A/N: And here's another chapter! Last chapter was the most reviews I've ever gotten so far, and we've gotten to fifty already! You guys are so great!
Thank you to Green for the lovely review you left! And to my other guest reviews! I'm glad that people are enjoying this story and all of your reviews for the last chapter were very encouraging and sweet. Please keep reviewing! I like to hear what you guys have to say about this little story.
Chapter 13
The bounty hunter had been offered men, to travel with him on his search for the boy, but he declined, telling the Tarkaan paying him that he preferred to work alone. It saved time and his patience, which was considerably short with other people, but not so with searching for his prey.
He was beginning to regret that, not for the lack of company but simply for fairing the desert terrain. He had been this far North before, but that had been a long time ago and the last trip had not been so pleasant.
He had found what he assumed to be the boy's tracks, leading to the edge of the city before they disappeared altogether.
But he was not Calormen's best tracker for nothing.
The boy had gone into the city on an errand for the Tarkaan, that much he had learned before leaving the Tarkaan, and he traced the boy's footsteps all the way to the shop to which he was supposed to have gone, on the outskirts of Tashbaan.
There any traces of the boy seemed to have disappeared, as if he was at one moment there, and the next, vanished into thin air. It did not help that the Tarkaan had commissioned the bounty hunter for this task so long after the boy's disappearance, he reflected, or he might have already found the brat.
A thought occurred to him that had not before, as his mind ran over the intricate details of the sand around the boy's tracks. There had been something scraped along the ground in front of the boy, something that distinctly resembled...a burlap sack.
Was it possible that someone else knew who the boy was, and intended to use him as ransom?
The bounty hunter had gone to see the shopkeeper the brat had been sent to then, slipping into his house through the back door near nightfall when there were no customers.
The shopkeeper was a tailor, hard at work at his sewing when the bounty hunter entered; he didn't even look up. He wasn't married, and lived alone. That much the bounty hunter had learned simply by watching him for the day.
The bounty hunter slipped up carefully behind him, coming in through a window, yanking his silver-hilt knife silently from its sheath. It had cost him a few baubles at the market today, but it was a fine knife.
The knife let out a soft ringing when it was removed from the sheath, and that, at least, caught the old tailor's notice. He stiffened, but did not set aside his sewing. Apparently he wished to go out with his trade in hand, literally.
A moment later, the blade was pressed against the tailor's leathery neck, and the bounty hunter could feel the tailor's Adam's apple bob beneath it in fright. It was a thick neck for so thin a man, and he would have to cut deep to draw blood.
"There was a boy who came here, a little over two weeks ago, at the order of two royal blue robes and a silken gown for a certain Tarkaan. Do you remember this boy, O talkative tailor?" The bounty hunter's voice was raspy and cold, though he was beginning to feel hot in the black garb he wore.
The tailor gulped once more, the blade choking him, but he managed to squeak past it, "I remember the order, but not the boy. As I recall, no one ever came to collect it. Now release me, and we can talk about this like civilized people."
The bounty hunter had to admit, he was impressed with the tailor's bravery, but in the end, it would do the man no use.
"You are certain? He was a whipping boy. You would remember him, I think," the bounty hunter demanded, his grip on the knife loosening slightly, but he did not pull it away.
"Yes," the man gasped, as a small trickle of blood made its way down his taut throat and onto the collar of his tunic. "No boy ever arrived here for them. If you would like them, I can go and fetch them for you. But I was promised to be paid when someone picked them up..."
The bounty hunter released his grip on the tailor, and the man slumped forward, gasping for air. He dropped his sewing in an effort to stop the bleeding at his neck.
Then, without another word, he hurried into the other room to get the finished parcels.
By the time he had returned, the bounty hunter was already gone. He had no interest in the Tarkaan's clothes, anyway. His only concern was the boy. The Tarkaan could send someone else to collect the clothes and hope they didn't get kidnapped or run off along the way.
This was turning out to be more interesting than the bounty hunter had originally thought it would be.
He went back around the shop to the boy's shoe prints, and squatted in the sand, studying them carefully, ignoring the people hurrying around him to get home.
The desert was next, and the bounty hunter rode out of the city during midday, taking with him a flagon of water. But there were no signs of the boy in the desert, either, as he might have guessed. In fact, there was no sign of anyone but him.
