A/N: Wow, an update! That never happens anymore! Sorry this took so long; I could go into all the boorish details about my writer's block, my computer breaking down, or the internet connection, but I don't really think you'd be interested. It will not happen again. I do believe we've hit the halfway mark on this story, my lovelies! On another note, I renamed all the chapters so that they have a little less boring of titles than they did, and I have changed scene changes to page breaks now.
Chapter 15
"Lucy!" Peter screamed his sister's name even as the gates to the Witch's castle slammed ominously shut and the remnants of Oreius' troop and Peter's guards just managed to keep from being shut up with them. Barely thinking about what he was doing, Peter jumped down from the centaur's back and ran back towards the gates, ignoring the calls of his soldiers that it was suicide. He was not going to just leave Lucy to the Witch's mercy.
He did not notice the snowflakes falling through the air, littering his golden hair and chainmail. It was falling at a frightening intensity, the ground already more than a foot deep with the stuff. But Peter's mind was only on one thing.
They had left Lucy behind, to face the wrath of the White Witch alone. How could he have allowed this to happen? This was all his fault. Oh, he had been such a fool!
"Your Majesty!" Oreius shouted from behind him as Peter unsheathed his sword, nearing the gates they had just escaped from.
He wasn't thinking about what he was doing; all he knew was that he had to get Lucy back. Now.
The centaur general raced after him, catching up with the High King quickly and blocking his way.
Peter tried to go around him, but Oreius shoved him back.
"Get out of my way!" Peter shouted desperately, swaying in horror at the images even now plaguing him, images of the Witch turning Lucy to stone or...
Oreius reached out a hand and placed it on Peter's shoulder. "Your Majesty, think about what you're doing. Going back in there will not save the Queen. We have help now; more men than the Witch. She will be defeated, and Lucy is a brave girl. We need only wait and she will be reunited with us."
"And meanwhile that Witch could have already slit her throat!" Peter shouted at him. Didn't he understand? This was the deal the Witch had wanted him to make with her. It all happened as Jadis had wanted anyways, regardless of all his intentions. How had he not noticed that she wasn't with them? "I will not leave her!"
Oreius shook his head. "Your Majesty-"
Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the sound of the castle's wretched gates swinging wide.
Eyes widening in horror, the High King took an involuntary step back as the sheer mass of the rest of the Witch's army, previously hidden within the walls of her castle, suddenly descended upon them. Her army below, encamped on the battlefield, was small compared to this, but at the sight of the rest, it slowly began the long march between camp and the castle. The small group of rescuers was caught somewhere in the middle, nearly a dozen against perhaps a few thousand strong on each side.
Oreius had been wrong about them having more soldiers than the Witch. Very wrong.
"Your Majesty, we need to leave. Now."
He glanced at his younger brother, barely lucid behind them. Edmund was clutching tightly to his rescuer, eyes shut and forehead pressed into the centaur's mane. And Peter promised himself then that he would not be responsible for another sibling's death, which would surely occur if they lingered here a moment longer.
But that did not mean he was going to leave Lucy behind.
He could only pray to Aslan that Lucy would be safe until he could reach her.
The headstrong impulsiveness of High King Peter reared itself then, and he pulled his armor clad arm out of Oreius's grip, starting forward.
"General, make sure my brother makes it safely back to the camp," Peter ordered suddenly, making a decision that he knew Oreius would not like as his hand tightened around Rhindon, and Oreius turned to him with a wide-eyed expression of disbelief, though he knew he should not have been so surprised by anything his king did at this point.
"Your Majesty-" Oreius bit his lip. He knew the headstrong tendencies of his King, as well as the young man's fierce loyalty to his siblings. Despite all odds, he would go to any length to protect them. Knowing that arguing would be useless, he attempted nonetheless. However, he would not lose his High King in such a foolish attempt.
"That's an order, General. Get the Just King to safety." His boots were sinking into the rapidly increasing snow and slowly dampening. They had not been made for this sort of weather, being almost entirely leather, and would soon be ruined.
Oreius glared at him, not budging even as the Witch's army came closer, now surrounding them on all sides. There was an army of giants between them and the rest of the loyal Narnians. The situation looked hopeless, and they both knew that it was.
"We can do nothing for her now but pray to Aslan," Oreius said softly, hoping the words would be heard this time as he placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Come, before all of this was for nothing."
Peter swallowed hard, a young, vulnerable expression filling his features as his gaze returned to the Witch's castle. He felt as if he were being torn in two directions at the same time. Finally, in a soft voice unbefitting of the Magnificent King, he whispered, "I won't abandon her."
There was a significant silence then, Peter staring off at Jadis's castle.
