So at this point I'm assuming that many of you guys are going "OMG she actually updated!!!" I'm truly sorry for the long wait, and I hope I haven't lost the attention of most of you. I want to thank all of you that sent me messages and reviews asking me to continue this story. This chapter is for all of you. Anyways…enjoy and review.
Chapter 19
No Matter What Happens
Glozelle had been awake for hours. He tried to blame his lack of sleep on the hardness of the ground, or the pounding rain that flooded his tent and shook his roof, but he knew that it was not the damp earth or noise that kept him from sleep, for the sounds had long since quieted, and yet sleep was still nothing more than a faint ghost that refused to make itself present.
"Blasted girl," Glozelle growled to himself as he shifted his body weight, the true cause of his restless night staring hazily back at him from his mind's eye.
Hours earlier high alarm reached the camp as news of escape blew across the land with the same force as the roaring wind. "Two riders; both women," a young soldier had shouted over the rain to King Miraz, whose shoulders tightened instantly. The beat of Glozelle's heart increased as he looked to his angered King.
"The Wench?" Miraz questioned after a long pause, his eyes glaring forward into the dark. The soldier snuck a quick look at his General before finding the courage to return his eyes to Miraz.
"Yes, my King. She rides the same stallion. I recognize the other as well—the horse—not the girl," he mumbled before continuing. "It's Caspian's mare." Miraz's eyes immediately focused on the young man. "They have already killed nearly ten of your men, and they carry with them a child." The soldier looked scared as the new information wrapped itself around Miraz's mind; his shoulders hunkered closely to his body.
"Kill them both," Miraz finally spat before turning towards the light of his tent, only stopping when the entrance to the tent flapped violently towards his legs. "Bring me the child," he finished before disappearing into the dim light.
Glozelle's eyes remained on the King's tent for a few long moments before turning towards the soldier. "How many men follow them now?" he asked as he placed his hand upon the boy's back and slowly ushered him towards his horse.
"Around fifteen, General," the soldier responded, his body language indicating that he was far more comfortable now that King Miraz was out of sight. Glozelle's head nodded absentmindedly. He knew that sending more men would increase his chances of carrying out Miraz's wishes, but the weak part of his soul urged him to call them off completely. The girl had escaped death once, but he could not promise her survival a second time.
"General?" the soldier questioned over the rain; his voice dragging Glozelle from his private thoughts. "What are your orders?"
Licking his lips, Glozelle turned away from the boy and glanced towards the woods that surrounded the How. Somewhere, hidden by the rain and the whipping trees, two young women and a child were fighting for their lives. The hatred and anger that once fueled Glozelle's body was gone; lessened after his attempt to murder Caspian had failed, and completely extinguished after his eyes landed upon the broken form of his enemy's High Queen. Old Narnia fought for so much more than King Miraz ever could. They fought for love and honor. They fought for something worth fighting for.
Still, Glozelle had to send more men. His Sovereign commanded it.
"Lead ten more men," Glozelle finally responded. The soldier nodded in response to his order, his eyes filled with new excitement.
"Yes, General," he responded as he skipped slightly and turned on his heel.
Glozelle watched him go, his heart suddenly feeling heavy and cold. Involuntarily his hand reached towards the soldier; a lame attempt at stopping his fleeing form. Forcing his fingers closed and back to his side, Glozelle shook his head and returned to his tent. Quietly he sat upon his bed, the water from his cloak immediately soaking through the worn blankets. Glozelle paid little attention to the cold sensation, for his mind was overwhelmed with images of Cara's blood stained body.
Attempting to rid the Queen from his mind, Glozelle focused on the sounds that surrounded him and lowered his body completely unto his bed. He had done the right thing—he was sure of that—but his hazy dreams were littered with visions of the High Queen, her judging eyes keeping sleep from wholly embracing him.