The only person stupid enough to travel through the desert had to have had help, and a lot of it.
He doubted the boy had such friends in high places.
It was as the bounty hunter was returning to Tashbaan; annoyed at his own failure and wondering how long he had before the Tarkaan grew bored and murdered his sister, that he happened to look East, towards the sea.
Just as a merchant ship was leaving port, headed North, probably to bring trade to Archenland. Its beautiful, full white sails flapped in the wind, the symbol of King Lune of Archenland bright against the afternoon sun.
And the bounty hunter kicked his heels into the nag he rode, swearing bitterly at his own folly.
ǁ
High King Peter glared at the dwarf after the creature finished his conditions for the parley. "She wants me to come into her castle?" he demanded. He hadn't really heard all of the other conditions, stuck on that one, one of the first the dwarf had mentioned. Oreius shifted nervously beside him, glancing up at the side of the valley where the giants of Harfang sat waiting for battle. Their king leered at Peter, as if daring him to start the fighting now.
Peter, Oreius noted, didn't even seem to notice the Giant King.
Peter marveled at this condition. The Witch must truly think him an idiot if she thought he was going to step one foot into her enchanted ice castle. His two siblings were already stuck inside, after all.
The dwarf nodded, glowering at the wolves he deemed entirely too close for comfort. For their part, they were working to retain their growls, hackles rising in silent warning. "And you must come alone. That is one of her conditions, yes."
"Your Majesty-" Oreius began, but Peter cut him off, turning to the dwarf with flaming blue eyes, hand clasping the hilt of Rhindon. The dwarf quaked for a moment underneath that intense gaze, and then looked down, unable to hold it.
"If the White Witch believes me fool enough to fall for that-"
"Her Majesty bids me to remind you that she holds captive your brother and youngest sister now, two of the usurpers to her throne. She bid me tell you that if you do not agree to come and negotiate, she will kill them both and set both of her armies upon you in an instant."
The dwarf seemed to have regained his courage in that moment, if only because the Witch spoke through him in her twisted message.
Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was only after the fact that he realized how hopeless this made him look in front of his own army. But he didn't know what to do. If only Aslan were here, then the lion could shine some light on the situation, advise him about how to best deal with the White Witch.
But Aslan wasn't here, and Peter seriously doubted he was ever going to show up again, considering recent events. This was the darkest period Narnia had been in since the beginning of the Golden Age, and if the Lion was not willing to assist with this...
It didn't matter. His siblings were in there, alone and frightened. Aslan knew what the Witch had been doing to Edmund ever since catching him, and Lucy had just witnessed the deaths of her mice regiment.
He glanced up at the two armies flanking his own and took a deep breath. There was nothing he could do. King Lune had not come to their rescue, and Susan was locked away in Cair Paravel. A negotiation with the Witch, though it screamed against everything Peter stood for, was the only way his army was getting out of this alive, and likely the only way the Narnians were, as well.
Not to mention his little brother and sister.
"I will go to this parley with the Witch," he stated resolutely, before anyone could stop him.
"Your Majesty," Oreius took a step forward, hand lying threateningly close to his sword.
This time, Peter paid attention, turning so that his back was to the dwarf and declaring in a low voice to his general, "I must do this, Oreius. We do not have enough men to win this fight. An agreement can be made."
"What agreement? We both know the Witch will not compromise anything. If you do this, Narnia will belong to her. Your Majesty, we have fought against greater odds before," Oreius tried, desperately, to come up with a solution that wouldn't entitle his king going alone into the Witch's home. He could not see any situation where that turned out well.
"But never without Aslan," Peter countered, wincing slightly at the reminder. Did Oreius think he didn't know the stubbornness of the Witch? She had only consented to spare Edmund last time because she thought she was getting a better prize, in killing the Lion. Because she thought that, without the Lion, Narnia would fall.
Oreius nodded shortly. "Your brother and sister are trapped by the Witch. The Gentle Queen holds Cair on her own, and will fall without our support. Narnia cannot afford to lose you, too, my king, or all is lost. Please, I must protest. We do not know if Aslan will not come soon." The first vestiges of emotion appeared in the centaur's eyes then, and Peter blinked in surprise. He had never seen his general break before, and the sight was enough to let him know how serious the situation was.
"Oreius, I must do this. More than just my life is at stake. And I believe that Aslan has made it quite clear that we are on our own this time." He hated himself, even as he said the words. Somehow, saying them seemed to make them all the more true.
