Chapter Six: Peter

"We call it a Swimmer Bear, Your Majesty. A few dozen of them live out here in open water. Amphibians. Not friendly in the least. And not small, either."

Peter shot his little companion a look. "I suppose that's - somewhat descriptive."

The bear was nothing like the Bears that Peter had known last time he was in Narnia. For one thing, this Swimmer Bear was easily as big as the Pevensies' house back in Finchley. From where he was crouched behind a log, he could clearly see yellow saltwater stains on its foot-long teeth and claws, despite the lines of bright red gore currently running over them. He was pretty sure there was a string of some poor soul's intestines lodged between the bear's front teeth.

The trick with gory, bloody battles like this one was to think only about movements, and actions, your own and your enemies', and avoid thinking disconcerting words like 'intestines.'

Peter shook his head. Twenty minutes ago, he'd met Reepicheep on this island, which was separated from the mainland by a stretch of a hundred feet or so - Peter could tell this must be where the peninsula had finally succumbed to waves and become an island. Five minutes ago, the Telmarines on the opposite shore had boated across the stretch of water to attack him and Reepicheep (well, assuming they'd even spotted Reepicheep, which would have been impressive at any distance). Three minutes ago, the Swimmer Bear had reared up out of the water and started making sandwiches out of the Telmarines. Peter and Reep had done the sensible thing and dived behind the log for cover; the Telmarines had completely lost their minds in panic. Since it had been twenty Telmarines against two Narnians, Peter was glad enough that the bear had stopped in. He'd have been more glad if Bear Lunchtime weren't quite so gruesome to watch.

As the bear tore an arm off a screaming soldier, Peter made a face at Reepicheep. "Pretty nasty fight."

"A bit one-sided, at this point," the mouse answered.

The last three Telmarines left standing had hopped back into a rowboat and were already half-way to the other shore. The other soldiers were strewn across the shore, moaning, waiting to be eaten.

"Reepicheep, this is disgusting. It's pretty risky for us, fairly impossible odds, but - "

"I've been waiting for you to ask, Sire."

"It'll probably be death by bear claw for us both."

"I can take him with one paw behind my back!" Peter raised an eyebrow at him. "...But if the worst should befall us, know that it's been my great honour to serve you, Your Majesty. The deepest honour any rodent could hope for."

"Reep, you've only just starting serving My Majesty about a quarter of an hour ago."

"All the same."

Peter winced, watching the bear tear off the head of one of the Telmarines. "For Narnia, then?"

"For King and Country!"

Peter and Reepicheep gave each other grave nods, and together they leapt out of the brush, across a stretch of sand, and into a screaming, hurtling attack.

"Oy! Over here, you - you -" Peter wasn't too sure what sort of insulting name would draw the attention of a bear with teeth like knives and paws the size of tabletops, but the noise seemed to have done the trick. The bear lifted its head from the leg of the moaning Telmarine. It sniffed once, then growled at Peter.

"To me, you big ugly brute!" he said, tightening his grasp on his makeshift weapon (a tree branch).

"Hope you aren't addressing me, Your Majesty!" Reepicheep had already darted forward into the bear's path. As the bear lowered its head to charge, Reepicheep leapt nimbly onto its snout and raised his little sword.

Not to be outdone, Peter rushed forward to club the bear in the nose just as Reepicheep strung his sword into the fur just under its eye. The little mouse fell into the sand as the beast flung its head backward and roared in pain. Taking advantage of the bear's confusion, Peter leapt onto its shoulder, ramming his tree branch club against the side of the bear's enormous skull. The bear swiped out blindly with both arms, swinging its head back and forth.

"Woah! Woah woah woah!" By jumping from one shoulder to the other, Peter just managed to dodge its long claws. It was difficult to tell whether the bear was actually injured or just annoyed - either way, its convulsions became more and more frantic. Reepicheep wasn't helping matters much, given that he was using his sword as a lever in order to climb up the bear's side, jabbing it in and jumping upward. The bear bucked back again. Abandoning his tree branch, Peter dug his fingers into the bear's sleek fur to avoid being bucked off backward, but just as he did so, the bear pitched forward, throwing them both face forward into the sand.

Reepicheep recovered first and darted ahead, stabbing at the gaps between the bear's toes. The bear gave another anguished roar - Peter could have sworn he felt the sand shaking underneath his feet - and kicked out at Reepicheep, who went flying in the other direction and lay still on the sand.