And so, after hours of haunted visions, Glozelle finally abandoned his bed and brushed aside the flap of his tent. The morning was quiet despite the ciaos that ensued the night before. Soldiers lumbered around or huddled around fires, sipping thick black coffee and eating hard lumps of bread and dried meat. The somber feeling that drifted through the camp lightened Glozelle's heart—perhaps the High Queen had evaded death once again.
"Glozelle!" a man shouted from a distance, the morning mist obscuring Glozelle's vision of him. With squinted eyes, the General finally found the form of Lord Sopespian, a small man with wiry dark hair and twitchy eyes that never told the turn. Glozelle inwardly grimaced.
"Sopespian," he responded with a slight nod as the man came into full view and stopped before him. Glozelle noted the small smile that played across the Lord's lips.
"Glozelle," Sopespian repeated in a softer tone as his hand reached for the General's shoulder, drawing him closer. "May we speak bluntly?" he asked with a pointed look. Glozelle's brow furled as he nodded slowly. "Good," he continued as the two men began to walk. "Surely the happenings of last night illustrate our King's—," he paused for a long moment and waved his hand thoughtfully—"inability to control the savages," he concluded after finding the words.
"Inability?" Glozelle questioned.
"Perhaps the word is harsher than desired, but that young wench and her followers slipped through his fingers for a second time, killing over a dozen of our soldiers…" Sopespian continued to speak, but Glozelle's mind remained focused on a few simple words. Slipped through his fingers reverberated through the General's mind. Cara was alive. He had not been the cause of her death.
"…so you see, dear friend, it is our duty as protectors of this great land to enforce our ideals and to fortify the control that is slipping through Miraz's fingers," Sopespian concluded and look expectantly at Glozelle. Having missed half of what the Lord had said, Glozelle nodded quickly, his mind grasping none of what he just agreed with.
"Good," Sopespian responded.
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Edmund watched as a tiny, brown leaf separated itself from the branch clutched loosely in his fingers and fluttered towards the ground. It was morning. The air was cool and soft, and the sun was just visible as it caressed the tops of the trees. Seemingly unaware of the small group gathering behind him, Edmund took his eyes away from the now resting leaf and looked silently over the vast field that separated Old Narnia from the New.
The Telmarine camp was beginning to move, each man and horse looking to be nothing more than a wandering dot at the edge of the wood. "The giant is nearly ready, Sire," Glenstorm said softly as he came to stand beside his King, a branch clutched between his fingers as well. Edmund turned his eyes towards the General but said nothing. Without warning the ground shook slightly underneath their feet, but neither King nor General seemed concerned with the movement. The vibrations continued, each time louder and deeper.
"Shall we?" Edmund questioned once the shaking ground steadied itself. Now beside the General was Wimbleweather, his massive form towering over all in his vicinity. Glenstorm nodded to his King and absentmindedly swished his tail. With no words passing between them, the small group began their short journey to the Telmarine camp.
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"Perhaps they intend to surrender," Glozelle said softly to his King as both men watched the small group steadily approach. Sopesoian stood not far behind with the rest of the men that deemed themselves Lords, his eyes glaring steadily at Miraz's back and his mind milling over his earlier conversation with Glozelle. With little idea what filled the minds of most of the men behind him, Miraz lowered the spy wear from his eye and moistened his lips. "No," he finally responded to Glozelle's statement. "They are much too noble for that."
As the Old Narnian's continued to approach, Miraz's soldiers began to filter from the trees, there eyes wide with wonder at the strange shape of Glenstorm and the large size of Wimbleweather. Although most were witness to the attack on their stronghold not a week prior, the extraordinary creatures were still something to behold.
Miraz looked to Glozelle before motioning his head towards the approaching trio. Without a word the two men stepped from the safety of the forest and entered the tall grass of the valley. Nothing was said as the five men came to stand before each other, Edmund's eyes taking in the mass of soldiers that lay not a hundred yards in front of him.
