A/N: Thank you all for your patience. Sorry for the delay, but life (mostly school) got in the way for a while there, and then I had such trouble finishing this chapter. I think you'll see why-please don't hurt me.
On another note, You should all go check out GilJunoirC's awesome video about Peter and Edmund : watch?v=VKS_7WMBgrg&feature=gp-n-y . It's awesome!
IMPORTANT NOTE: I realize that, in the Horse and his Boy, the Hermit of the Southern March was the only one able to see events taking place in the pool and had to explain what he saw. HOWEVER, my bounty hunter is a bit more skeptic than most, so I am altering this condition for the story's sake.
Wow, longest note ever. My apologies. However, this chapter is also the longest one yet (21 pages) so I hope that will make up for it.
Chapter 14
Queen Susan the Gentle found she hadn't quite been living up to that title of late. In fact, she was beginning to wonder why Aslan had ever called her that in the first place. She certainly didn't deserve such a name. More like Queen Susan the Wreck, she thought idly as she stared down at the parchment she was signing. A document asking Archenland for more resources in their time of need. She didn't dare send to Calormen.
It may have had something to do with how exhausted she was, after running herself dry, as Peter had before he left, attempting to keep Cair safe, bring in more recruits, and sending messengers to the far reaches of Narnia, hopelessly searching for her siblings or the Witch's spies.
She finally appreciated why Peter felt the need to stay up through all hours of the night even though he knew he would be of little help half-asleep. There was far too much to do, and even if she did have the time to sleep, worry kept her awake until she gave up and turned her attentions toward something useful.
This was ridiculous; she shouldn't be here. She should be with Peter, attempting to find their siblings and heading the army against the Witch, after all the Witch had done to them. She needed to be with Peter, her one sibling that hadn't been lost in the last few weeks.
She was beginning to notice a pattern when chaos came to Narnia. Her siblings went off to fight it or were otherwise dragged into it and Susan, mother of the bunch, was left at home to keep house and fret.
She was beginning to hate being holed up in the castle while her siblings were off in danger.
She ground the tip of the ink-dipped feather she was using to write into the parchment beneath her in frustration. And fret she most certainly did.
The apple blossom dryad behind her made a noise to get Susan's attention, and the Queen looked up, blinking at the harsh light of her bedchambers. It was evening, but it might as well have been midday.
She had been stuck in these chambers for half of the day, signing so many documents she was beginning to forget what they even were for. One of the centaurs in charge in Oreius' absence was training the troops, and they were all just...waiting. The dryad attending her had brought the evening meal, but Susan hadn't eaten it.
She doubted she could keep it down.
It was sitting on her dresser even now, untouched.
Susan was dressed in a long black gown, with frilly lace around the sleeves and neck. She was wearing her crown, the golden circlet with flowers, and today it was resting rather heavily on her head.
"Are you quite well, my lady?" the dryad asked in concern, her musical voice cutting through Susan's dismal thoughts.
It worried her that less talking beasts were coming to join the army Susan was supposed to be building to defend Cair from the Witch or Calormen, if they happened to take advantage of Narnia's situation. She had already built up a formidable army already, five times larger than the one Peter had taken against the Witch, but where the recruits had come pouring into Cair's gates only days ago, their numbers had reduced to a small trickle.
Either Narnia had run out of talking beasts overnight, or they were too frightened to fight against the Witch. Susan just didn't know how to change their minds.
Taking a deep breath, Susan returned her attention to the dryad with a light smile. "What, of course."
The dryad appeared to doubt this answer, but didn't question her further. With a sigh, Susan turned back to her signing, leaning over the little wooden desk Edmund had furnished for her last year, the light of the candle beside her hardly necessary.
Edmund...
All at once, a feeling of melancholy descended on her, and Susan had to bite back her tears. If only Edmund were here, beside her, then none of this would be so horrid. Susan wouldn't have to be the only one protecting Cair, Lucy wouldn't have gone off on her own...
If Narnia's current government descended into madness, her monarchs spread thin, the White Witch would take advantage of that. Susan had to maintain the laws, maintain control now.
But she would be able to do her responsibilities much better if only she knew that Lucy and Edmund were safe.
Edmund, who had been stolen away while he was ill and was still gone. There had been no word of him in weeks, just as there had been no word of Lucy since she ran away.
She had failed him. It was all Susan's fault that he was gone now, gone off and kidnapped, likely by the Witch. She had known that he was ill, had seen with her own eyes that he was in no fit state to be out of bed, but like a fool she set aside her instincts and let him go.
If Edmund didn't return to her now after she had been responsible for his disappearing, she didn't know what she would do.
The dryad behind her leaned forward, features etched with concern, pink blossoms of her hand floating up against Susan's skin. The touch felt cool and Susan leaned into it, closing her eyes as the flowery fingers touched her forehead. For a moment, she could imagine that the dryad's flowery shape was a real hand, her mother's hand, comforting her after a long day...
That was strange. She hadn't thought of her mother in so long, the woman's face forgotten to her ever more, each year she spent in Narnia. She wondered when was the last time any of her siblings had thought of their mother, had thought of that strange other world, the one they came from.
That other world seemed so unimportant, now, in lieu of all of their current problems.
The dryad shimmered, disturbed by something. "When was the last time you slept, Your Majesty? You are exhausted."
Susan sighed. "How could you tell?"
The dryad gave her the thinnest of smiles, her musical voice nearly lulling Susan to sleep. "I've seen that look of exhaustion many times before, in your brother the High King's eyes, my lady. Come now. You should rest. You have run yourself thin since taking over the responsibilities of all of your siblings. They were not meant for one person, my queen."
Susan nodded, a little breathless as she pulled herself to her feet and then straightened her dress modestly. "There is simply so much to do," she said with a soft sigh. "I'm afraid I shall never get everything done on time."
The dryad shook her head. "You are no use to Narnia half-dead, my queen," the dryad said softly, and Susan acquiesced.
"Very well," she nodded once. "I shall rest. But you must go and rest as well; I've been keeping you about all day, and you must be just as tired as I am."
The dryad smiled. "Thank you, my lady," then she was gone, disappearing in a swirl of flowers out the open window.
Susan hadn't realized the window was open. It was cold and she shivered, annoyed at her human weakness. This was a trick of the White Witch. It was really summer. There was no reason to be so cold.