Oreius dipped his head in submission. "As you wish, my King." Then he turned to the dwarf, eyes challenging the creature to refuse him. "But I will go with you."
"No!" Peter and the dwarf said at the same time. The sound of his voice, mingling with this disgusting excuse of a Narnian, made him cringe a little.
Oreius took a step forward, hand on his sword, very obviously daring Peter to refuse him this. Peter shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and leaned forward, voice so low when he did speak that only his general could hear him.
"You must stay here, to rally the men in case...this does not go as planned. And do not forget, that the Witch does not know we sent for help in Archenland."
Oreius glared stubbornly. "You know as well as I do, my king, that if Archenland had gotten our message and intended to help, they would have come by now."
Peter could be just as stubborn when it suited him. "King Lune has never failed us in the past, Oreius."
Oreius clasped Peter's shoulder in warning. "King Lune has not been the same since the kidnapping of his son, my king. I do not think we can depend on him in this."
Peter put a hand on top of Oreius' own, giving him a cool smile. "Just...be prepared for anything. You're the only one I can trust for that."
He pulled away, voice rising, "But I will not be going into the Witch's castle alone. I am not suicidal, after all."
The dwarf looked ready to protest, but Peter beat him to it. "I will be taking my wolf guard with me."
His wolves glanced up in surprise, and then, one by one, grinned evilly at the dwarf. This was one duty they would be honored to carry out.
The dwarf attempted a feeble protest, "Her Majesty's wishes were clear-"
"If 'Her Majesty' is afraid of a few wolves, whom she seemed to have no qualms about in the past, then perhaps we should meet down here instead, where there are far less of them," Peter snapped, sick of all this posturing.
The dwarf blinked, then let out a long-suffering sigh and turned back to his pony, struggling to get back up on it. No one stepped forward to help him. Once he settled, he turned tiny, piercing eyes on the High King.
"If you and your...wolf guard would be so kind as to accompany me," he said through clenched teeth, "the True Queen of Narnia is waiting."
Oreius stiffened at the obvious insult, but Peter ignored it, gesturing for his wolves to follow behind him as he climbed up onto his steed and took off after the red dwarf.
ǁ
The bounty hunter stared hard at the secretary in charge of chronicling ships that landed or took off from Calormen's main port. He was a little, wiry man, wearing loose spectacles, his long grey hair falling down over a tanned face, and he had proved to be most unhelpful in the bounty hunter's search for the boy.
In a way, he reminded the bounty hunter all too much of the unhelpful tailor.
He was beginning to regret all those years he had spent slaving away in the dwarf mines. He had lost his touch, and many of his contacts. And he knew this little man was hiding something, but it had nothing to do with the boy he was looking for.
Rubbing his temples in frustration, the bounty hunter leaned over the secretary's shoulder, trying to make some sense of his scribbled notes. "Are there any ships leaving for Archenland soon?" he demanded, making a choice quickly as the old man's eyesight, helped along by filthy spectacles, simply could not be trusted for this sort of interrogation.
The secretary poured over his notes, absently rubbing the two gold pieces the bounty hunter had given him for his knowledge. "The next one is in two weeks, sir."
The bounty hunter ran a nervous hand through his hair. Two weeks, and any manner of things could have happened to the boy, and he could lose his sister.
"Very well," he turned to go, but then thought better of it, turning back to the old man. "Have there been any...suspicious characters who've left recently for Archenland?"
The old man suddenly lit up. "Come to think of it, yes. There was one talking Narnian beast on one of the first ships this month, a mangy wolf creature whom everyone steered clear of. Shocked me, it did, that such a creature would be brave enough...or perhaps foolish enough to come here, of all places, knowing what the Tisroc, may he live forever, does with them. Alone, he was."
"How long ago?" the bounty hunter demanded, leaning close to the man, one hand on the hilt of his knife. "And the other ships? How long have they have been gone?"
"Well, the first ship left first day of the month, and just recently returned. The other ships were two and three weeks ago, I'd think. Wait, where are you-" the bounty hunter glanced down at the parchments with departure times on them once more, and then disappeared around the corner, "going?"
"Ah, well," the old man shrugged, sitting back down, "but these are nice gold coins."