"Come," Miraz finally said as his hand reached forward to clasp Edmund's shoulder. Glenstorm visibly tensed and stepped forward, causing Miraz to drop his hand to his side and step back. Edmund shook his head slightly at the massive centaur. With a pointed glare at Miraz, Glenstorm fell back to his earlier position. Offering a tight smile, Miraz returned his hand to Edmund's shoulder and ushered him forward.
"Might I suggest that your companions stay outside the camp, young Prince," Miraz said as he glanced wearily over his shoulder. "I feel that their presence might cause distress among my men, leading to conflict that could be avoided."
Edmund allowed a smirk to form upon his lips as he looked towards the tall King beside him. "But surely seeing their King under little distress will illustrate a feeling a safety," he responded. Miraz glared slightly.
"Of course," he answered after a long pause. "Come Gentlemen," Miraz shouted as he and his small party fully entered the camp. "Let us see what this noble, young lad wishes to discuss." With smirks of confidence the Telmarine Lords followed their King to an open tent, which held a table large enough to hold them all.
Not ten minutes later Edmund found himself the center of attention as he unfolded Peter's letter and began to read. "Peter, by the gift of Aslan, by election and conquest, High King of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Emperor of the Lone Islands. In order to prevent the abominable infusion of blood, do here by challenge the usurper Miraz to single combat upon the field of battle. The fight shall be to the death. The reward shall be total surrender."
A moment of silence spread throughout the tent as Edmund began to reroll the parchment. With a sigh Lord Miraz leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Tell me, Prince Edmu—."
"King," Edmund interjected, his fingers gracefully wrapping themselves around the letter and falling to his side.
"Pardon me?" Miraz responded as he pulled his legs back underneath his chair and moved his fingers absentmindedly along the blade of his sword.
"It's King Edmund, actually." Edmund began as he smiled softly at Miraz. "Just King, though. Peter is the High King," he continued, his eyes moving along the row of furled brows before him. Miraz looked beyond the boy to Glozelle, who responded with a small shrug. Noticing the look of utter bewilderment at the idea of more than one King, Edmund stifled a laugh.
"I know," he commented with a smirk that Miraz could not help but find condescending, "it's confusing."
Finding the laughter in the boy's voice far from amusing, Miraz fixed his eyes on Edmund and squared his shoulders. "Why would we risk such a proposal when our armies could wipe you out by nightfall?" Suddenly finding his humor, Miraz looked to the Lords around him with a light smile playing on his lips.
"Haven't you already underestimated our numbers? I mean, only a week ago Narnians were extinct," Edmund responded, his statement immediately ruining Miraz's new found humor.
"And so you will be again," Miraz retorted as his fingers flexed comfortably around the handle of his sword.
"Well then you should have little to fear," Edmund concluded, causing Miraz's chest to erupt with laughter.
"This is not a question of bravery," he explained.
"So you're bravely refusing to fight a swordsman half your age?" questioned Edmund with theatrically apparent confusion. Miraz's body visibly tightened as did the bodies of the men surrounding him.
"I didn't say I refused," Miraz commented as he leaned forward in his chair, the eyes of his Lords heavily upon him.
"You shall have our support your Majesty," one of the Lords interjected, "whatever your decision." Glozelle quickly noted that the speaker was looking more to Sopespian than his King. Edmund noted the silent interaction as well.
"Sire," Sopespian quickly continued, "our military advantage alone provides the perfect excuse to avoid wh—"
"I am not avoiding anything," Miraz clarified as he gripped his sword and stood menacingly over the smaller Lord. Edmund's eyes shifted between the two men, a small grin making its way across his lips.
"I was merely pointing out that my Lord is well within his rights to refuse," Sopespian clarified as he sunk dramatically back into his chair; the action more for show than from actually fear.
"His Majesty would never refuse," Glozelle added, joining the game. "He relishes the chance to show the people the courage of their new King." Miraz glanced quickly between both his trusted General and the Lord beside him. Their intent was obvious, but his pride pounded steadily with his heavy heartbeat.
