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Edmund pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and shook his head. "Lion's mane! That many?"

Peter nodded. "A hundred. That's what they said." Their voices echoed eerily off the stone walls in the throne room, magnifying them a hundred times, forcing any being present to hear them, bringing all eyes to rest on them. It was a constant reminder that they were no longer in charge of only their sisters, or only their friends. They had all of Narnia resting on their shoulders, from the smallest wren to the largest giant; the hard stone of carved thrones pressing into their shoulders kept duty at the forefront of their thoughts. Only Edmund was seated, however. Peter was leaning against the sidearm of Edmund's throne with a curved dagger in his hands (a smaller version of Rhindon; it was a companion piece to the larger sword, a gift from the dwarves of the south), relentlessly polishing the glimmering steel with a cloth. It was force of habit. Aslan had told him in a time of great crisis to clean his sword; in times of great crisis, he continued to do so, although it generally applied to any weapon within reach.

Edmund looked up, putting his hand back into his lap. He surveyed those in attendance. Being the middle of the night emergency, not all the Narnians originally included in traditional war councils were there. The tiger was missing, and a few others, but in reality, the attendance was remarkable. Oreius was there, along with a few of his best soldiers. Birds, the best of spies, hovering in the rafters. A bear and a panther, baring finely toned muscles as they paced. A giant, albeit a small one, had just managed to squeeze himself into the hall, which was, thankfully, very high for this very purpose. Many more magical creatures and talking animals filled the space, a crowd of perhaps twenty.

War councils were traditional, more ornamental than functional, held to allow the most prominent races in Narnia to represent their own opinions. Most present held their tongues. Their interests were well enough represented by their kings.

"So I suppose," Peter continued, not raising his eyes from his work, "The question is why. Intruders on Ettinsmoor land…I can imagine how that would result in something like this. But whatever killed those merfolk did so as an offensive maneuver. They were not stumbled upon, or accidentally found. They were sought out specifically." Edmund nodded. Peter's logic was military in nature, and, as usual, incontestable.

"Good kings…" A ram stepped forward and lowered his powerful horns respectfully.

"Speak, Lord Arend."Edmund said. He knew this particular warrior; it had been this ram who had taught him how to identify approaching messangers by the colors of their banners. A good Narnian, if a little vain.

"Good kings, might the situation be resolved by diplomacy? Surely an emissary might be dispatched?"

He was also new to the court, Edmund noted dryly, weighing the question. "Unfortunately, no, Lord Arend. No emissary can be dispatched because the Ettinsmoor has no government to speak of." Edmund shared a look with Peter. The ungovernable, lawless land of the north had long been a thorn in Narnia's side. Peter hated it because it was a threat to his country; Edmund hated it because it had once been her land, and no matter how much it thawed, it would always reek of winter.

"So we have no chance of diplomacy. We have, essentially, two options. Ignore the situation, and hope it was an isolated incident, or…" Peter paused here, and Edmund thought he caught an expression of desperation in his brother's eyes. "We go to war."

The ram bowed again and stepped back. Everyone waited in silence, eyes on the High King, waiting to see which of them he would ask for counsel. The largest among them rose a little taller. The wisest among them tried to look sage-like. The Narnian the High King consulted won immediate honor. So it was a surprise--and yet, not-- to all when Peter turned his head, looked Edmund in the eye and said, "What do you think?"

All attention turned to Narnia's youngest king. Edmund felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny. It reminded him of another time when severe, Narnian gazes had rested on him…

He forced the memory from his mind. Last time, he'd been a traitor; this time, he was King Edmund the Just, and he would not be cowed. The past was past…even if it seemed always at his heels. He looked at his brother. "I think…we should talk alone, Peter." Talking animal and magical creature alike seemed to understand. They filed out slowly, but obediently--although, the stag and the boar seemed a little put out--until at last, only the brothers remained.

Peter sheathed his dagger and crossed to his own throne, settled into it with both arms on their respective sidearms, back straight and gaze unfailingly ahead. Edmund knew what this meant; they were talking as kings. Their discussion was now official. He adopted a matching pose. "Well, Edmund. What do you think?"

"I just want to understand as much of this as I can. What are all the peoples you can think of that live in the Ettinsmoor?"

"Giants, mostly." Peter said.