Susan walked over to the window and slammed it shut. She was exhausted, as the dryad had said. She needed to sleep, and if she fainted in the middle of an important meeting tomorrow, of course she would never forgive herself. Her whole body ached from lack of sleep, and she felt as though her eyelids might shut at any moment.
But surely Edmund, wherever he was, was going through much worse than she.
She still had to get changed, put away the papers she had been signing as a precaution in case anyone tried to steal them, and put out her clothes for the morning, as she had dismissed the dryad before she could do so.
The thought made her step away from the bed she had almost convinced herself to lie down and fall asleep in. It looked uncomfortable; none of the sheets had been made since the night before, and she was too cold to sleep without them.
Before she really knew what she was doing, Susan left her room and wandered down the hallway into Edmund's, stopping at the threshold.
She hadn't been inside since Peter and Lucy had left, unable to face the empty room, empty because of her failure to her little brother. But now, she wanted nothing more than to go inside and find him there, laughing at this magnificent prank that he had pulled, no matter what her mind told her was the truth.
She pushed the door open, looking around at the room, left exactly the same as it had been on the day of Edmund's disappearance, exactly as Edmund liked it. None of them had the heart to even clean it. There was a thin layer of dust on everything, and Susan's nose twitched.
Memories assaulted her as she stepped over the threshold and Susan gasped, clutching at her forehead.
Lucy and Edmund, laughing as they watched their newest prank on Peter out that very same window, and then quickly ducking when Peter looked up.
Edmund, sharpening his sword, a present that year from Father Christmas, that look in his eyes as though this were the fines gift he could ever have.
Lucy, going to Edmund to cry after she failed the healer's test the first time she took it, and though he never sought out her for comfort, he always managed to cheer Lucy up when she was sad.
Edmund, standing before the mirror with that solemn, inquisitive look in his eyes, as if he didn't quite know what he was looking for.
A single tear slipped down Susan's cheek then, running along her chin and dripping down onto the floor below. She swayed on her feet, thinking she wouldn't even be able to make it back to her own room now, so tired was she.
She wanted to leave then, to leave and go back to the safety of her own room, where she couldn't be plagued by guilt; only worry. But she stayed, walking further into the room despite her better judgment and eventually sitting down on the bed. She needed this. She needed them to mother over, as much as they needed her to mother them.
The memory of all four of them together, one of the last times they had been so, drifted into her mind as she sank down onto the bed. Edmund was ill, but at least they were all together.
She had a horrible premonition, one that she could not shake, that said they would never all be together again.
ǁ
Susan awoke the next morning with a shiver, and pulled the blankets tighter around her body, snuggling her head underneath the pillow in an unconscious attempt to find warmth.
She did not remember falling asleep in Edmund's bed, only knew that it was much more comfortable and warm than her own had been the last few days and she did not want to wake up. For waking up would mean admitting that she was in Edmund's room and not her own, and that Edmund and Lucy really were gone, and Peter might as well be never coming back.
Eventually, Susan crawled out from under the blankets. It was freezing in here, and the blankets were doing little to keep her warm. Although the thought of crawling out from under them made her shiver even more, she needed to start a fire for the warmth it would offer.
The fact that it was that cold made her worry about her siblings even more. Surely this much cold in summer meant that the White Witch was winning. It was colder than late autumn, now.
It was not until she lifted her head and glanced out Edmund's window that she realized just how much things had changed overnight.
Edmund disliked glass; it reminded him of ice. So his window was a small square hole in the wall near his bed. It reminded Susan of a prison, but Edmund liked it that way. It was high up, and she could easily shut it from here. Now, though, she found it irritating, since she had to practically stand on the bed to actually see outside.
Her heart froze in her mouth, and her eyes widened slightly as she lifted both hands, resting them against the windowsill to support herself.
The first thing she noticed was the snow, falling at a steady rhythm from the sky, white droplets landing on her nose as she stuck her head outside and saw her breath fog in the cold. A heavy sheet of snow layered the ground, and it looked as though it had been snowing all night. There were icicles hanging from the window, and from many of the bemused trees standing in the courtyard, long and wide.
The Witch had grown even more powerful than Susan had feared.
So it was with total relief that the Gentle Queen noticed the second strange sight outside Edmund's window. A grin split across her face, and she reflected that Narnia might not be so lost after all. She couldn't remember the last time she had smiled anymore, either.
She wondered that she had not awoken at the sound of their arrival.
She jumped down from the bed, rushing out the door and down the hallway before she realized that she was still in the clothes she had worn yesterday, and they were stiff from the tears she had shed on them the night before.
She paused, deliberating, and then decided that getting dressed for the occasion could wait, something the Gentle Queen would have balked at a month or two earlier.
The Gentle Queen kept going, hiking up her skirts in an effort to move faster, down to the end of the hallway, and then down a long, winding flight of stairs that seemed to go on much longer than she remembered.
As she ran, she passed a mirror mounted on the wall, and just barely caught a glimpse of herself in it. What she saw made her smile as she imagined just what Lucy would say.
Her hair was a trussed up mess, flying up around her head, and the dress she wore was crinkled all over the place. She had forgotten stockings or slippers, and her bare feet stuck out from underneath the too-stiff dress. There were tear streaks dried on her face.
If any of her siblings had caught her like this, she would have been mortified. They would have never stopped teasing her about it.
Susan, who always made sure Edmund's hair was slicked back, at the risk of looking like a mother cat washing her kitten. Susan, who always scolded Lucy for forgetting her mittens and insisted they return for more. Susan, who insisted on brushing Peter's hair whenever anyone important came to visit because he simply "couldn't be bothered to do it right otherwise."
She wanted to laugh, but instead she kept going, nearly tripping over herself in an attempt to get to the bottom of the stairs.
When she finally reached the bottom, she ran into, surprisingly, Mr. Tumnus, who was scuffing his hooves together at the bottom of the steps. She wanted to fly past him and keep going, but he took hold of her arm before she could do so.
"My lady," he said, always more courteous around her and the older siblings than he ever was around Lucy, with whom he acted like a child, "He sends a message for you, that he will wait for you outside. He wishes to continue as quickly as possible to aid your siblings, after all, and stopping for a rest will only prolong their problems."
