Narnia:

When Children Cry

Part III

DISCLAIMER: Do I even need to write it? Not owning any of this, by the way.

Chapter thirty is up (Wow. Thirty chapters already?) and I hope you enjoy! Yes, I'm sorry I killed him, but it had to be done. Happy endings are unrealistic and altogether too fluffy. Also, I promise my chapters will get longer soon enough.

I'm also sorry I deleted In Narnia (if anyone actually read it), but I'm now co-authoring it with IridescentEpiphany. It is now titled Rendering the Powerful if anyone is at all interested. (It's going to be interesting, seeing how this book plays out, as our writing styles are almost complete opposites.)

Chapter Thirty

Dead

'Tumnus!'

That was the echoing scream that vibrated through the battlefield. It was the sound heard above the roaring of the Great River, the sound that carried over the bloodied battlefield now silent in Narnia's grave victory.

Edmund heard it at once, and his head jerked up attentively.

'Ed? You all right?' asked Peter.

'Didn't you hear that?' Edmund began to ready his horse.

'Hear what? Total and complete silence?'

'No. I thought...' The youngest king shook his head in confusion. 'I know I heard Lucy's voice.'

'Impossible. Lucy, on a battlefield? You must've just thought–'

'Peter, I know my own sister's voice when I hear it.'

The High King sighed. 'All right, let's suppose you did. What was she saying?'

'It sounded like... like she was crying.'

'Ah.'

'Peter, if you don't believe me, just say it. She was crying, and I heard her say "Tumnus".'

'Did you now? That's very peculiar. Considering she's known the chap for... oh, ten years?' Peter grinned. 'She says him name at least ten times a day.'

'I know I heard her, and–' Edmund was cut short with the sound of a horn, carrying from far over the distant fields of battle.

Peter was at a loss for words. 'Edmund... Ed, that's Lucy's horn.'

Edmund's leg went soaring over his horse's saddle. 'Well, don't just stand there, idiot, ride!' Savagely, he met heels to the horse's sides and galloped onward full speed.

With lightning speed, Peter saddled his mare and raced onward, taking no heed of the winds lashing over his face.

Something was going to happen, something important, something... something frightening. There was an inexplicable urgency pounding in every breath he took, every beat of the horse's swift hoofs. Hurry, hurry, hurry, faster!

As they came upon Lucy, Peter slowed his horse. There was she, coated in full armour – That's my old armour – weeping by the bank of the Great River, bent over a still corpse.

'Lucy, what are you doing here?' cried Peter, but she would not answer.

'Help him!' she screamed, voice screechy and full of tears. 'Can't you see he's hurt? Help him!'

Peter's thoughts rambled mindlessly: Why is she so worked up over one dead soldier? There are hundreds on this field, why just the one? If she wasn't prepared for the grief of battle, she shouldn't have ridden in. Where's her cordial? She can't have gone into battle without it. Shame on her for going into battle; she could've gotten killed! Who's that soldier she's so sore over?

'My God,' said Edmund, observing the cadaver. 'It's Tumnus.'

'Help him! He's dying!' she shrieked.

'Tumnus?... Dead?' whispered Peter. Not Tumnus, surely not he...

'He isn't dead!' she wept, though she knew it was true.

'Lucy, we can't help him now...'

'Don't say that! He didn't die!'

'Lucy – nothing can be done,' Edmund said, holding back his own tears. He bent down to his sister. 'We can't help him.' Lucy continued bawling, wringing her hands over Tumnus' limp fingers. Edmund wrapped his arm around her shoulder, saying it again. 'He's gone.'

Lucy threw herself onto her brother, sobbing beyond any aid. 'I know!' she wailed, then softer: 'I know.'