"Giants," Edmund nodded. "Exactly." He paused here, looking uncertain. "I've been thinking, all this time. Peter, I'm not sure the source of the violence is the Ettinsmoor." Peter felt a stab of pride for his brother. Edmund was blossoming into a young man with a sharp mind, unceasingly logical, able to take any situation and take it apart until he found the source of the argument. Narnians were quickly learning the the High King was and brave and strong and smart enough…but if it was justice and equality they wanted, it was King Edmund that would give it to them. But all the same, the High King was not willing to discredit the word of the merfolk. They had specifically said that their murdered kin had been killed in the seas near the Ettinsmoor, and Peter believed them. If Edmund had a different idea, he would have to stand his ground and prove his point.

"Why not? We both know the Ettins clan isn't particularly clever, but they're not stupid, and they do kill for pleasure." Peter suggested, and wished he could see the expression on Edmund's face that was evident in his tone.

"But that's my point! Those giants kill for pleasure. If that was their intent, why would they bother keeping the tails? And how would the giants get out to sea in the first place? There's no ship I know of that could carry one without sinking."

"The river Shribble is close to the Ettinsmoor. Mefolk can come upriver, if they choose."

"Why would they? A hundred merfolk, going upriver? It's unheard of. The most I've ever heard is four or five, when food runs low in the bay."

Peter, not one for debate, was beginning to lose his patience. "So what do you think is the source, if not the Ettinsmoor?"

"The Wild Lands of the North." A surprised silence was Peter's only response. Edmund, emboldened by his older brother's momentary deliberation, continued. "The White Witch's army was in absolute pieces after her death. We tracked down as many as we could, but when you think about the size of the original army and then the portion from that that died in the battle? It's a large portion, but not the entire army. What's to say part of it isn't still out there? That army's capable of building ships, and capable of this kind of violence."

"And they're reforming in the Wild Lands of the North. It would make sense for them to spread to the Ettinsmoor." Peter shook his head. "I hate to think it, Ed, but you might be right."

They both sat in silence for a moment.

"What do you think?" Edmund said at last.

"War."

Edmund took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I think so too. But I think we both should go."

Peter started. "No."

"Yes. Peter, we're talking about an army, not the rabble we've been fighting here in Narnia for the past year. Our military response has to be just as large and that will take two commanders. And if you tell me no again," Edmund continued, sensing his brother about to speak, "I shall be forced to simply move in a --how do I say it-- "parallel direction" to your army with my own personal force. And you know I will."

Silence. Edmund could almost hear his brother's dilemma. It wasn't as though Peter was overbearing or too overprotective (generally), but he was loathe to put his siblings into any dangerous situation. As far as he was concerned, his siblings, most especially, his brother's blood was more priceless than anything. But Edmund would not be swayed, and Peter knew the threat to follow the High King with his own fighting force was in earnest.

"Alright," Peter said, sounding annoyed. "But you are to obey me when I tell you to do something, understand?"

"That's hardly a change, you bossy thing." Edmund quipped, grateful that he was out of Peter's reach. "Now, we just need to gather the army…"

"Not our entire force. But a large one, because their army's mobile, already on the march to Narnia. Coming from land, probably."

Startled, Edmund's head whipped sideways. "How do you know?"

Peter didn't turn, merely kept looking forward. "Think about it. A hundred merfolk tails. Can you imagine how many beings --as barbaric as it is to think it-- that would feed? And if it wasn't an accident with a giant, what other purpose could there be for that kind of slaughter? And if they're traveling by land, there's nothing that will keep better than fish. Or something like a fish." He shuddered.

"I think you're right. I…I've been in the north. That place is barren and dead, all of it. If more than a few creatures needed food, there'd be nowhere to turn but the seas."

"Our conclusion is, then, that there is some kind of malevolent force of substantial size in the Wild Lands, which threatens the safety of Narnia. We'll send out scouts of course, the eagles, maybe, just to be sure. But if our fears are confirmed, Narnia goes to war. We agree. "

"Yes."

"Then it's time we hand down our decision." He stood, keeping his regal posture. Edmund followed suite. If Peter thought it wise to keep the mantle of High King for now, his brother would do the same.

The High King of Narnia left the throne room, with King Edmund the Just close behind.

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It wasn't until the next morning that Peter saw Lucy again. After a long night of writing official decrees and other such trivialities necessary to assemble a Narnian army, Peter was preparing to throw himself back into bed and stay there. Edmund, his own room much farther away, had seen fit to simply share his brother's room for the time being. Their hopes of an easy day's sleep were dashed beyond recognition as soon as they entered. Susan had placed herself on the corner of the bed, a dainty needlepoint in her hands, pulling the thread with calculated coolness. Lucy was pacing, but threw up her hands and rushed to throw her arms around her brothers, catching Peter's leg with one arm and Edmund's with the other.