"I swear to you, my King, that Narnia will not abandon her, and Aslan will protect her. But if we continue to linger here, you and your brother will be lost, as well."
The Witch's forces were getting closer, drawing in on all sides now, the Narnian camp beyond the battlefield and too far away.
And Peter nodded, feeling betrayal wash through him as he turned his back on the Witch's castle and climbed onto Oreius's flank without another word, ignoring the stinging behind his eyes. Still, all might have been lost had King Lune not decided to step in at that very moment. Quite literally.
The flying colors of Archenland burst through the dense lines of the Witch's army from behind, blocking them from the small group and allowing Peter and the rest just enough time to escape, besides blocking them even further from the Witch's castle and ruining Peter's plans of slipping back in for good. The Archenland army served as a barrier between the Narnian Kings, their soldiers, and the rest of the Witch's approaching army. That, above all else, convinced Peter that perhaps they had a chance, that Lucy had a chance.
If the Witch was drawn out into battle, she would have no time to kill Lucy, and as long as the Witch was defeated in this battle, his sister would be safe. It was a lot of risks to take, many what ifs, but Peter would have to trust Aslan until he could reach his sister, as even he knew, though he could not accept it, that he did not have a chance of reaching Lucy now. Indeed, he had no other choice but to go back towards the Narnian camp.
The only trouble now was getting back to their camp without being killed by the third of the Witch's army flanking their other side. The dozen or so of them against a thousand strong would not hold for long.
Peter took a deep breath, lifting his sword into the air once more. Glancing worriedly at his brother before turning to the rapidly approaching battle, Peter shouted, "For Narnia and Queen Lucy!"
The dozen or so Narnians that had moved to surround him in a large circle of protection cheered this before starting forward in a vain attempt to reach the Narnian camp. Archenland and Susan were not far behind, though Peter had yet to see his sister. Oreius, as always when it could be helped, marched proudly at his side. The rest of the Narnians, still sitting in their camp and silently wondering what exactly was going on, leapt to their feet at the sight of their two kings being chased out of the Witch's castle.
The battle that ensued then between the many armies of the Witch and the armies of Narnia and Archenland was fierce, gruesome, and oddly brief.
For it was now obvious that, with the strength of Archenland at their back, the Narnians were no longer outnumbered so heavily by the enemy, nor were they disheartened at the sight of King Edmund finally bring rescued. The absence of Queen Lucy was not yet noticed.
The Narnians quickly abandoned their camp and joined in the heat of battle, moving quickly towards their kings.
Rhindon drove into the neck of the closest giant, blood spurting onto Peter's armor as the creature fell to the ground, mace sliding from its abnormally large fingers and slamming into the snow, burying itself deep. As always when fighting the giants of the North, Peter felt a small wave of guilt before dismissing it in lieu of the approaching hag.
The giants of Ettinsmoor were a violent people, though unlike their brothers to the North, in Harfang, they were incredibly dimwitted and seemed to only understand that a rock was good for throwing at the enemy, especially if that enemy was smaller than them. It had made for many problems in this past, but Peter had thought Narnia and these giants had reached a somewhat tentative peace. Yet they had an acute terror of the White Witch that Peter could never understand, and he supposed this was a deciding factor in their presence today.
He had not realized they had come with the giants of Harfang, and the news made him swallow nervously.
The giants of Harfang, however, were a different matter entirely. Living in their castle, rather than in the rock caves their brothers occupied, and devising plots to destroy the Narnian patrols that often crossed into their borders, they presented an even more terrifying problem than the giants of Ettinsmoor. They were a cunning people, more so then their brothers to the south at any rate, and hated humans, unless they were cooked in meat pies. Peter had no problem fighting them.
Nor did he have any problem slicing at the hag in front of him, either. She ducked out of the way easily, wicked smile reminding Peter of the one he had killed in the dungeons of Cair.
Behind him, he could hear Oreius engaged in his own fierce battle with a wayward minotaur. He could not see Edmund from here, and could only hope he was being kept out of the fray, but knew with a sinking feeling that Edmund would have to go directly through the ensuing battle before he could reach safety.
The hag lunged at Peter then, holding a staff that looked strangely similar to the Witch's wand, though he knew it could not have been the same; he doubted the Witch would be parted from the thing, now she had it. Though, with that thought, he could not help but wonder what this was capable of, if it was capable of anything at all.
Rhindon clanged against the staff, and a loud, strange buzz sang through the air. The hag and Peter both flew back upon impact, Peter landing in the cold, wet snow a few feet away while the hag slammed into the back of a minotaur.