Peter growled himself, but he had no time to spare to check up on his friend - the bear was closing in. Rolling to one side, he grabbed for a weapon - the sword of a fallen Telmarine was embedded in the sand only a few feet away - but as his fingers closed on the hilt, he realised too late that the bear was swiping out to flatten him- he wouldn't have time to raise the sword - he flinched as the paw came down -

And was intercepted by another sword. Peter swiveled to face the newcomer, who was now taking the bear on, sword stroke for paw swipe. Where had he come from? - this couldn't be one of the soldiers from the boats, since he wasn't in uniform like the rest, but his dark hair and complexion definitely marked him as a Telmarine. He looked young, and fierce, and fairly reckless.

Whoever he was, at least he wasn't on the bear's side.

Just as Peter came to this conclusion, the bear got lucky. A massive claw caught the young man on his unprotected left side. With a small cry, the stranger collapsed on the sand. The bear moved in to bite.

But Peter was there already, standing over the fallen stranger and stabbing upward into the bear's mouth. He felt bear blood drench his arms as his sword sunk deep, deep into the flesh of the bear's mouth. Instead of rearing back, though, the bear lunged forward, snapping its jaw shut over Peter's sword and shattering it completely. Looking up into its foaming, bloody mouth, Peter only just had time to fall backward - its yellow teeth were inches from his face -

And then an arrow flew over Peter's shoulder and lodged in the center of the bear's forehead. The bear leaned in, slightly cross-eyed. Peter kicked out and backpedaled away.

Another arrow landed squarely next to the other. The bear swayed, swiped one last time with its paws, then groaning, fell dead on the sand.

And on top of Peter's legs. Heavy.

The beach was suddenly still. All he could hear or sense for a moment was his own breathing, and then calling crookedly to Reepicheep, he leaned over to check on the strange Telmarine who had come to his rescue a moment before. The Telmarine was already straightening up, wincing and clutching his bloody side. They nodded at each other, still out of breath.

Peter wriggled out from under the dead bear. He smiled. Victory.

He heard footsteps approaching, then a gruff voice.

"Begging your pardon, Caspian, but what sort of mad idiot heroics do you think you're playing at?"

Peter looked over his shoulder. A grumpy Red Dwarf with bow in hand was giving the stranger next to him a very dark look. "How do you expect me to protect and preserve your livelihood, when you insist on picking fights with every Bear and Worm and Reptile we come across? And Squirrel, for that matter?"

Peter stifled a laugh. "You pick fights with Squirrels?"

"Only the rabid ones..." The stranger - Caspian - frowned petulantly. "They deserve it."

Peter really did laugh then. Getting to his feet, he reached out a hand to help Caspian to stand, but the Dwarf swatted him away and began examining Caspian's wound. Peter turned to check on Reepicheep, but found the Mouse already recovered and perched on the Swimmer Bear's forehead, arms crossed and tapping his tiny paw.

"...alright, Reep?" Peter asked.

The Mouse nodded curtly, scowling at the Dwarf, who glanced up at him. "Still breathing, are you?"

"I didn't need your help, Trumpkin!"

"Looked to me like you did."

"I had him retreating!"

"Yes, he looked terrified. I especially liked your tactic of getting kicked in the head and fainting completely. Very effective."

Indignity didn't seem to agree well with Reepicheep - his spluttering response to Trumpkin was rather squeaky and high-pitched. Turning his back so as not to let the Mouse see him laughing, Peter gave his surroundings an appraising glance.

Their intervention hadn't done the Telmarines much good, unfortunately. There were only a few survivors of the Bear's initial attack, and they were all on the opposite shore now, scurrying away from the boats and makeshift outposts that lined the beach and into the thick forest. Amid the bustle, one man stood leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, in plain view of Peter's company. Even at this distance, it was obvious he was staring at them. It was hard to tell exactly, but the man seemed out of place somehow - certainly he wasn't a Telmarine, judging by the foreign cut of his clothes, and he looked too tall and fair to fit in with the darker race. His features - chiseled jaw, pursed lips, hard eyes - were as still as his stance: Peter watched the man's gaze linger on Caspian, on Trumpkin and Reep and the fallen Bear, and come to rest on Peter himself. They held eye contact for a long moment before the thin man turned and slunk into the shelter of the trees behind him and disappeared.

Interrupting Reepicheep's long-winded monologue (which Trumpkin and Caspian seemed to be ignoring), Peter gestured across the water. "Reep, who was that?"

"Him?" The mouse turned, caught a glimpse of the retreating man, and spat on the ground, making a wet spot a little smaller than a pea appear on the sand. "They call him the White Tiger."

Trumpkin and Caspian shuddered and spat as well. Peter gave them both a look.

"If you knew what he'd done, you would too," Caspian answered his unspoken question.