"Oh, Peter, Edmund…is it true?"

Edmund, exhausted, couldn't grasp her meaning. "Is what true?"

"She means the war." Susan yanked her thread back through the fabric, with a little more force than was necessary.

"Yes. It's true, Lucy." Edmund tousled her hair.

"So are you going away, or Peter?" Lucy looked as though she had just received a slap to her face. Her eyes were watery as she looked up at Edmund, her hair escaping from the gold circlet about her head. Peter's eyes were on his oldest sister, however. Susan looked the very picture of deliberate indifference, but Peter could see the slight sag to her shoulders, and the clumsyness of her usually deft fingers. The brothers shared a look.

"Actually, Lu, it looks like it might just be you and Susan here for a while." Peter said, slipping gently from his sister's grasp, leaving her to collapse into Edmund's arms, her sad little cry of disappointment fading as Edmund scooped her up and headed into the hallway. He gave Peter an encouraging smile and shut the door.

Susan made no sign that she noted Peter's presence, even as he settled onto the bed next to her. Her fingers were still doggedly tracing out the pattern in the cloth with her needle even as he spoke. "What's the matter, Su? And don't tell me off, because you're obviously upset."

In that common feminine way, Susan changed tactics. She slammed the needlework down on the bed beside her and whirled angrily on her brother. "What are you thinking, Peter?" The High King was wise enough to be silent. "What are you thinking, running off to war? And taking Ed with you! You'll break Lucy's heart, you know that." She concluded with an angry sound in the back of her throat. She picked up the needlepoint again and furiously pulled another two stitches through. Peter watched her a moment, then slid closer, slipping his arm around her shoulders.

"I don't think this is about Lucy." Susan's work slowed and stopped. She sat chewing her lip, her hands limp in her lap, the needlework dangling. "Come on now, Su, what's wrong?"

"I just…I'm so frightened, Peter." She reached up and grabbed hold of Peter's hand, which clenched a little tighter around her shoulders.

"Frightened? Of what? Ed and I won't be around, that's true, but it's not like we're leaving Cair Paravel unprotected. In fact, half of the centaur brigade is staying here…"

Susan interrupted him with a choking sob. "Not that, Peter, I know that you wouldn't just leave us here, with no body to look after us…it's…well…oh, you great idiot, can't you understand without me spelling it out for you? I'm worried about you and Edmund!" She laid her head on Peter's shoulder, sniffling. It was a very strange sight, the normally inflappable Susan in such a state.

"Oh, Susan," Peter said, softly. "We'll be alright. You know Oreius won't let anything happen to me, and I won't let anything happen to Ed. We'll come back safe and sound."

"You can't be sure. And what about Narnia? I…I know Aslan made me a queen. But I can't help but feel that…He meant for queens and kings to rule…not just queens. I don't know if I can do it. Lucy's so young. If anything happens, it's up to me to take care of it, and I'm not sure I can." She sat up and pulled away from her brother, looking down into her lap. Her hands were shaking.

Sorrow for his sister's despair dug deep into the High King, and the tear that slid down her cheek seemed to twist the barb all the deeper. He didn't have all the answers, but as a brother, all he could do was try. "Susan," He said, cupping her chin in his hand and forcing her to look up at him. "You think you're the only one who's afraid?" Peter couldn't help a subdued smile. "Su, there are things that scare me everyday. Being afraid is…well, it's a good thing."

"How could it possibly be a good thing?" Susan said, scornfully. Peter ignored it; her anger was directed at herself, not at him.

"Because being afraid is different than being a coward." The oldest queen gave her brother a quizzical look. "You're being afraid for someone, you see? The fear you're feeling? It's a sign of your character. You were always the most capable for compassion, Su, always. You remember when we first went to the Professor's house? You mothered us all almost to death!" Susan smiled wanely, encouraged by the smile on Peter's lips. "But you did it because you loved us so much. Even though Ed was a cad, and I was bossy, and Lucy wanted to go home. You stood by us anyway. And you're afraid now, like you probably were then. But now there's more to think about than just me and Ed and Lucy. We've got all of Narnia on our shoulders." Peter squeezed Susan's hand. "I know you're frightened, but you have to let Edmund and me go. You've got all of Narnia to mother now; you'll hardly miss us anyway."

Susan nudged him playfully. "And you really think Lucy and I can handle Cair Paravel on our own?"

"Think about it this way: There are a million children in England. Out of all of them, Aslan chose you to be queen. I think you're quite capable."

And wiping the last of the tears from her face, Susan had to agree.