Susan nodded breathlessly, pulling her arm out of Mr. Tumnus' grip, and walking forward in a much more composed manner, smoothing down her skirts and straightening her hair, which she had not even bothered to brush. She was sure he would look on her as some wild woman when she opened the door to Cair looking like this.
When she reached the front gates to the palace, the Queen ordered that they be opened immediately, and the two talking beasts standing guard (a wolf and a herring) were perfectly obliged to do so, ecstatic looks on their faces at the prospect of some much needed help.
Susan fidgeted like a little girl as she stood in the middle of the courtyard, feeling the snow beneath her feet sink into her bare toes, soaking them, and knowing that if Lucy were here she would never hear the end of it; her attire. Her feet would soon be frozen if she stayed out here for long. She should have at least grabbed a coat to wear.
Of course, all of her coats were hidden away in the place where Susan organized all her wintery clothes during the summer. Lucy, wherever she was, must be laughing.
Well, if Lucy were here, she would look nothing like this, Susan supposed.
The palace looked rather shabby from outside, Susan noticed as she turned to look at it for the first time in-hang on, she couldn't remember the last time she had been outside to look at the palace. Guilt washed through her as she realized that the inside of the palace didn't look much better. A few of the windows were wide open, and snow was falling into them unnoticed, likely soaking the floors inside. The crimson and gold flag of Narnia hung from the towers limply, and it lacked the regal majesty that Susan usually noticed about the place.
Sighing, Susan turned to face their rescuers as they rode towards the palace. There were...so many of them!
She had to admit, the Gentle Queen had not thought Archenland would come to their aid. The delegation Narnia had sent had never returned, and no messages had been sent. Not that she would have held King Lune guilty if he had refused to come. After all, he was still mourning the loss of his wife, as well as the kidnapping of his child, who was as good as lost. He had barely lifted a finger in the last few months, but to please his younger and only remaining child, Prince Corin.
All in all, his refusal to send aid would not have surprised her, but the fact that he had pleased her beyond words.
With this many soldiers riding into Cair Paravel to fight the Witch alongside Peter's army, perhaps Narnia was not as lost to the Witch as she had feared only minutes before. They seemed to fill the whole countryside, the hills beyond Cair blotted with hundreds of uniforms and horses.
As if the weather sensed her cheery thoughts and wished to dissuade them, a gust of wind pushed snow into her face, and Susan shivered in annoyance, glancing up at the snowy sky. The sun blinked down at her every few moments from behind the gusts of snow.
A moment more, and King Lune of Archenland, amidst all of his splendor and the splendor of his entourage, rode into the courtyard astride a dumb horse. Susan had to resist running forward and embracing him the moment he got down from his war horse, knowing it would not be a very queenly thing to do.
King Lune handed the reins of his horse off to the young boy who had been running alongside him, and said something to his general before turning his attention on Queen Susan.
He smiled, that jovial, fatherly smile that always reminded Susan of the father she could hardly remember and made her feel less worried, and embraced her.
"Queen Susan," he said, pulling back. If he noticed the nightgown and bare feet, he said nothing of it. "I am glad you are still safe within these walls." He glanced around at Cair as if seeing it for the first time and frowned. His words were soft, and he lacked the usual pep that Susan so loved.
She could have used a good cheering.
"Yes, but my siblings are not," Susan said softly, some of her worry sneaking back into her voice. "I cannot thank you enough for coming to our aid, Your Majesty. I fear-" her voice broke then, and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth in anguish.
Taking a deep breath, King Lune turned serious at the sight of her in pain. "I only wish that I'd had the sense to come sooner, my lady. Perhaps some of the pain you have gone through could have been avoided then. I have been...selfishly quiet towards Narnia these past few years. But your ambassadors have been very persuasive, and would not leave until I had pledged my troops. I am happy to be of service in any way that I can now that I am here. Where is your brother now?"
Susan bit her lip, thinking he was speaking of Edmund. "He's been made a captive of the Witch, I believe." Her voice choked on the last few words.
King Lune's face was white, almost as white as the snow beneath her cold feet. She shivered. "How did the Witch manage to return to the land of the living anyways, Queen Susan?"
Susan shook her head. They didn't have time for this. Any second now, Edmund or Lucy or Peter could die. They needed to leave. Now. She could feel that something horrible was happening, something like the premonition she'd had the night before.
She would not lose her siblings. She could not.
King Lune noticed her shivering and frowned once again at her bare feet, buried beneath the snow. Without a thought, he pulled off his own cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, and would have picked her up and placed her on his war horse for warmth had she not lifted a hand to stop him.
"There is little time, Your Majesty. I will tell you everything on the way."
King Lune's forehead crinkled. "On the way? To where?"
"Why, the White Witch's palace," Susan said softly, clapping her hands for a horse. One of the servants-a brown war horse hanging back near the gates- was quick to oblige.
King Lune sighed, taking hold of her bare arm before she could mount the talking beast. He admired Susan's fierce loyalty to her siblings and to Narnia, but this was bordering on ridiculous. "My lady, perhaps it would be best if you...prepared for the journey first." He nodded discreetly to the nightgown she was still wearing, and the state of her hair.
He sighed, shaking his head and smiling slightly at the young queen. Gentle she may be when she wished, but she was as fierce as a lioness protecting her cubs when she wished to be.
He only hoped that would be enough to defeat the Witch.
Susan blushed, once again almost glad that her siblings were not here to witness her state of disarray, and pulled his cloak more carefully around her, tying it at the neck.
"You are right, of course." She climbed down quickly from her horse. "I will return in ten minutes." Then she was gone, running in bare feet across the snow and into the castle before King Lune could get in another word.
Once she reached the inside of the palace, Susan pulled aside an eagle and ordered it, "Go to my brother's army outside the Witch's old fortress and let them know that King Lune is coming."
The bird dipped his head, unfolding his magnificent brown wings. "Yes, my lady."
ǁ
The bounty hunter let out a groan of pain, and his eyes shot open. Panicking for a moment as he took in his surroundings, he sat up, and his head banged painfully against a curved stone wall behind him. Dizziness swept through him, and he fought down the urge to vomit.
"Lie still," a soothing voice crooned, and a hand was pushing him back down onto the bed made of straw or grass; he couldn't tell which. "You have been through quite the ordeal."
The bounty hunter sighed, too weak to fight against the pale hand settling him back into the straw he was lying in. He hated to be at the mercy of others, if even for a few moments, though, so in a moment his eyes were blinking open and he gazed around in half-irritation. Most of that irritation was focused on the pain in his ribs though, and not his dwelling.
