-horned fawns or stayers were near him, nor were there any more beast-like creatures. There was just the hard steel and blue uniforms of his own people. Feeling adrenaline pour into his veins, he barged his way through. At the last moment a shield shot out and intercepted him, sending him flying backward as lights flickered behind his eyes.

Stunned, it took him a long moment to clear his head and discover that he was laying on the ground. Then he noticed the gilded Telmarine that stalked toward him. Instantly he was on his feet. He held his sword out before him, waiting. This newest opponent had an all-too familiar limp. "No more petty kings for you to hide behind now, boy!" his uncle growled.

"I am not afraid of you," Caspian retorted, sounding like he was convincing himself as much as Miraz. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he waited for his opponent to make the first move. It did not help that the images of Peter's duel were still horribly vivid in his mind. Yes, Miraz was at a disadvantage thanks to the wounds the High King and Queen Susan had dealt him, but the fact remained that Miraz and Peter had been evenly matched and Caspian was no hero of legend.

All the response that Caspian received from his uncle was a barking laugh and an overhead strike. Instinctively, Caspian raised his sword to block it and the impact numbed his arm. Cursing, the prince drew back and shook his arm, willing the tingling to dissipate. Time was not granted to him though. The sword swept up to be narrowly deflected and it was all he could do to dodge the shield that was suddenly swung at him. With each swing his uncle took, Caspian found himself shrinking further back and deeper into Telmarine lines.

He wouldn't survive this much longer. Just then an image flashed through his head and he saw Peter strike at the wound he'd already inflicted on Miraz, bringing the big man down if only for a moment. Spotting his chance, Caspian stepped forward and brought his sword down on the shaft of Susan's arrow, causing the head to twist in the wound. Then he rolled under the feeble attempt at retaliation, and rammed his armored elbow into the injured thigh. It worked. At least, it worked well enough. Miraz stumbled and his nephew came up behind him, aiming a vicious swing at his back.

Miraz turned around. Experience was in the elder man's favor here and it showed. From the moment he'd gone down, Caspian could tell that he was expecting the young man's maneuver. Still, the prince was by far the quicker of the two, and he managed to split some of the rings on Miraz's shoulder, leaving a heavy bruise beneath.

"Perhaps you could have become a worthy Telmarine," Miraz mused as he fingered his new injury. The logic in Caspian's mind screamed at him to strike in that vulnerable moment, but his feet remained rooted in the ground. Rocking back and forth, he waited as his opponent rose. "Or perhaps not. You've always been too soft."

As if some switch was suddenly flipped, the two opponents suddenly launched into each other. Their swords clashed mightily. Miraz was tiring and his wounds were paining him more with every passing second. Silently, Caspian thanked Peter for that. Exerting all the energy that he still possessed, he increased the tempo of his blows until he could hardly control them any longer. Miraz fell.

Setting the tip of his sword lightly against the man's throat, Caspian stood poised to take life. "I would spare you," he offered quietly. Miraz simply kneeled there, fixing him with an iron glare. Feeling his hopes sink, the prince tightened his muscles and prepared to land the blow.

Then the ground erupted.

Roots writhed like snakes across the ground, upsetting men and beasts alike, and Caspian felt himself thrown back. Spying his chance, Miraz leaped to his feet and raced off with all speed toward his retreating army.

Standing slowly, Caspian looked up and around and was shocked to realize that the very trees had joined the battle. He closed his eyes. He opened them. They were still there. Mentally shrugging, the prince made his way toward the nearest knot of Narnians and joined the the pursuit.

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Time was inconsequential. He only marked it's passage by the hue of his sword. All his years of experience, all his training under the greatest swordsmen of the past age showed, as he slew foe after foe with barely a thought. There was something almost dance-like to his deadly movements, not that he'd ever been one to dance. If someone had not seen the men falling at every turn or the black wrath in his eyes, they might have thought it a beautiful thing.

Then he was jolted out of his rhythm. A finishing blow he'd sent flying had been deflected unexpectedly with a strong parry and he paused for a moment, measuring up this new opponent. It wasn't an overly large Telmarine, but he was lean and swift with a calculating eye.

Edmund faked to one side, then thrust his sword strait forward. It was blocked. Throwing a few half-hearted blows his opponent's way, he tried to lure the man into a relaxed tempo before ducking under the clanging steel and sweeping his sword at the man's legs. He met with air.

Edmund didn't have time for this. Miraz was out there somewhere, getting away with Peter's blood on his hands. This fight needed to end and it needed to end now. Growling, he launched a furious barrage of attacks. Suddenly fire raked along his left arm and he cried out, clutching it to him. Blood was dripping from his fingers. Cursing his foolishness, the king drew back studying his opponent with more respect than he had originally.

Their swords tapped each other lightly then, testing for weaknesses. Unfortunately, Edmund's was now all too clear as he hugged his shield arm. Then he noticed something about his opponent; the man was lightly favoring his right leg. Taking a quick glance around, he realized that the ground was horribly uneven just a few feet away. Quickly picking up the tempo, he dodged this way and that, struck again and again, trying to keep his enemy's mind occupied. Sure enough, he managed to force the other man onto the rough ground and the man stumbled. Edmund was waiting for it. Instantly his blade slid under the breastplate and the fight was over.

Looking out over the battlefield, he was surprised to see the enemy in a retreat that was quickly beginning to look like a route. He hadn't been paying much attention during the battle, but somehow he felt sure that it should have ended the other way around. Then he saw the trees. At a girl, Lu! he thought, a wintery smile on his face. He began to follow his countrymen in the pursuit of their foes. Then a hand reached toward him. Looking up he saw a centaur running alongside him, offering to pull him up. He took the hand and swung up onto the creature's back.

It was a good thing that the centaur had come when he did, though Edmund wasn't about to acknowledge it. Every muscle in his body was weary and even now his arm was throbbing with every motion no matter how subtle. Thus it was, he wasn't paying much attention to their course, but he came back to the matter at hand quickly when they stopped on the edge of the river. The Telmarine army was wedged between them and a pair of figures on the other shore. Lucy? Aslan? Edmund blinked and when the image did not change he felt hope flutter in his heart. Still, what were they against the forces who were preparing to flee over them?

The question was answered in a rather magnificent manner as Aslan roared and the waters changed. Suddenly a figure appeared in the water, smashing the bridge and sending the enemy swimming to whatever bank they could reach. Even better, most of them left their swords on the banks, signaling an unconditional surrender. Edmund slipped off the centaur's back and walked forward. Caspian and Susan were near at hand and they waded across the river together.

Aslan was even more beautiful than he could recall, and perhaps even bigger. That seemed rather odd to him, but he put it aside. Lucy rushed to him and he embraced her with his good arm. His eyes began stinging once again as he stood there. How could he tell her? Out of all of them, Lucy had always been closest to Peter. It would destroy her, he was certain of it.

Still, there was something else he had to do, and so he put off bearing the dreadful message for a moment while he turned to face Aslan and took a knee.

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Author's Other Note: For any of you who might be wondering: "Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning" to quote Churchill. Somehow I find that oddly appropriate considering the timeframe and location (in our world). At least, provided my muse doesn't run off to Fiji for a vacation.