It wasn't much, but it was all the bounty hunter had found so far, and he might as well be going to Archenland in search of the boy anyway. The Tarkaan had mentioned family there.
But he wouldn't be taking a ship. There simply wasn't time for that. He would have to do something far more suicidal; cross the desert to the North. It would certainly be quicker...if he managed to survive the trip.
But he had done it once before.
ǁ
Peter rubbed his hands together nervously as they neared the White Witch's castle, her faithful gathering in a semi-circle behind and in front of Peter and his wolves. He could just barely make out the Narnian camp in the valley below.
The Castle was much different than it had been when Edmund disappeared through those closing ice doors. Peter remembered an imposing, terrifying ice building, long spires reaching high into the sky. It had been night time then, making it all the more fearsome.
But the castle in front of him now barely looked half as magnificent. Half of it was gone, all that had been ice, Peter assumed wryly. It didn't look nearly as bad as it had the first time Peter had seen it after the Witch's demise. Then, it had hardly been a fortress, more of an ancient relic.
Then they passed through the iron gates, into the castle, and Peter learned the full extent of the Witch's concealment spell.
He gaped, unable to hold shut his mouth as it swung open in shock. As they went through the gate, the ice spires seemed to suddenly appear, ice grew quickly on iron, and the Witch's castle was at least twice the size Peter remembered it being.
The ground, too, was now covered in a sheet of ice where a moment ago it had been dirt. There were even new stone statues sitting in the middle of her courtyard, though not nearly as many as there had once been, and Peter was grateful for that.
And there were hundreds of the Witch's faithful flocking into the courtyard.
The gates closed behind Peter and his entourage ominously, and his wolves let out a few frightened whimpers, the likes of which he had never heard from them before.
One of the Witch's agents let out a snicker at the sound and Peter turned around to glare at it. He wasn't even entirely sure what it was, all covered in muck and dried blood.
When he turned forward again, the Witch was standing in the doorway of her castle. The sight made him jump on his horse, much to the amusement of her agents, and his dogs began to growl fiercely at her.
She paid them no mind, staring intently at Peter, as if searching his very soul. Then she blinked, something he couldn't remember her ever doing, and looked away.
She looked just as he had remembered her; long, flowing hair pulled back, ashen face, and red-rimmed eyes. She wore a long, flowing black gown, much like the one she had worn during the Battle but with lace sleeves and no hair from the lion this time.
Just another reminder that Aslan was nowhere to be found.
He reflected with a grin of triumph that at least her ice crown was gone. At least the Deep Magic still recognized him as High King of Narnia.
The Witch suddenly lifted a hand, and for an irrational moment Peter was frightened that her hand was, in reality, her wand and she would turn him to stone. Then she gestured towards her castle and said, with a smile, "When you're ready, Son of Adam."
Peter blinked at her. "Where are my siblings?"
The Witch simply gave him an amused smile and stepped inside, her flowing gown dragging against the ice behind her. She was gone in the next moment, rounding a corner and out of his sight.
Biting his lip in a vain effort not to call out after her, Peter slid down from his horse and unsheathed Rhindon, wanting to be fully prepared to face her. Rushing up the icy steps, he went through all the tactics Oreius had taught him. His wolves followed after him as he walked inside the castle, their hackles raised in anticipation.
The Witch's faithful did not follow them, nor did the dwarf. Peter wondered briefly at that.
He was just in time, once he entered the castle, to see the Witch's flowing gown round another corner.
Forcing himself not to sprint after her, Peter followed.
He reached the throne room seconds after her, and pulled up, his wolves skidding to a halt behind him.
The throne room was filled with creatures; minotaurs, hags, dwarves, wolves, and, surprisingly, centaurs. That sight pained Peter the most. And there were other Narnians that he wouldn't have expected to join ranks with the Witch, but he was too focused on her to pay them much attention.
As the White Witch walked past her ranks to the throne room, they parted like water before her. There was that same amused smile on her face as she stepped lightly up onto the first step in front of her ice throne, fully restored, like the rest of this horrid castle.
He had never been inside when it was like this, and the result was a little overwhelming. And cold. So, so cold. He was beginning to wish he had worn warmer garments. It was cold outside even now, too cold for summer, but in here it was dead winter.
The White Witch finally came to a stop, inches away from her throne, and held her head high. One of her wolves let loose a howl, and then the Fell Creatures began to chant, "Long live the true Queen of Narnia! May she triumph over her enemies!"