He was in what appeared to be a small house, made of yellow stone and curved at the ceiling like a dome. All around him, though, there was grass and flowers and not the expected floor to a home. In the middle of the room, there stood a large round pool, and he blinked at it in surprise.
What an odd dwelling. He supposed the view might have been beautiful if he were truly paying attention to it. In Calormen, the wealthy kept their gardens in plain view as a sign of their great fortunes. Why would the barbarians of the North hide theirs indoors?
Daylight was streaming in through the open windows in the walls. It was cold here, and he shivered unconsciously. He had forgotten how little he liked the North. He had no idea how these barbarians could stand such weather, all year long.
He looked up at his nurse for the first time; an old man with wrinkled grey skin and a long, white beard. The skin was sagging around his concerned eyes, and he was rather thin. He was wearing pale white robes, loose on his small body, and sandals. There was a bowl of water beside the old man, which he dipped a warm cloth in before pressing it against the bounty hunter's forehead once more.
The bounty hunter lay there for a moment, studying this old man. He did not appear to be wearing any weapons, nor did he seem dangerous in any way. He was too old to move quickly, and too thin to be hiding muscles underneath that tunic. He would be easy to eliminate, if the bounty hunter found the need to do so. He could kill him with his own bear hands.
But the man was helping him, for now.
"Where am I?" he demanded of the old man, the owner of this strange home, his voice coming out like a croak. He awkwardly cleared it and tried again.
The old man frowned deeply at him. "You are in Archenland, on the outskirts of it, at any rate. I found you, near dead, by my hermitage last night. I would not have found you at all if not for..."
The bounty hunter scoffed. "You live here?" There was proof enough of the Northerners' barbarianism. Living in houses that had grass floors...
"Yes," the old man answered truthfully, not sounding at all ashamed. "And I have been alone for many years before I was graced with your presence yesterday evening. You are from Calormen. You are far from home."
The bounty hunter rolled his eyes. "Indeed," he said coldly, struggling to sit up. The old man put a hand on his back to guide him, and his eyes flashed at this. "What part of Archenland am I in? Are we close to Anvard? And how did you come across me?"
The last thing he remembered was the sight of trees and an oasis as he finished his trek through the desert. He had been half-dead at that moment, and the horse had collapsed from exhaustion the day before. He'd been forced to leave it, glad to get away from the sweaty animal, but had been unable to carry most of the horse's supplies with him and was forced to leave those, as well.
Upon seeing the welcome trees of the North-something he had never felt such gratitude for before- the bounty hunter had gone down on his knees, cursing his weak flesh for being unable to go further when he was so close.
"I found you, just outside my door. Near dead, you were. Many have made that journey, but few have reached the other side alive." The old man blotted his neck now, but the bounty hunter pushed his hand away. "We're not far from that place now," he said with a shrug. "Outskirts of Archenland, a day's ride from Anvard, I believe. Not that I often make that journey. I am the hermit of the Southern March, you see, and so you shouldn't be asking me for directions anywhere far from my hermitage."
The bounty hunter felt a blinding pain at the base of his skull as he pushed himself to his knees. No! He did not have time for this. Every moment he did not devote to finding the barbarian brat was a chance that his sister would be killed. A chance he was not willing to even entertain in his thoughts.
"Thank you, then," he said softly, wondering when had been the last time he was willing to thank someone for anything. It was not something he often did. "For saving my life."
The old man nodded. "You're welcome. But tell me; why did you travel here by the desert? It would have been far easier to go by ship."
The bounty hunter thought quickly. He doubted any of the people of Archenland would appreciate his coming here to steal back an escaped barbarian slave, especially if his family was powerful enough that the mother's abduction had caused such a stir. Archenland and the free lands of the North did not condone slavery, and though they mostly got along moderately well with Calormen, they were known to allow escaped slaves their freedom...if they made it across the desert.
"I am a slave," he admitted with a dull smile. "I was...hoping to find freedom in coming to the North. That is why I went by the desert route rather than by ship." It was more or less the truth, in a way, he supposed, though the bounty hunter's conscience would not have suffered had he lied to this hermit. He thought of the dwarf mines where he had been treated as less than a slave the past several years as he spoke, thought of the freedom he and his sister would have when he finished this mission.
The hermit made a soft, sympathetic noise and made to rise. He looked as if he wanted to comment, but did not. Instead, he dusted off his hands on the worn old tunic he wore and turned away from his patient.
The bounty hunter attempted to follow, and collapsed. The old man pushed him back down into the grass with surprising strength, saying, "No, it would be better if you lay here and rested. At least until you have the strength to stand."
The bounty hunter sighed. "But I must get to Anvard as quickly as possible," he said coldly, annoyed that the hermit had stopped his progress after it was so difficult to get up in the first place.
The hermit kept walking, ignoring his demands, back turned. "Then you must rest and recover, or you will die on the way there. Perhaps...now would not be the best time to get to Anvard. You should wait until you are rested and until...things grow more peaceful there."
The bounty hunter somehow managed to push himself up on his elbows at that information. He winced at the pain it caused his body. He had been in far worse scrapes than this; why was it having such an effect on him?
"And what, pray tell, is happening in Anvard that you think it would be safer for me to stay here?" He was getting to the end of his patience.
Had the barbarians attacked each other? If so, if his mission did not succeed, he could always go back and report this to the Tisroc, may he live forever. It would be a welcome opportunity for Calormen, and perhaps it would save his sister's life.
The hermit paused in front of the strange round pool in the middle of the courtyard, swirling a hand through the water and finally glancing at the bounty hunter with cool eyes. Something about that gaze...unsettled the bounty hunter and he looked away quickly. It was as if those eyes had seen too much.
"I know not who you are, friend, but I know that you do not come here as an escaped slave. If anything, you are still one, subject to the whims of yourself and your master."
The bounty hunter raised an eyebrow at him, reaching instinctively for a weapon and finding that his dagger was not in its usual place. He glanced around, forcing down the surprising emotion he felt at the missing weapon. There was a bucket a few paces away. He could improvise if necessary.