"Nevermind him," Trumpkin cut in. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Peter," he said with a grin, extending his hand.

Caspian frowned. "Peter who? How did you get here, anyway? First you invade my island hideout, then you take on all my enemies, abscond with my rodent, save my life from a mad giant bear -"

"Don't get carried away now, it was sort of a mutual saving -"

"- and you don't even have the decency to carry a title, so now I'm indebted to some lucky commoner -"
Trumpkin cleared his throat: " - with rather unfashionable clothing, I might add -"

"Watch it, you two!" Reepicheep sliced forward dramatically, his tone becoming a tiny fierce growl. "Do you know who this is? Who you're talking to?"

Peter felt his face get a bit hot. The look of reverence on Reepicheep's tiny face was getting more than a little embarrassing. "It's alright, Reep. They are pretty unfashionable trousers, even where I come from."

"Not for the High King of Narnia, they aren't." At these words, Caspian and Trumpkin both froze. Trumpkin gave Peter an evaluative look, and Caspian shot a curious, disbelieving glance at Reepicheep. Clearly enjoying their amazement, the mouse made an elaborate, sweeping bow and addressed his Peter directly. "Perhaps I might have leave to introduce Your Majesty to Prince Caspian the Tenth, formerly of Beaversdam, and Dwarf Trumpkin, formerly of moderately good humour and intelligence -"

The dwarf tossed a rock at the mouse, while Peter made his own bow, trying not to smile at the look of growing incredulity on Caspian's face. The prince opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking. "That's not...You don't mean..."

Reepicheep drew himself up and let his words roll. "Prince Caspian, may I introduce you to your childhood hero, your stay in times of struggle, your anchor in anguish, the figure who is inspiration to all free Narnians, your - "

"King of Narnia, et cetera and so on, Peter farting Pevensie," came Edmund's voice. Peter wheeled around. Edmund was meandering toward them, shaking his head flatly. "Who promised last night that he wasn't going to use the pawn, didn't he?"

"Er... I sort of..."

"Who agreed we'd talk things over with Susan first?"

"Well -"

"And who first thing he does when we're here is pick up a piece of wood and attack a 30-foot tall bear -"

"The bravest king Narnia has ever seen!" Reepicheep interjected. The Pevensies boys turned around. Reepicheep and Trumpkin were both pressing fingers to forehead in a salute; Caspian was struggling to his feet. His look of adulation was undaunted. He managed a shaky bow and spoke in a hushed voice. "My King."

Edmund crossed his arms. "Stupidest king Narnia has ever seen."

Peter decided to change subjects. "Where's Lucy?"

"Coming along behind. She went to see if she couldn't find her cordial. We saw the whole thing from the hilltop, there."

"And Susan?"

"Back in the trees. She's a bit - ah, unenthusiastic, about all the blood and guts around here - I stayed with her as long as I could -"

Caspian's knees collapsed then, and he sank back onto the sand, eyes and mouth open wide. "Susan? I've met Queen Susan - and you're Prince Edmund, and Princess Lucy, that's Princess Lucy there -"

Peter snickered and ruffled Edmund's hair. Edmund growled almost as menacingly as the bear had. "It's not Prince, it's King, and Queen for Lucy as well - it's not that difficult -"

"- And you're King Peter, you're High King Peter -" Caspian continued without taking any notice of Edmund.

"And a sodding idiot -"

"Idiot or not, I'm at your service, Prince Caspian," Peter spoke over him in a loud voice. "I'm sure my brother would offer the same, if he could locate his manners -"

"And I'd like to offer my services as well!" Lucy shouted, emerged from the woods and trotting down the beach toward them. She waved a glistening bottle of red liquid at them. "Immediately, if you don't mind, Mr. Caspian."

"It's just Caspian," he squeaked, sounding a bit like Reepicheep.

"Alright, Just Caspian, sit down and open up - you just need a drop -"

Peter watched Edmund's eyes narrow. "I'm Just Caspian - I mean, Just Edmund -"

"Jealous a bit, Ed?" Peter smirked.

Edmund flushed. "I'm just trying to remem- " He stopped suddenly, eyebrows twitching. There was a half-moment of odd silence.

"...trying to be bossy, aren't you?" Lucy followed up, shooting a dark look at Edmund. "We're up there on the hill, trying to see what's going on, right? And Ed goes 'Don't move, and don't faint,' and takes off running - 'Don't move,' as though I'm just a baby..."

"Just trying to keep you out of trouble!"

"Trying to get into it yourself, you mean, except that Peter and Caspian here beat you to it -"

"For once -" Peter cut in, smirking.