The chant swelled, and Peter could feel the hate-filled glares of the Fell Creatures as the Queen slowly took her seat on the icy throne. A centaur stepped forward and draped a heavy white fur around her shoulders like a mantle.
No, as if it were a crown.
And Peter realized with horror and growing dread that she didn't need to be crowned. Even as he stood there, small icicles started forming, climbing out of her hair in spikes as they once had.
Aslan had truly abandoned them.
Peter took a hesitant step forward, and received the growls of every Fell creature in the room. Rolling his eyes, he turned to the Witch.
"I came here under the impression that you wished to negotiate, Jadis."
Her faithful snarled at that, but the Witch just smiled that same look of amusement, lifting a hand to silence them.
"Empty threats and pointed blades," the Witch grinned down at him, and he suddenly felt dwarfed in this throne room, surrounded by the Witch's agents. He should have never agreed to this.
He wondered if this was how Edmund had felt when he came here to betray them, but instantly threw the thought from his mind. This wasn't anything like that.
Isn't it?
"It seems you haven't changed since the last time we met, Son of Adam. And like the last time, my rights must still be observed."
"Then state your terms," Peter demanded, his voice dripping with venom. "But I'm not leaving here without my siblings, and I'm not leaving Narnia to you again."
"Oh?" she gazed at him in pretend shock. "Then I'm afraid we're at a bit of an impasse, Son of Adam."
He glowered at her. What had she wanted to negotiate for then? Surely she had realized he would never willingly hand over his siblings, or Narnia, to her, no matter how many armies she raised against him.
And when Narnia was devoured in fire and ice, as she had threatened before? Could he even give up his siblings for Narnia's sake then?
No, he would die before then, Peter knew.
"But, fortunately," the Witch continued with that same awful smile, "there are more than one of you monarchs enthroned in Cair. The only time that I've found that fortunate, I think."
Her faithful laughed, but Peter just stared at the Witch in confusion, her words not sinking in.
"What are you getting at?"
"And here I'd have thought you'd have worried yourself sick over your dear siblings." She shrugged, ignoring his question. "I suppose I was wrong, but I thought we could start this with a small reunion."
Peter raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what she was up to. Then he dipped his head. "How very gracious of you," he muttered between clenched teeth.
The Witch snapped her fingers. "Bring the traitor and Daughter of Eve," she commanded, and Peter suddenly a door to the left slam open. His head spun in that direction, just in time to see four foul looking ogres dragging what may have resembled his youngest siblings into the throne room.
"Ed! Lucy!" Peter shouted, rushing toward his two youngest siblings.
They both looked up in the moment that they were being pulled apart, and gasped in unison at the sight of Peter, standing before the Witch on her throne.
Their reactions beyond that, however, were entirely different.
Edmund tried to run toward him, apparently oblivious to the guards holding him back and his own failing limbs. "Peter!" he shouted, writhing in their grips. It was a wonder he even had the strength to do that.
Looking him over, the High King was appalled by how badly the Witch had treated Edmund. It was a wonder he was still alive, and Peter had a sinking feeling he wouldn't be for much longer.
He was covered in dried blood and mottled bruises, his skin far too pale and dark bags under his eyes. He was far too thin; his pants hanging off his frame. His shirt was gone, and he had to be suffering in this terribly cold place. He was normally skinnier than the rest of them, but this was to the point of starvation, and Edmund hadn't been gone that long.
Lucy stood beside Edmund, a bit more gracefully, hands bound behind her back, arms gripped tightly by two more guards. She looked exhausted, her hair disheveled and clothing ripped in several places, but no where near as bad off as Edmund. She settled for simply saying his name.
"Peter," and he wasn't sure which hurt him more.
One of Peter's wolves snapped then, unable to control herself at the sight of the Just King. She flew forward in a rage, teared bared, lunging at one of the ogres holding the two youngest queens.
Peter shouted for her to stop, not sure how the Witch would react, but the wolf did not heed him.
The ogre flung the youngest monarchs out of harm's way, seeming perfectly willing to meet the wolf in battle, reaching for his ax.
Peter watched in shocked silence as her teeth ripped through the ogre's grey skin, and the creature let out a strangled cry before he was tackled to the ground. The wolf continued to bite at him, blood matting her fur and wetting the icy floor, despite his anguished cries. He was lying flat on his back now, his ax having skidded across the floor. The ogre let out a groan of pain before falling to the ground, still.