"Forgive me, humble hermit, but to what are you referring? We have never met before, and I am not your friend." The last few words came out like a threat, and he cringed. He had not meant to sound like that. Right now, he was entirely at the hermit's mercy. The bounty hunter had to at least keep up the appearance of being civil, even if it was the worst humiliation he had ever felt, lowering himself to the likes of a barbarian.
He still could not believe that Tarkaan had slept with one of them. Then again, it was rumored that Rabadash the Stupendous wished to wed one of the barbarian queens. If that was still his title. The bounty hunter had been in the mines for a while, but that was what the prince was last going by.
The hermit nodded, eyes trailing down into the pool. It stood about as high as his waist and he seemed enthralled by it. "That is so. Nevertheless, I have Seen. You came here to save a life, I know not why or how, but I do know that this is the truth. The life of a young woman."
The bounty hunter stiffened, standing up despite the hermit's warnings as he suddenly remembered stories he had heard as a child of the horrifying creatures who served the Lion to the North, and knew some of the demon's tricks.
Pain racked through him as he stood, and he clutched at his side, glaring at the old hermit. He hadn't felt this much pain in a long time, and if the hermit knew the tricks of the Lion, than perhaps he had been purposely injured, and these injuries were not just from the desert. He swore at the dizziness that assaulted him just by standing, cursing his body for being so weak.
Everyone in Calormen knew that the Lion did not have their best interests at heart, though the barbarians always insisted that it did. Of course; it was their demon that they sicked on the Tisroc's armies (may he live forever).
"How do you know all these things?" the bounty hunter demanded, not bothering to deny any of it. What would be the use in that? The hermit had already shown he could see through the bounty hunter's lies. He would likely have to be eliminated.
The bounty hunter eyed the bucket. It was a crude weapon, but if he smashed it hard enough against the hermit's skull...
His skills were not always used in hunting, after all.
"Calm yourself, my friend. I mean you no harm." Something about his voice made the bounty hunter want to believe him, want to trust him.
In his experience, that never meant anything good.
He lifted an eyebrow, trying to look intimidating. Unfortunately, his side chose that moment to send another harsh draft of pain through him, and he flinched, pressing a hand to his ribs. When he brought it away, he was surprised to find that it was not bleeding.
"I have Seen," the old hermit repeated, and the bounty hunter resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the cryptic words. Before he could speak, the old hermit continued, "And now there is something that you must See."
The bounty hunter eyed him warily. "See?"
"Here," the hermit walked over to him suddenly, quite spry for an old man, grasping his forearm in support and leading him towards the pool. An irrational fear hit him. Perhaps the hermit planned on drowning hm, while he was still too weak to fight back...
He glanced back longingly at the bucket.
"Where are my weapons?"
The old man's forehead creased as he struggled to support the bounty hunter's weight. "I did not think it wise to leave them with you while you were injured and delirious," he said finally, after realizing that the bounty hunter had no intention of moving forward until he answered. "I will give them back to you when you leave, of course. But this is a hermitage, a place of peace and reflection. Weapons are not welcome here."
The bounty hunter was tempted to retort at that, but thought better of it and allowed the wrinkled old man to guide him to the pool, wondering what his sister would think of him now. Being led around by an old man...
As if on cue, the wound in his side began to burn and he gasped out in pain, doubling over. The old man's face was instantly etched with concern, and he frowned deeply.
"Let me see," his voice ordered, but the bounty hunter shoved him away with the last vestiges of his strength, even as he fell to his knees.
"Stay away from me, old man!" he snapped, his voice sounding raspier than he had intended.
The old man looked hurt for a moment, and then slipped away, out of the domed courtyard. The bounty hunter saw his chance and cursed his weakness. He could be gone before the old man even returned, but something besides his injuries caused him to stay.
He couldn't have possibly imagined what possessed him when the man returned, stirring a cup.
But the old man seemed so nonthreatening as he held out a clay cup of some strange smelling liquid to the bounty hunter without speaking. He didn't understand where the hermit had gotten the cup from, as he hadn't had it a moment ago and the bounty hunter had been watching him this entire time.
"You must drink this if you wish to be on your way soon, then," he informed the much younger man.
The bounty hunter raised both eyebrows as he sniffed at the strange potion. A moment ago the hermit was saying he couldn't leave, and now he must be on his way?
Sighing, he took a sip. The stuff was foul to taste, but he'd had much worse before and he recognized that there was nothing in it to harm him. He downed all of it quickly before turning to the hermit and the pool in idle curiosity. Evidently, the hermit did not think it time for him to leave yet, and he had no idea where the strange old man would be hiding his weapons, so he stayed.
Besides, he did not think he would make it far on his own.
He was beginning to think that perhaps the hermit was not working for the Lion creature, but was simply mad.
The hermit stirred his fingers in the pool, and when the water settled again, the bounty hunter blinked at it in surprise. The shadow of the roof was not present in the pool, nor were the reflections of any of the small trees the hermit had planted in this odd, indoor garden. For that matter, neither was the reflection of the bounty hunter or the hermit.
Instead, the pool that was somehow clear and calm at the same time, was cloudy and seemed to be reflecting something, but whatever that something was, the bounty hunter could not see it. He squinted, bending down over the pool and setting down his clay cup on the side of the pool.
The hermit began to speak then, in an odd, soft voice that reminded the bounty hunter of his father, telling a bedtime story. He had not thought of his father in a long time. In his experience, it was useless to think on the dead.
"This pool can show me events happening right now, anywhere in the world that might be important. It shows me anything from a Narnian, foraging, or King Lune, starting off on his journey to Cair Paravel. It can show me the Tisroc in Calormen, writing another letter of proposed matrimony to some maiden, or the Governor of the Lone Islands stocking fish for the fall. Yet I cannot hear nor fully understand the significance of what anyone says."
The bounty hunter stared at the water for a moment. It obviously held magical properties; even he, a stern skeptic of all things magic, could not deny that. What he did not understand was why the hermit was telling him these things, and why he could not see them for himself, if the hermit could. Perhaps the hermit needed to say an incantation for these things to be seen. It was common enough amongst the fraud magicians in Calormen.
"I understand there is something you would like to see," the hermit encouraged suddenly, and the bounty hunter blinked.
"Can you see specific things if you wish?" the bounty hunter asked in surprise.
"I can see many things. What is it you would like to watch?" the hermit asked.
The bounty hunter almost immediately said his sister, wherever she was now, that he might know she was safe, but then another thought occurred to him suddenly. "Can I see these things?"