"You," he finally said as he pointed his sword at Edmund's chest, "you should hope your brother's sword is sharper than his pen."
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Peter stared tiredly at his own eyes, his face reflecting back at him from the shiny gold of his shield. His body was soar and tired, and his mind seemed unable to focus upon anything. With a shaky sigh he moved his eyes away from his ragged reflection and rubbed them harshly with the tips of his fingers.
"Are you sure you can do this?" Edmund asked softly from a few paces behind his brother. Peter ignored his question, opting instead to tighten his jaw and reach for his armor. "As I mentioned earlier, Miraz's men are days away from tearing each other apart. Miraz is only in control through a title," he continued as he cocked his head towards Peter.
"Help me with this," Peter responded. It was a command, not a question.
Shaking his head in both frustration and amusement, Edmund stepped further into the room and towards Peter. He would have reached him in only a few short steps if a tiny, delicate hand had not grasped his arm and pulled him to a stop. With wide questioning eyes Edmund turned towards the pressure. Cara's free hand immediately reached his lips and softly silenced any sounds that might attempt to escape. Edmund's eyes grew even wider as they brushed over her ragged form, but he obeyed her wishes and made no noise. After a short moment he pulled her hand from his lips and gave her a silent nod.
With a small smile Cara stepped past Edmund and towards Peter, who was now fidgeting with a small strap that secured the armor across his chest and grumbling quietly to himself. "Truly, Ed, I cannot do this by myself," he finally huffed. Edmund watched as Cara slowly approached Peter before moving backward out of the chamber, a smile of contentment upon his face.
Cara's eyes softened as she came to stand behind Peter. His form was ragged and his shoulders where slouched. It seemed that the night was as difficult for him as it was for her. Staying silent, Cara pushed Peter's hands away from his armor and began to tighten each of the straps. Peter allowed his arms to fall at his side and rolled his head back just enough that he could stare blankly at the rocky roof of the cave.
"Do you think they are alright?" he asked softly after a long moment of silence. The words caused Cara to stop working momentarily. "What if—" Peter continued as his eyes continued to scan the rock above him, "—what if one of them doesn't make it? Will any of this truly matter if one of them dies? Will it still be worth it?"
Forcing herself to continue the task at hand, Cara swallowed the lump in her throat and finished securing Peter's armor across his chest. "Edmund?" Peter questioned, but was once again met with silence. "Ed, tru—," Peter said gruffly as he turned quickly intending to glare at his younger brother. Cara immediately pulled her fingers from Peter's armor and held them close to her chest, her eyes seeking Peter's.
The remainder of Peter's sentence drifted softly from his lips as his light eyes came into contact with Cara's dark. After taking two deep breaths he laughed breathlessly and pulled Cara's body tightly to his own. She responded instantly, her fingers losing themselves in his hair.
"Cara," Peter whispered as his lips found her neck and his arms lifted her from the ground. He held her silently with his eyes closed, savoring the feeling of having her warmth combine with his once again.
"Lucy? Susan?" Peter questioned as he gently set Cara's feet back on the ground, his worried eyes finding hers. Cara smiled softly as her fingers wound themselves with Peter's.
"There're fine, Peter," she whispered. Peter let out a shaky smile and leaned his forehead against hers. "I saw him," Cara continued, her fingers leaving Peter's and pushing slightly against his chest. Peter stepped back with a furled brow. Cara's smile faded as Peter's eyes refused to show any notion of excitement.
"Then where is he?" Peter finally responded. Cara's hands dropped from Peter's chest and landed at her side, her eyes filled with concern.
"He is with Susan and Lucy," she explained. "He sent me back here to be with you," Cara's words faded off as she stepped further away from Peter and wrapped her arms tightly around her chest. Peter's eyes swept over her ragged form before returning to her dirt smudged face.
"Every time we're parted you return as a dishevel mess," he said as a small smile touched his lips. Cara allowed a laugh to escape her lips before returning her face to a look of concern.
