A/N: Currently in the process of editing and rewriting. Stay tuned!
Narnian Forest
Aslan's How
"Pete? Pete?"
High King Peter looked up from the maps of the How and the battlefield as Edmund burst into the War Room, eyes wild. The dark-haired king was panting from exertion, obviously having run over to alert his brother. Peter rose from his seat, instinctively reaching for his sheathed sword as his eyes took in his brother's disheveled appearance.
"Ed? What's wrong?"
The younger brother stopped at the entrance to the room and leaned against the wall to catch a quick breath.
"The Stone Table room. Trumpkin was going by the tunnel and said he heard strange chanting. We looked for Caspian and he's gone. So's Nikabrik."
Dread began filling the high king's heart. Nikabrik had been there during the meeting when they had all fought and Tempestra had stormed off. After Caspian had left, the black dwarf had followed shortly after, looking almost as resentful as the Telmarine prince had. If the two of them were up to something...He, Peter, should have followed Caspian and tried to talk him out of doing anything reckless. After the failed siege on Miraz's castle and the resulting heated arguments, the Telmarine prince was a pent-up explosive just waiting to blow. He was irrational, hot-tempered, and temperamental, and in that state of mind, he was liable to do anything rash. Chanting, especially, was never a good thing; it was usually accompanied by dark magic.
Trying not to look at Tempestra's sword still lying on the table, Peter strode over to his brother and clapped him on the shoulder. He was already getting a bad feeling.
"Let's go."
They went at a run, the three of them: Edmund, Peter, and Trumpkin. Once in the tunnel, Peter could hear the sound of crackling (fire?) and voices, one of them definitely female. Was it Tempestra? No, she was gone. It wasn't Susan, who was still disappointed in all of them, or Lucy, who was busy with other tasks. Then who could it be?
The answer was revealed the second they all turned the corner of the tunnel and saw the scene. As he sprinted the last few yards, Peter took it all in: the hag in brown robes, the werewolf in black robes, Nikabrik, and finally Caspian, who was reaching out with his left hand towards a wall of ice that stretched between the two pillars in front of the stone etching of Aslan. Within the solid wall of ice, reaching back for the Telmarine prince, was the White Witch. Fear froze in Peter's chest like ice, making his breath ragged. How could it be? The White Witch was dead – she had been dead for over thirteen hundred years.
Magic. Of course. As he came nearer to the entrance, the high king saw something thin and tall frozen on the step below the two pillars: a broken half of the White Witch's magical staff, the one that once could turn anything into stone. Now it seemed that it was the source of the ice wall and the ghostly White Witch herself.
"Stop!"
At Peter's shout, the hag, werewolf, and Nikabrik turned and ran to meet Peter, Edmund, and Trumpkin, who thundered into the room while unsheathing their swords. Nikabrik headed to intercept Trumpkin, which left the hag and the werewolf, who climbed over the Stone Table and dove for Edmund, who ducked. From the corner of his eye, Peter saw the werewolf roll on the ground then spring back up and begin to face off Edmund.
Then the hag was in front of the high king, who swung his sword at her. Cackling, she ducked. Using her loose brown robes to distract him, the hag seized Peter's right wrist and, with surprising strength, slammed it against the side of the Stone Table. With a cry of surprise, Peter dropped his sword, which clattered to the ground. Somewhere behind him, the werewolf howled and Edmund gave a shout of pain. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of red and knew that Lucy had entered. At that moment, however, he was focused on his opponent, who stood between him and his weapon.
Praying that Lucy, Trumpkin, and Edmund would be all right, Peter ran at the hag. In an unexpected and swift move, she swept her legs out and caught the young man behind the knees, causing him to fall onto his back. Clawed hands outstretched, the hag launched herself at Peter, who grabbed her by the robes and hauled her backwards. The hag flew through the air, hit a stone pillar, and crumpled to the ground where she lay unmoving. Peter twisted around and looked up. Caspian was still standing in front of the ice wall, his hand oustretched towards the White Witch.