There was a slight pause. "If Aslan wills it."
"There is a young boy who I came here looking for," the bounty hunter said in a rush, careful not to give away too much information lest the hermit turn against him in favor of a fellow countryman. "He is a barbarian, like yourself, and hardly more than a child. He is likely in danger here." He must confess, he said as little as possible to see if the magic mirror, or whatever in Tash's name it was, really worked.
The hermit was silent for a moment, and then he cleared his throat, obviously trying to get the bounty hunter's attention.
Startled, the younger man glanced down, not realizing he had taken his eyes off the pool, and his eyes widened in shock.
The cloudy water which had a moment ago filled the pool was now receding, and a much different image had taken its place, an image which the bounty hunter, unused to the barbaric creatures allowed to run loose in the North, took a moment to understand.
It was an image of a young boy, with dark unnaturally long hair obscuring his gaunt features. He was clothed in rags. His hands were bound to his sides. It was as if the bounty hunter was seeing him from a great distance, and the boy's face was rather blurred. However, the bounty hunter could just make out the two creatures flanking him- a wolf and a rather horrific looking creature that the bounty hunter did not wish to contemplate. Whatever it was, it was hideous and looked almost...gleeful.
No wonder the Tisroc wished to be rid of these creatures, once and for all.
The creatures surrounding the small boy shoved him forward mercilessly, and he stumbled, nearly loosing his footing and sprawling into the dirt, gasping. The wolf grabbed the back of his tunic between its teeth and yanked him upright once more.
The bounty hunter squinted at the boy. He never could tell how old children were by looking at them, but he supposed this one could be about the right age. The Tarkaan had never mentioned a specific age, after all. And he was paler than the bounty hunter had imagined him to be, being half- Calormen, but he supposed that could also be a result of the obvious blood loss.
For he could see that the boy was indeed bleeding, from a wound to the forehead, and looked as though he might faint at any moment. His face was terribly pale.
Then there was a woman, tall and regal, standing in front of a large stone table, with a long, bejeweled knife in her grip, fingers wrapped tightly around it. She was pale, much paler than the boy, with blood red lips that were twisted into a wicked smile. A long gown adorned her body and she was beautiful, for a barbarian, but decidedly evil.
The bounty hunter had heard a tale once, of a little Calormen girl who had been kidnapped by the barbarians and used for a terrific blood sacrifice. He supposed the story was used to scare children into disliking the barbarians when they were young, and had never given it much credence.
Now, though, he was beginning to wonder if the boy had run away on his own accord after all. It was certainly looking more and more like something far sinister had happened.
But why one that was partially one of their own? He could only assume that these barbarians were sick-minded and simply could care less.
Before he realized what was happening, the image in the waters began to float away, sinking beneath the murk of the hermit's pool once more. In a moment, the bounty hunter was staring at his own, albeit foggy, reflection in the pool.
The bounty hunter swore, bringing his fist down into an awful splash in the pool and causing the hermit to startle. The water quickly settled, but brought along no more images with its calming.
"Where did it go?" the bounty hunter demanded, whirling on the hermit in a rage. He had been so close... What was he to do now? He had no way of identifying where the boy had been, or even if that was the right boy. "Bring that back, I needed to see it!"
The hermit swallowed thickly. "I cannot," he said, after a moment's hesitation. "I do not...have not the power to control this pool, yet." He sounded rather shaken by what he had seen. So. Perhaps not all barbarians approved of these strange sacrifices.
The bounty hunter ground his teeth together in frustration, turning back to the pool and leaning over it glumly. "I needed to figure out where that boy was. I have to find him before it's too late. Surely you saw that they were gong to hurt him, at least."
"I fear that it already is too late," the hermit replied mournfully, gazing down at the now useless pool. "But I can tell you where they were, if that is what you wish."
ǁ
It all happened so quickly, and Lucy was cold and exhausted, but she forced herself to at least try and pay attention to what was going on around her, despite the pain in her wrists. The bonds the witch's guard had applied to her hands, roughly yanking them behind her back, were digging into the skin and had even started bleeding.
Peter had always been a hothead. He had been able to rein in his temper in the past few years, as it was necessary to have patience as a High King of Narnia. But today, Lucy knew all of those years of practice were lost.
Her brother's fury was visible on his face, even as he maintained his increasingly heated words with the Witch. But she could hardly concentrate on what they were saying. Biting her lip, Lucy glanced at the Just King.
"Well?" The Witch demanded, leaning forward in her throne as if she were a bird about to leap on her prey. "I will not wait forever, Son of Adam."
Edmund, across the room, held almost all of Lucy's attention at this point. He was swaying on his feet, and she was sure that at any moment now he would keel over. Oh, couldn't they hurry up so her brother could at least be cared for?
If only she were the only one who needed to do these negotiations. She had already made her choice. It was the most logical, if selfless, decision Lucy had ever made, and she wished Peter would just honor her idea.
"You cannot ask me to choose between my siblings," Peter said resolutely, his hands clenched into fists, and Lucy turned her attention back to him, hoping to catch his eyes and motion towards her brother.
Oh, what had the Witch done to him?
The White Witch smiled. It was a smile that Lucy had grown to hate just over the length of this meeting, and she was not generally a hateful person.
"But I have promised to leave if you do. Not even for Narnia can you do this? I think your Narnians would find that rather selfish. After all, Aslan himself," she flinched even as she said the name, but forced herself to continue without pausing, "was willing to pay a price for Narnia. Why shouldn't you do the same?"
Lucy caught Peter's eye and gestured to Edmund, hoping that the message was clear. She wanted him to choose to allow Edmund to live and let her die, as she herself had already offered. She had made her peace with the idea, if it meant knowing the Witch would be defeated and Edmund would live. But Peter couldn't listen to her. Couldn't choose to let one of his siblings die rather than the other.
They were at a stalemate. Something needed to happen, and soon, before the Witch's patience ran out and she simply decided to kill them all.
Peter closed his eyes, coming to a decision that Lucy was sure she would not approve of just by the guilty way he refused to make eye contact with her. "Then take me instead. Aslan offered himself, not innocents in his place."
"No!" Edmund shouted weakly from his place to one side of the Witch's throne, and the ogres holding him snarled in response, hitting him on the side of the head. Perhaps her brother was more aware of what was going on than Lucy had thought.