"He accepted, then?" she asked softy as her eyes moved over the armor that now covered portions of Peter's body. Peter simply nodded, but his shoulders suddenly became square and his jaw tight. Trying to suppress the feeling on panicked that was slowly building in her stomach, Cara cast her eyes down and took a deep, calming breath.
"I half believed finding Aslan would change that course of action," she whispered as she finally brought her eyes up to meet Peter's.
"You've accomplished your task," Peter responded, "allow me to accomplish mine." Cara nodded softly before seeming to decide something. Then, with her chin high and her shoulders square, she looked strongly at Peter and nodded again.
"Yes, my King."
The words hit Peter hard in the chest. Before him stood one of the most gallant women he had ever come across. Cara was a woman—though young—that had already witnessed years of bloodshed and tears; a woman that had led many a man into battle; a woman that had courageously acknowledged that the power of Narnia vanished between her fingers and now, Cara was a woman that was accepting the words of her King. Her King.
Cara was never a subject to anyone beyond Aslan. Now, without reprove or mockery, she was standing before Peter and accepting him as her leader. Peter, though still fatigued and burdened, felt confidence touch every crevice of his body. He was King Peter the Magnificent, and he was Cara's King.
Despite the seriousness of the moment, Peter could not help but allow a look of amusement to cross his features. Perhaps he would shorten his name. Cara's King suddenly seemed far more fitting and far more impressive.
Peter now understood Cara's title. Although very different, they were equals in their love for Narnia and their passion for honor and freedom. Cara was wild and spontaneous, the look of royalty bestowed only upon the clothes she wore and the tightness in her shoulders. All else about her was liberated and unrefined. Peter was the essence of royalty. Every movement he made was calculated and every word he spoke was level and sincere. Apart Peter and Cara were very near opposites, but taken together they created the perfect monarch.
Finally realizing what seemed now to be blatantly obvious, Peter had the sudden feeling of want flow through him. He wanted her in his arms now and forever. He wanted her beside him throughout the remainder of life's tribulations. With an overwhelming buzz of realization, Peter knew that no matter what happened in this life or the next, he would go to the end of the earth to keep her beside him.
Without a further thought, Peter crossed the few feet that separated him from his Queen. Seeming to understand what had passed between them, Cara flung her arms around Peter at nearly the same moment. Their lips connected as Peter's hands lifted Cara from the ground and pulled her torso flush against his. Although the kiss began swift and fierce, it quickly manifested into a slow, yet powerful embrace. Peter's tongue was warm as it moved with Cara's, claiming her mouth as his fingers began to claim her body. Cara's heart beat wildly in her chest, her body filling with a tingly sensation that was foreign until now. Allowing all thought of war and death to leave her mind, Cara pulled her lips from Peter's and sighed as his breath and tongue tickled her neck and chest.
"I'll never leave you," he whispered. Closing her eyes, Cara pulled Peter's head tightly to her chest and kissed his golden hair.
Unbeknownst to the lovers, Caspian stood awkwardly at the entrance to the small cave. Although the reason for his intrusion was important, he felt overwhelmingly selfish ruining the noticeably intimate moment. After moving his weight between his feet and running his fingers uncharacteristically through his hair, Caspian forced a small grumble from his lips. The sound was soft, but it was still enough to jolt Cara and Peter into embarrassed stillness.
Cara turned her flushed face slowly towards Caspian as Peter gently set her feet back on the ground. "Caspian," he said confidently as he refused to let a struggling Cara out of his grasp. The young Prince cleared his throat once again before acknowledging his King.
"Peter."
The usually self-assured High Queen was now standing rigid beside Peter and looking everywhere but at the young man. Breaking the tension between himself and Peter, Caspian looked him directly in the eyes and smirked. "I don't think I've ever seen her so quiet before. Nor so red." Although Peter smiled at his words, Cara's once dormant temper quickly spilled forth.