Peter's other wolves looked more than willing to follow her, but waited for their High King's command.
The Witch's faithful watched on in silence, some of them eyeing the scene hungrily, grasping their weapons. They were disgusting to Peter, these creatures.
The Witch screamed in fury, a vein popping out on her neck, wand switching into her left hand. Before anyone had the time to react, she stalked forward, and Peter's wolf realized what she was doing at the last instant.
She whimpered and tried to get away, but it was too late. The Witch had turned her to stone.
The sight of the stone statue standing before him made Edmund whimper, and he turned away in horror.
The White Witch turned back to Peter with a scowl, standing in between him and his siblings. Her eyes were blazing with anger, and for a moment he thought she would attack him.
"You promised no violence when you came here for a parley, Son of Adam," the Witch accused.
Peter bowed his head, gritting his teeth and silently mourning the wolf. At the same time, he wished he had the courage to do as she had done.
"The Wolf knew she was not to do that. I do not know what came over her," he snapped, not sounding at all sorry.
With a nod, the Witch returned to her throne, glaring dangerously at Edmund, as if this were all somehow his fault.
One of her minotaurs came forward and dragged the stone statue of the wolf away.
Glancing at the Witch for permission, and hating that he needed her permission to go near his own siblings, Peter hurried forward, his wolves forming a semi-circle around him. When he reached his siblings, the ogres took a step back, as if the fiery look in his eyes had frightened them.
For a moment, he felt awkward, reuniting with his siblings in front of the Witch's army, and the Witch herself, like he was revealing a weakness that the Witch would be glad to exploit. But the feeling was soon shoved from his mind as he came even closer and saw the full extent of the damage done to Edmund.
Peter swallowed. He had thought he would be prepared for whatever horrors the Witch concocted after five years of comforting Ed through unimaginable night terrors, but this...He blinked back tears at the sight of his little brother.
"Are you all right?" He whispered, not sure who he was addressing, Lucy or Edmund. Obviously, Edmund wasn't. Then, he wrapped his arms around them both and pulled them into a gentle embrace.
Edmund melted against him, his feeble, spidery hands clinging to Peter's shirt, too thin, too weak. Peter glanced down and could see the marks of a whip across Edmund's back. Apparently, the Witch no longer thought he was enough of a threat to be bound.
Lucy, on the other hand, just leaned against him, unable to do anything more. He ran a hand through her silky hair, attempting to tame down the tangles.
Peter could feel the hilt of Rhindon pressing into his side, and it was all he could do not to run the blade straight into the Witch after seeing how much she had made his family suffer in the recent weeks.
"Pete," Edmund whimpered against his neck, breath hot and feverish. That worried the High King, but his throat clogged in that moment, and he found he couldn't speak. "I knew it was all just a bad dream. I knew you would wake me up soon."
Peter lifted his eyebrows to Lucy over Edmund's shoulder, but she just shook her head in sadness.
"Ed..." Lucy shook her head adamantly at him, and he changed whatever he had been about to say to "I'm here now," but didn't know how much of a promise it could be to either of his siblings. After all, the White Witch was holding all the cards now.
"What did she do to you?" Peter crooned into Edmund's ear. He couldn't believe his brother had suffered so and he could do nothing yet. He would kill the Witch then and there if he could, but he had been fool enough to come here, and they were severely outnumbered by her army.
It was the wrong thing to ask. Edmund's whole body stiffened and his lower lip began to quiver at some unseen terror.
Peter swallowed. "Never mind, Ed. Doesn't matter," he ran a hand through Edmund's hair and down his neck, in an effort to calm him. It usually worked after Edmund had a particularly bad fright. Peter wasn't sure that it worked this time.
And he promised himself that the Witch would pay for this, peace treaty or no.
Pulling back from them slightly, Peter frowned, the Witch's earlier words sinking in. But before he could say anything, Lucy was whispering hoarsely, "Peter, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone off on my own, this is all my fault."
Peter's eyes widened in horror at her words. "No, no. None of this is your fault. One of your mice guard got back and told me what happened."
Lucy gave him a small smile at that news, that one of them had survived. She had been sure they were all dead. "Who was it?"