She struggled against her own captors, furious that anyone would harm her brother in such a way. Aslan!
The Witch raised a brow. "I would hardly call either of them innocent." She showed sharp, glistening white teeth. "But you would offer yourself in their place?" she sounded slightly breathless at the possibility.
"Allow my siblings to go free, and kill me instead of them. Then you will leave here and never return, as you promised."
No, Peter! You fool! Lucy wanted to shout at him, but the words caught in her throat. What was her brother thinking? That would be letting the Witch win. He couldn't do that. She had already offered herself up. That was all right, and she did not regret it even when she saw the betrayal on Peter's face, no doubt mirroring her own now. She had done it for Edmund, and he had needed her. But if Peter sacrificed himself, all would be lost. The White Witch would simply kill him and then have no one standing in her way.
Didn't he see that?
Who did he think would lead Narnia if he was dead? Edmund?
She glanced at Edmund again. His brother didn't seem to grasp what was going on after his latest outburst. He was watching the proceedings with vacant, wide eyes, flailing against the ogres holding him still but nowhere near strong enough to fight them.
The thought was cruel and she instantly regretted it upon looking at her brother, but it was true nonetheless. Edmund was in no shape to be doing anything right now.
Susan? She would be heartbroken over the death of her brother. Lucy? But she was just a girl; what would she do? They needed Peter.
"So brave," the Witch smirked, licking her lips in anticipation. "I will admit, the offer is tempting."
Lucy waited with bated breath. Peter, of all the thoughtless...her mind soon turned to more worthy pursuits.
Aslan, where are you? Please, come soon. Please, save us from her as you did before. One of us is going to die if you don't do something!
It turned out that all of her worrying was unfounded. In the end, it didn't matter which sibling Peter chose, whether it was himself or Lucy.
General Oreius and King Lune, unknowingly, made the decision for him.
It came in the shape of a Narnian spear, landing a breadth away from the White Witch's ear even as she sat upon her throne and wobbling for a full minute before finally going still, buried deep in her icy throne. Lucy took some satisfaction in the fact that, without magic, her throne would never be the same again, shattered by the head.
Perhaps it was a sign from Aslan. Lucy certainly hoped so.
The room soon descended into madness.
The Witch shrieked, instantly on her feet, her hand going immediately for that wand. Her faithful started forward, forming a semi-circle around her, as if they did not want to get too close lest they suffer her wrath. She began shouting something Lucy didn't pay attention too, though she should have. "Traitors! Liars! You see? The 'High King' of Narnia resorts to trickery and deceit to defeat me!"
Peter, however, looked just as shocked as the White Witch by this new development.
Lucy watched her for a moment in wide-eyed trepidation, before turning her gaze on their rescuer, unbelieving. Had Aslan finally heard her prayers after all?
What was that? She was beginning to sound like Susan. Of course Aslan would come to their rescue. He always had in the past.
Lucy found a moment to realize she was rather amazed she had managed to get so distracted what with the chaos reigning about her before turning her gaze towards the front of the throne room, where the spear had originated from.
General Oreius stood tall at the other end of the throne room, dressed in full battle armor, his arm still raised from throwing the weapon. A group of two dozen Narnian warriors or so crowded around him, all with looks of murder in their eyes and weapons in their hands.
Peter blanched, taking a step back, towards them. "Oreius, I told you, under no conditions, were you to follow me in here." He did not sound angry, only weary, as if he knew the end was near.
Everything that happened after that was a bit of a blur for the Valiant Queen. One moment, everyone was just standing there, facing off, and the next the Witch was shouting again.
"What is the meaning of this? You cannot possibly expect to fight me here, in my own home, and win, Son of Adam. Not when my army is so much more extensive than yours, even here."
The guards holding Lucy tightened their grip on her arms and she flinched in pain, glancing towards Edmund, not for the last time.
"My liege, forgive me," Oreius stated loudly, the words reverberating off the icy walls of the castle, but he and his soldiers made no move to depart. "I could not leave you in here to face the Witch alone, not after learning-"
"You think it too dangerous, leaving your High King in here to negotiate with me?" the White Witch interrupted. "You are right, for I am no longer in the mood for making deals." She turned to her general, a centaur. "Kill them."
Oreius glanced from the Witch to the centaur and his eyes widened in deep hurt at the betrayal of one of his own. He had little time to meditate on the matter, however, for the Witch's new general was quick. He motioned twice to the Witch's Fell army, filling the room, and then they moved into an attack position.
Peter barely had time to bring up his sword before he and his wolf protectors were completely surrounded by the Fell creatures. Oreius and his troop quickly moved inwards, but were blocked off by the rest of the Fell.
Peter and his wolves fought valiantly against the Fell, as did Oreius and his troop, and soon they had fought through the line of Fell creatures separating them. Peter and Oreius stood with their backs to each other, and renewed the fighting.
"I thought I told you to stay in the camp," Peter snapped, sounding annoyed now, but not genuinely, as his sword clashed against the blade of an ax. The minotaur he was facing grunted, spinning around and attempting to embed said ax into Peter's forehead.
Oreius shoved away his opponent before turning and slamming his sword deeply into the minotaur's back, sword buried to the hilt as Peter jumped out of the way and immediately was accosted by a rogue dwarf.
They fought with the ease of two who had been born with a sword in hand, who had fought side by side for years, but Peter could not deny that he felt useless without Edmund fighting beside him.
"I couldn't let you make a foolish mistake, majesty," Oreius panted out, sword clanging loudly against the metal breastplate of another minotaur. "King Lune...has arrived."
Peter was momentarily shocked out of his present situation. Bringing his blade up at the last moment, he blocked the attempt of the enemy. He couldn't help but notice that they were moving closer and closer to the Witch's throne, to Edmund.
The White Witch scowled, bringing forth her wand and shoving it into the throat of the nearest Narnian soldier.
The creature, a fawn, cried out as blood spurted from his neck, staining the Witch's gown, and then abruptly went still, body turned to stone. The Witch grinned and turned on her next victim, a malicious look in her eyes. The badger didn't even have time to scream before it too, was just another stone statue adorning her palace.
She could still win this, the Witch thought as she turned on her next prey.