"Is there something you need?" she questioned as she pulled her hand from Peter's and crossed her arms over her chest. Peter sighed at her sudden change in attitude, but quickly reminded himself that her temper was part of what made her alluring.
Sometimes.
Attempting to stifle a laugh, Caspian returned his gaze to Peter. "Everyone is ready for you in the chamber of the Stone Table." Peter nodded in understanding before turning to look at the fiery woman beside him.
"Go wash, change, and get something to eat. I need you looking presentable," he told her; the last part embellished with a small smirk. Finding the irritation suddenly leaving her body, Cara nodded and walked with poise past Caspian and out of site. Both young men watched her go with bemused expressions.
"You're going to have your hands full," Caspian said with a laugh as Peter grabbed the remainder of his armor and followed Cara's pervious path.
"I know."
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Feeling as refreshed as one can feel when one has not slept for nearly an entire day, Cara finished braiding her dark hair back from her face and grabbed one last piece of bread before hurrying towards the chamber of the Stone Table. The emblem of the Lion gleamed across her chest as the dancing light of the torches grazed her armor, and the red of her skirts foretold the battle to come. The chamber was filled to the brim with apprehensive, yet excited faces. All capable of fighting were outfitted in armor and brandishing weapons ranging from thick, dagger filled stumps, to finely crafted swords and bows.
Surrounded by his most trusted men, Peter stood before the cracked table fully adorned in his armor with Rhindon securely at his side. Without turning away from his conversation with Edmund or Caspian, Peter's hand reached for Cara as she came to stand beside him.
"Good," Peter stated as he finally turned towards his Queen, "we're all here now." After placing a simple kiss on the back of Cara's hand, Peter unwound his fingers from hers and stepped forward.
"The Telmarine legacy ends today." Peter's beginning words echoed across the massive chamber and mixed with the immediate applause that erupted from his people. "Whether it be from the sword at my side, or from the collective effort of all that now reside within this chamber, Narnia's rightful leader shall be placed upon the throne and the tyranny that has dictated your lives will end." Again, the applause was deafening, yet the noise seemed to fill each of its creators with exhilaration and hope.
"By now all of you know the plan if war shall come to pass. Fear not the ending of the How. Though it has brought us comfort and security, its walls are no longer needed. From this day forth we refuse to hide within a crypt. Also, fear not the absence of the Lion," Peter looked pointedly at Cara. With a nod of understanding she came to stand beside him.
"At this very moment Queen Susan the Gentle, and Queen Lucy the Valiant, seek aid with the guidance of the Great Lion," Cara began as a voice near one of the giant pillars shouted before she could continue.
"How do you know?" Heads began to nod as the question reached the ears of those around the room. Murmurs of agreement began to fill the room. Waiting for silence to once again fill the hall, Cara stood proud beside Peter and looked over her people.
"I saw him," she finally stated. Looks of astonishment spread throughout the chamber, while eyes moved every-which-way as if expecting Aslan to suddenly step forth and make himself known. "He is not within the How," Cara continued, "but you must be filled with the knowledge that he is here in Narnia, with your Queens. Be filled with the knowledge that his power and glory beats within each of our chests. Be filled with the knowledge that he knows what is best for our people. I trust his decision to not be here now. As should all of you," Cara concluded. The chamber was silent for a few long moments before Reepicheep darted before Cara and raised his sword high in the air.
"We fight," he shouted. "For Narnia. For Aslan!" Cara smiled warmly at the gallant mouse as the chamber filled for shouts. For Narnia! For Aslan! Content with the feeling of hope that radiated from those around her, Cara turned to Peter and nodded.
It was time.
"Edmund and Glenstorm will be my seconds during the duel. I want the Bulgy Bear and Caspian close as well," Peter said to those around him.
"Where would you like Cara?" Caspian questioned as he moved forward. "She and Alvaro could lead the left charge under the How."
"No," Peter stated as he took Cara's hand and looked softly into her eyes.
"She will stand beside me. Where she belongs."