Scrambling to his feet, Peter grabbed his sword and dashed towards the Telmarine prince. Angling himself, the young man shoved Caspian out of the way with his shoulder, throwing the Telmarine to the ground where he lay on his back, groaning. Ignoring him, Peter raised his sword defensively in front of him and faced off against the White Witch.
"Get away from him!" he shouted. The White Witch pulled back and withdrew her hand, then seemed to reconsider as Peter stared at her. Fear and anger thrummed in his veins, and his breath came out in short puffs to crystallize in the cold air.
"Peter dear...I have missed you." The White Witch's voice was pitying and just as poisonously sweet and condescending as it had been so long ago. She reached her hand out through the ice again towards him. "Come, just one drop." No. He could not let her out and allow her to roam free. Unless...if he did, would some kind of magic bind her to him and force her to do his wishes?
"You know you can't do this alone," the White Witch added knowingly. No. She was a notorious back-stabber and could never keep her promises. She was evil and greedy, and cared about no one except for herself. She would likely kill him and the rest of the Narnians as soon as she was released; she'd tried to already. They were enemies, always had been and always would be. He did not need her help.
And yet...he did. The Narnians were in a desolate state of affairs, with less than a thousand of them against an infinitely larger army of Telmarines, who had better-kept weapons, more sophisticated technology, and endless resources. And what did the Narnians have? They needed magic on their side to fight the overwhelming numbers. The White Witch could provide that magic. With her, they could wipe out the Telmarines and take back Narnia. Many Narnians would not have to die. Not like at the siege. They could win this war. All could be saved.
He began to lower his sword.
There was the sound of steel stabbing through the ice, and the White Witch gasped and pulled back her outstretched hand. They both looked down at her middle, where the point of a sword was suddenly protruding. Large cracks began spreading out from the sword, branching out over the surface of the ice. The two enemies stared at each other, Peter's face one of confusion and the White Witch's one of stunned surprise. Throwing back her head, the White Witch gave a chilling scream as the ice wall abruptly crumbled, breaking into chunks and collapsing onto the ground in front of Peter, who ducked and covered his head to avoid the pieces.
Once the ice had completely fallen, everyone stared up to see Edmund standing behind the two pillars, his sword still raised from where it had penetrated the ice wall. Caspian got up and came over to stand next to Peter as he rose. Edmund lowered his raised sword.
"I know," the king remarked to Peter, his voice both sarcastic and irritable. "You had it sorted." Without another word, he turned and walked off, leaving Caspian and Peter to stare at the stone wall now revealed behind the pillars. The stone carving of Aslan, illuminated by the flickering flames, seemed to be gazing at them. When the two young men turned, they saw Susan standing on the other side of the Stone Table, glaring at both of them in disgust. She glanced around at the bodies around them, looked back at Caspian, then turned and stormed off.
Peter watched his sister go, then looked at Caspian, whose face mirrored the same shame. They now had something else in common: in a moment of serious weakness and lack of judgment, they had disappointed their friends and family. In the process, they had forgotten the source of their hope.
"Peter?"
Peter looked around from his seat in front of the Stone Table to see Tempestra standing in the entrance to the room, watching him and Lucy, who had been holding a serious conversation.
"Tempestra?" He got to his feet, staring at her. "You're back?"
The young woman fingered the strap of her sheathed sword, which was slung once more over her shoulder. She had never seen Peter look so relieved to see her. Beside him, Lucy was smiling happily, if not a bit knowingly.
"Yeah."
As if sensing that the two of them wanted to talk, Lucy got to her feet and made her way around the Stone Table. About to pass Tempestra, the girl hugged her quickly around the middle, whispered, "I knew you'd be back," then set off down the tunnel. Nonplussed, Tempestra turned back to Peter, who was looking at her with a mixture of gladness and hope. When the vigilante came over and sat down next to him, the high king sat back down again, never taking his eyes off of her. They sat with their backs against the Stone Table.
"I heard what happened," Tempestra told Peter quietly, her eyes on the etching of Aslan on the opposite stone wall. "The others told me." For the first time, Peter looked away, his eyes coming to rest on the carving of Aslan.