And for the life of him, Peter couldn't remember the poor mouse's name. Guilt flashed across his face, but he was saved from having to answer by Edmund, who interrupted softly.
"You'll get us out of this, right, Peter?" It was the most lucid he had sounded so far.
"Where's Susan?" Lucy asked then, her mind spinning. "And why are you alone here?"
The White Witch cleared her throat, and Peter was forced to take his attention off his siblings and turn back to her and her Fell. She had sat down in her throne, white furs draped around her body and the armrests where she lay her porcelain hands. Her neck was exposed.
Peter couldn't help wondering how quickly he would be turned to stone before he could throw his sword at that pale neck.
"I called you in here for negotiations, little king. Believe it or not, I do not want this war anymore than you do." Her face betrayed no emotions, but Peter thought she sounded amused. Her eyes flicked to Edmund after a moment.
She was lying.
Peter snorted at her words, backing away from Edmund and Lucy just in case she did plan on turning him to stone. "I hardly think-"
"I do. The Narnians have suffered enough over the petty wars of those superior to them. Of Sons of Adam and those like myself."
The moment he had moved away from his siblings, the ogres converged back on them, despite the growling wolves trailing Peter.
"There's your first mistake," Peter interrupted, irritation bubbling to the surface.
He had to force himself not to grab Rhindon then and there and attempt to rescue his siblings, had to remind himself that even if they made it out of the Witch's castle, they still had to get past her army. Oreius wouldn't even see that they were in distress, thanks to that concealing spell.
"What?" she sounded surprised he had dared to challenge her.
"Thinking you and I are better than the creatures we rule. That is not what it means to be a king." A swallow. "Aslan taught me that."
The Witch rolled her eyes, significantly less disturbed by the mention of the Lion's name than he had thought she would be. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Aslan had abandoned him. Or Peter's lack of belief these days.
"That name is not welcome in this place," she lectured coldly. "But if you wish to lower yourself to the position of an animal, be my guest."
Her guards, Peter's entourage, and the wolf hovering just behind her throne bristled at that, though her agents were significantly less disgruntled by it than Peter's by the insult.
The Witch folded her hands in her lap then, prepared to state her terms.
"I do not actually care for Narnia itself. I understand that it is yours, now that you and your siblings sit upon the thrones of Cair, and there is, sadly, nothing I can do to stop the prophecy now." Her eyes lingered on Edmund a moment longer than Peter deemed necessary, as if she were deeming how to properly cut him up later.
He didn't believe her words for a moment, with that bloodthirsty look trained on Edmund.
"Then what do you want?"
"What do I want?" she repeated with a smirk. "But I am a Queen in my own right, and I require land to rule. I want all the lands to the North of Ettinsmoor; the lands of the giants. I want you to recognize me as their Queen, and allow me and mine to leave to the North peaceably. And in return, I will let your army go unscathed. I will promise never to harm this land again nor attempt to rest it from you-I swear it by the Deep Magic that controls all of our fates." Her eyes had taken on an almost wild look, Peter noted.
Peter stared at her just as intently as she had been staring at him earlier. She wanted the lands North of Ettinsmoor? Then why in Aslan's name was she setting up an army here? He hated to admit it, but she could have easily taken over the lands of the giants with her army and her magic, just as she had once done in Narnia.
None of this made any sense...
The evil time will be over and done...
Perhaps it was the prophecy. The Witch could no longer hurt Narnia because they were on the throne, and she had just realized this, so she was settling for the North, and the giants. Hadn't that been what the prophecy meant? That she no longer held any power over Narnia?
Somehow the thought they were the only people standing in her way did not comfort Peter as it should have.
Still, he got the feeling he was missing something important here. He knew she was lying, but what did lying grant her in this situation? He suddenly wished he had allowed Oreius to come in with him, to guide him. He felt too small in this castle, surrounded by the Witch's fell creatures, and he hated that feeling.
"And what of Edmund and Lucy?" he demanded.
The Witch smiled cruelly. "If your army would prefer to try and fight mine, and lose to mine, I will not be so kind in my demands."
"You will hand over my siblings if I agree to this?" Peter repeated, testy.
"We must all make sacrifices, Peter dear," she said slowly, and he hated her then. Suddenly, everything she had done since she first came to terrorize Narnia plagued him, and he had no intention of making a deal with her. Better to die in battle against her, for he knew that she had no intention of keeping any deal.