Edmund turned on him then. "You're the one who's always going on about me being a danger to myself - and then you attack a giant Beast, spawn of the Devil himself, for all we know, with a stick for a weapon-"

"He wasn't the Devil's," Trumpkin interrupted, making all three Pevensies realise that their entire argument was being followed by the others like a tennis match. Peter and Edmund turned to him, curious, while Lucy returned to inspecting Caspian's newly-healed chest. "That Beast was one of ours, actually. Well, sort of ours. Come from the line of Talking Beasts, but they went wrong somewhere, turned out brutal, worse than savage. All that type are really only on their own side, but-" (he jerked his thumb at the dead bear) "-his timing was pretty advantageous for you two dunderheads -" (he pointed at Peter and Reepicheep, who squeaked again)" -wandering out here for anyone to see. He must have been excited - all those unsuspecting Telmarines, like Christmas breakfast... He may not have been a Narnian, but at least he wasn't a Telmar."

Even Reepicheep nodded agreement to that.

"All sorted," Lucy proclaimed then, patting Caspian lightly on the head. "Still looking a little peaky, but that's just the shock of things, I imagine."

"How's Susan, anyway?" Peter asked her.

"Still throwing up back there in the bushes. She looked like she might be there a while. I told her to meet us by the Keep Wall."

Keep Wall? Peter started up, then, looking past the beach and the immediate trees for the first time, taking in the details of the far landscape, the ruins rising over the low cliff to the north. They looked awfully familiar... "Hang on - Lucy, do you mean the Cair Paravel Keep Wall?"

"Yes," everyone in the group said together.

"Obviously," Edmund added.

"Takes the long way there, doesn't he?" Trumpkin muttered.

"That's what I've been saying - " Edmund said.

"Ok, enough talk," Peter said, adopting a natural tone of command. "These men might have been our enemies, but they still need proper burial. We'll tend to that, then we'd better scoot up into what's left of the Keep - you have some sort of camp up there?"

Caspian nodded. "In the trees, though. The Keep is haunted."

Reepicheep scoffed, but Trumpkin nodded. "It's true. Used to be a Telmarine camp here, but then about fifteen years ago, couple of ghosts appear out of nowhere in the middle of the night. Covered in blood and making wild noises. Telmarines cleared right off, and no one's been here since."

"We only came here as a last resort," Caspian said. "Those Telmarines have been on our tail since we left the Riga - we had nowhere else to go."

Reepicheep grinned. "Didn't actually expect to meet ghosts though, did we? And now here you all are..." He looked delighted.

"We aren't actual ghosts, you know," said Lucy.

"Like hell you aren't," said Trumpkin. "Beg pardon, Lady. But you lot have been gone from Narnia for - how long now?"

"...well over thirteen centuries," Caspian finished quietly.

Peter's mouth fell open in surprise, as did Lucy's and Edmund's. What...?

A long silence came over the group, and for a while they just looked at each other, staggered. Edmund pressed his forehead. Lucy sank to her knees. Peter nearly did the same. The others looked reluctant to say anything.

Finally a sad keening sound reached their ears, but it hadn't come from anyone in the group. Peter turned toward the sound - it had come from one of the Telmarine soldiers.

"Luce, your cordial- "

She blinked at him. He grabbed it from her hand and spun on his heel toward the Telmarines.

He paced through the corpses. It was impossible to tell who was still alive. "Hello? If you can hear me, let me know -"

A short groan answered him, from a man lying facedown a few feet away. Peter knelt beside him. The Telmarine's right leg had been chewed off at the knee, and he was bleeding from a deep wound on his back. Easing the wounded man over, he coaxed the man's mouth open and set a drop of cordial on his tongue.

"There, now..." he soothed, as the soldier gasped and began to tear up. Cordial healed wounds, Peter knew, but it didn't do much for terror, shock, or loss of blood, and it certainly couldn't re-grow a leg. Peter pressed his palm to the older man's forehead, brushing blood from his salt-and-pepper hair. "You'll be alright. Lie still a bit, we'll get you somewhere safe. Reep, will you check the other soldiers, see if there are other survivors?"

The Mouse saluted briskly and raced off to inspect the Telmarines. Trumpkin and Caspian moved to follow him. Peter realised he rather liked this new bunch - quite obedient.

The man in Peter's arms shuddered again.

"You'll be alright," Peter repeated. "What's your name?"

"Whatever you like, milord," he coughed. "I owe you... my life. Do what you like with it now."

Peter was defintely starting to like the inhabitants of this new Narnia, thirteen hundred years or no. "Very kind of you, sir. Let's stick with your original though, shall we?"

"Glozelle then, sir. General Glozelle."