"And?"
"And..." Tempestra shrugged, deciding to be blunt about it. "It was stupid. You could've unleashed a dangerous force on all of us. That being said..." She sighed. "You didn't. All of you stopped the ritual. At the cost of everyone's respect for you," she added as an afterthought.
Peter looked back at her.
"And you?" he asked her cautiously. "Do you still respect me?"
Tempestra rubbed her temples wearily.
"Yes. I know what you did was irresponsible and everything, but I can understand what made you almost give in. You were desperate." She turned her head to meet his gaze. "I feel like if I'd been there I would've slapped some sense into you."
Peter gave her a small smile as the remaining tension drained.
"You probably would've," he admitted, and Tempestra returned his smile, then glanced away. The high king became quiet, still looking at her and savoring the comfortable silence that stretched between them. Then, quietly, he asked, "What changed your mind?"
The vigilante looked down at her clasped hands. She understood what he was referring to.
"I had an epiphany," she replied softly. Again, she decided to be candid about it. She looked at Peter. "I can't get back," the young woman told him frankly. "It's impossible. So, I decided that if I'm going to be stuck here for the rest of my life-" she swallowed, then continued, "-I might as well be helping all of you instead of running. You and the Narnians need all the help you can get."
They were quiet for another moment before Peter broke the silence.
"Well, I'm glad you came back," he remarked, and Tempestra met his eyes. "When you left, it was kind of like when I returned to England last year after being in Narnia for fifteen years: raw terror." He looked back at the stone carving of Aslan. "After I understood that I couldn't get back to Narnia, I realized that I couldn't get back to rule Narnia, and I couldn't get back to you." He looked down. "I thought I'd never see you again."
Tempestra's gaze was soft as she looked at the young king, pity and the beginnings of affection welling inside her for the young man. Before Peter could react, she impulsively reached over and squeezed his hand. When he looked at her, surprised, she smiled.
"It's okay," she told him reassuringly. "I'm here now, aren't I?"
Peter's look became sober.
"And if we win and Aslan gave you the chance to go home, would you?"
The vigilante was lost for words. Luckily, the timely arrival of Edmund prevented her from having to answer Peter's question. The young king entered the room and stopped to the side of the Stone Table, looking at the two of them urgently.
"Pete...you'd better come quickly."
Glancing at each other worriedly, Tempestra and Peter got up and followed him out. Edmund eventually led them through a few tunnels that led to the higher levels of the How, then out into the sunlight on a ledge overlooking the grassy field. Lucy, Susan, Caspian, and a few others were already there, lined up on the edge and watching the border of the forest on the other side of the field. When Edmund, Peter, and Tempestra joined them, they glanced back at them then back to the forest, where movement stirred. A second later, the first line of Telmarine soldiers broke through the edge of the forest and paraded onto the grass, followed by another line, then another. Caspian and Peter glanced uneasily at each other, then looked back at the scene.
Before their eyes, a fully-fledged Telmarine army had marched out onto the field, organized into six groups of six hundred footsoldiers. They pushed four trebuchets (a variation of a catapult) and what looked like a mass arrow launcher carved into the shape of an eagle head. Four hundred more soldiers brought up the rear. Soon, two hundred soldiers on horseback rode between the groups and spread out in front, followed by soldiers brandishing the Telmarine banners, and what must have been the generals. Prominent among them was a man clad in gold-brushed armor and riding a white horse: Miraz. He stood out among his soldiers, all of whom wore plainer metal armor and rode brown, black, and gray horses. Their faces were obscured by metal masks crafted to resemble bearded faces permanently fixed in terrifying scowls.
"I'm guessing there's about forty-two hundred of them," Tempestra murmured in the silence that stretched on the ledge. More Narnians had come out to watch, most of them on the ground level. They muttered to each other restlessly. When she looked at Peter, however, Tempestra only saw cool calculation as the high king stared at the scene, his face thoughtful. The end of the long war was just beginning.