Meanwhile, three of Peter's wolves rushed towards the throne in an attempt to protect Queen Lucy, while another three rushed for Edmund. The ogres guarding Edmund snarled at the wolves, but the wolves were not to be intimidated from protecting their king. They scampered forward, biting at the heels of the ogres, and, when this failed to down the fell creatures, resorted to rather more...bloodthirsty methods, reminiscent of their times in the wild before swearing themselves to the service of the High King.
The first ogre fell to the ground as one of the wolves buried her teeth into the back of his thigh, then proceeded to rip the skin from his flesh. The ogre screeched, throwing his pickaxe at the wolf, but the wolf disappeared at the last moment and the weapon was buried in the ice as the ogre fell forward. A second wolf made quick work of him as the others moved in on Edmund's other guard.
Edmund, for his part, simply looked confused. One of the ogres shoved him off to the side and he hit the icy floor with a loud thump, banging his shoulder against the hard surface. He didn't cry out, but simply lay there, disoriented.
When the wolves were finished with the second ogre, they turned to King Edmund in concern, though this was rather hidden behind the blood dripping from their mouths and claws. Edmund let out a whimper and cringed, turning his head away from them. All he could see were three wolves covered in blood, looming over him.
"My king," one of the wolves intoned, ignoring the fact that Edmund didn't turn around again, "Can you walk?"
Edmund stubbornly refused to answer, biting down hard on his lip.
The wolf sighed, nudging Edmund with his muzzle. He doubted he would have been able to get the young king to look up again if it were not for the centaur who suddenly appeared behind them, one of Oreius' lieutenants.
The centaur bent down next to Edmund, offering his hand. "My king, we must get you out of here. This is no place for someone with your wounds."
Edmund hesitated, wide brown eyes regarding the centaur suspiciously before the centaur grabbed his hand rather forcefully, apparently tired of waiting, and easily tossed him onto his back. Edmund cried out, but then clung to the centaur's long mane, closing his eyes.
Edmund's wolves surrounded the centaur, intent on guarding their King as they led him from the castle.
Lucy's wolves did not fare as well.
Lucy managed to take advantage of the chaos, slamming her body into her guard and knocking him off his feet. He just managed to regain his footing and keep from tripping, but not before Lucy, a bit flustered at actually being able to topple the beast, grabbed the dagger hidden inside his left boot.
She held it up triumphantly as her rescuers, three wolves, converged on her guards. The wolves growled and her guards unsheathed their weapons.
However, the guards were no match for the fierce protectors of the High King and his siblings, and in a moment, lay dead on the ice.
Lucy balked at the sight, and quickly lifted a hand to her mouth. She had thought that, in all the battles she had witnessed, she had grown used to such violence, but the sight of these creatures, enemies though they were, lying bled out on the ground...
"My lady, we must get you out of here," one of the wolves said. "Come with us."
The White Witch's eyes widened as Lucy's wolves overtook her guards and glanced back at where her other prisoner, the little traitor, should have been. He was gone, leaving two dead ogres in his path.
"No!" The White Witch screamed, and, ignoring the raging battle all around her, sprinted in the direction of the one monarch she still held prisoner. Lucy swallowed nervously and her wolves formed a circle of protection around her.
The wolves growled as the Witch approached, but the Witch was not about to lose all of her carefully laid plans over a few wolves. Raising her wand, she stabbed one through the heart even as it threw itself at her, and then tossed the statue to the side, so that it crashed to the ground and shattered.
Lucy screamed.
The other two wolves crowded around her, intent on guarding their queen even to the death, it seemed. The Witch could not fathom why she had once trusted these creatures.
She didn't take much time to meditate on it, however, instead plunging her wand into the next wolf's strong hide. This time, the creature did not turn to stone, but simply fell to the ground, whimpering. When the Witch yanked the wand out once more, the creature was dead.
"Fool," she hissed at the wolf's carcass, "every traitor belongs to me. I'd have thought you would know that."
The last wolf glanced up at Lucy with sad eyes, and then shouted, "My lady, you must run!"
Lucy stood pressed against the wall, unable to move, terrified eyes locked on the Witch.
Jadis ignored her, knowing the girl would not be able to make an escape now, on her own.
The wolf, unfortunately, chose that moment to attack. She was a beautiful creature, and, if the Witch was not mistaken, she recognized the she-wolf as one of her own, from before. She must have turned around and sworn allegiance to these children.
That knowledge sent a spike of fury through the Witch, and she prepared her next courtyard decoration.
As she killed off Lucy's last protector, the remaining survivors of the Narnian group sped for the gates with all urgency, completely unaware of their missing queen.
Oreius did not have the time to turn around and count their numbers, though he knew that many had died in this foolish attempt to rescue the kings and queen. He would never have attempted something like ten years ago. He did it only because he could think of no other way. His first priority was to get to safety, and then plan the battle that was surely to come of this. Hopefully, King Lune's army would arrive as fast as the eagle who had sent ahead his message.
Peter rode atop Oreius' back, Rhindon in hand, slicing at every creature who got in their way, even as they reached the gates. Despite the confidence in his movements, Oreius could feel him shaking.
Edmund sat on the back of another centaur, clinging to him for dear life with a rather confused, far away expression on his face. The centaur kept glancing back at his young charge, as if he were so light that the centaur needed to make sure he was still carrying the Just King.
A dozen or so wolves ran in a pack around them, snarling and barking. The fawns ran ahead on nimble feet, making sure the gates were open so that they could make their escape.
They made it through the gates, despite the impossible odds, their Narnian troop hit the outside world with a clattering of hooves and weaponry. But they did not stop then.
Not until the gates slammed shut behind them, and they were not far from the battle raging below.
In the absence of the High King, Oreius had taken it upon himself to declare open war against the Witch's armies. It would happen eventually anyway, of that he was certain, and he was willing to take the blame for the outcome if it meant his rulers were safe and alive.
They would not be able to make it back to the camp without some difficulty. There were two armies between them and a tent where Edmund's injuries could be looked over and Peter could make some decisions on the battle plans.
It was Peter's cry of pain, not of physical pain, for Peter rarely made a sound over those, but a pain in the soul that Oreius had never heard from his High King before, but knew well enough, that jolted him from these morbid thoughts. He spun around, expecting Edmund to have fallen from the back of his centaur for the last time.
Edmund was in more or less the same condition he had been in before. It was not that over which Peter screamed, eyes glued to the Witch's castle, an expression of absolute horror filling his features.
Lucy was not with them.