"Even the great Lion realized that. Even your darling...sister realized that."
Peter glared at the Witch, and then her words sunk in and he turned to Lucy in shock. Surely the Witch couldn't mean...?
Lucy wouldn't look at him, staring guiltily at the ground.
"Yes," the White Witch was practically purring now. "Your darling Queen Lucy saw sense some time ago. She has promised the life that is my price for leaving Narnia. Her life. Granted," those eyes had never left Edmund during this entire meeting, "I'd prefer the young traitor, but I suppose she will have to do."
"You're lying!" Peter shouted, raising Rhindon and fully prepared to run the beastly woman through.
"Ask her yourself," the Witch said with a small chuckle.
Peter turned horrified eyes on Lucy. The girl didn't dare look up, but whispered softly, "It was the only way."
Peter raised an eyebrow, turning to the Witch. "She agreed only because you forced her to."
The Witch and her faithful seemed to find that amusing. "I have been nothing but courteous to the Valiant Queen ever since she stumbled into my domain." She didn't bother to deny her treatment of Edmund, Peter noted.
Edmund started struggling in the ogres' grip, all of his nightmares suddenly coming to life before his eyes. The Witch was going to win. She was going to kill him. It was the only thing he could think about. And Peter was just standing there, letting it happen!
Lucy didn't dare move, staring straight ahead, silent but but somehow elegant, despite her captivity and proposed death.
"But my price is not all bad. I only ask for one of your siblings. The Deep Magic will grant me that. After all, if it were me, I would gladly hand over my own sister. And then there will be peace throughout all of Narnia, like you want, and you would no longer have to be bogged down with sharing your throne."
"And if I refuse?" Peter demanded, curtly. He suddenly felt so tired, so sick of the Witch's honeyed words. Sharing his throne? As if that had ever been a bother.
How could Lucy have agreed to something like this, forcing his hand? If only she had just refused to make a deal...
And then he thought of the reason she had made this deal, and turned to look at his brother, Edmund, thrashing in the grips of his guards, not even seeming to notice the world around him. Blood was beginning to drip onto the ice beneath his feet in a small pool, but one sickeningly too large for the High King.
"Soon, you would see my full power, little king. Narnia would be overturned in fire and water if the Deep Magic is not respected. Your precious lion is not here with a loophole to save you this time. Soon, I would be Queen of Narnia, as the Deep Magic has granted by allowing my return. And you, little king, would beg before me by the end. But you will not refuse something your dear sister offered in the first place, surely. I am not patient, Son of Adam."
Peter obstinately shook his head. "You will hand over my siblings and surrender, or we will settle this with blood, Witch."
The White Witch smiled. "When I have an army twice the size of yours? But I see you do not refute all that I have said," she began calmly, something about her voice spinning around in Peter's mind, making him feel tired and pliable. "Tell me, Son of Adam, do you not think it strange that Aslan has not come to your aid? I know you do." She shook her head, apparently amused by Peter's silence.
"Now, I think I've given you more than enough time, Son of Adam. I will make this fairer for you, if that is what you desire." There was that same ugly smile again, and the tiredness that Peter had been feeling a moment before wore off.
"One of your siblings I shall return to you, here and now, as a gesture of my good faith. The other I shall kill. But which siblings shall be killed and which released, you shall choose, if not your sister. It is your duty as High King, after all. That is my price for leaving you to your...previous Golden Age." She sneered at the term.
This was foolishness. The Witch must see that Peter would never give up one of his siblings as a lamb for her to slaughter, not even for Narnia. Even as he thought it, he felt like a hypocrite, but he knew in his heart he could not do as she asked.
And she must have known it, too. She had something else planned. But what could he do?
There was something about her smile that made Peter want to step forward and slit her throat right then and there. He knew there was something wrong with this scenario, that she shouldn't have given up so easily when she had the upper hand, but there was nothing he could do about it.
And then he realized what she was planning.
The moment one of the four of them died by her hand, she had the power to retake Narnia, and nothing would stand in her way, for she would have defeated the prophecy; four wouldn't be sitting on the throne anymore. Killing Edmund was just menial revenge. This was what she really wanted.
And as much as he didn't want one of his siblings killed, it was imperative that they all be saved from the Witch, for Narnia's sake as much as Peter's own sanity.