The minotaur ignored her, intent on the Narnian fawn he fought, and she clawed back to her feet, reaching around blindly for her weapon before lifting her head and gawking she realized exactly where it was; between her and the High King.
Peter did not waste a moment, and the moment in which she did cost the hag dearly. He threw himself forward into the snow, hand clenching round the staff before he threw it out if reach to both of them and grabbed his seord, much preferring a weapon he could trust. Without her weapon and suddenly rendered helpless, the hag lifted her hands as if in surrender. Peter paused for only a moment before casting aside her staff and raising his sword to do her in.
At the last moment, the hag yanked a dagger from within the folds of her ragged clothing and threw it at the High King.
Behind him, he could hear a shout that sounded remarkably like Susan, someone screaming his name, and he dropped to his knees, rolling out of the way at the last moment before bringing up his sword and plunging it into the hag's side. She let out an inhuman scream and clutched her side as Peter twisted the weapon savagely before yanking it out and watching her fall forward, blood pouring from the open wound, staining her rags and the freshly fallen snow.
He took a deep breath before turning to his next enemy.
Meanwhile, King Lune had been downed from his horse by the stray arrow of a dark dwarf, and found himself surrounded by his men. He raised a knife in response and tossed it into the gut of the nearest blackbird as it suddenly flew past his head, blocking his view of the dwarf archer. The bird hit the ground with a loud impact, black feathers weaving through the air as blood squirted across the trampled snow that became the creature's grave.
The next knife reached the black dwarf, and the creature fell forward, sliding down the small hill he had claimed and disappearing into the carnage below.
His army, along with the remnants of the army that had remained at Cair with Queen Susan, had reached the field of battle in the nick of time, the Archenland king realized. If they had arrived a moment later, High King Peter and his small troupe would have been lost forever.
Not far away, Susan had planted herself at a small knoll, in perfect view of the descending armies from the castle. A dozen or so of Narnia's best arches stood around her. One by one, she picked the Fell Creatures off with her arrows, silently damning the Witch to Tash for not only taking her siblings from Susan and returning to haunt them all, but forcing Susan to join in battle against her.
It was not something she found particular pleasure in, as her brothers sometimes did, though they had yet to admit it. She preferred negotiations and treaties; she had a way with diplomacy rivaled only in the sooth-saying words of the Tisroc, though it was known far and wide that her words could be believed.
War was not something she excelled at, for she hated the sight of spilled blood, but something she would participate in if necessary.
As it was, she saw no room for negotiation with the White Witch.
At the sight of Peter, fighting that dreadful hag, Susan started towards him, intent on helping her brother. She had yet to see Edmund or Lucy, and the implications of that terrified her to no end. But she had been distracted by a giant, tumbling towards her with axe in hand. One swift arrow did nothing to stop the giant's forward momentum, and, with a sigh, Susan continued shooting.
It took three well-placed arrows to fell the giants, and his slow descent to the ground blocked her view of Peter. When he was finally down, she could no longer see her brother. Fear swept through her, but Queen Susan did not have the time to contemplate it as her fellow archers looked to her for instructions.
"Aim for the head and underarms," Susan instructed in a shout that she wasn't entirely sure was heard over the din of battle. She lifted her bow once more, closing one eye as she trained her arrows down on the enemy. "That is where they are weakest and unprotected."
Then she caught sight of Peter once more, and breathed a sigh of relief that she could still count him among the living.
When the hag threw her knife at Peter, Susan cried out in horror, enough of a warning that Peter just barely ducked out of the way in time to keep from being stabbed. Susan lost sight of him then once more, behind the moving bodies in the battle, and focused her attention on her shooting with the fervent hope that they would soon be reunited.
The High King, meanwhile, was locked in a fierce fight with a centaur, of all creatures. What a centaur was doing fighting for the Witch, he had no idea. Had the reign of Peter and his siblings really been so bad that centaurs, considered the wisest of all creatures, would turn to the Witch? Peter found himself wishing, and not for the first time, that the Narnians had come to their monarchs earlier and stated their complaints before bringing the White Witch back from the dead.
The centaur raised his curved blade, very Calormene in nature, and their weapons clashed together, the sound ringing out very differently from when Peter's blade had hit the hag's staff.
The curved blade swung around Rhindon, nearly knocking the sword from Peter's hands, but he managed to pull it back at the last moment and get a better grip before the centaur attacked once more.
Behind him, Peter could hear the sounds of battle intensifying, but he focused only on that centaur's weapon. They circled each other slowly, Peter searching for any weaknesses he could exploit before rushing forward and stabbing at the other.
The centaur blocked him with a particularly effective maneuver that sent Peter gasping out of the way.
Someone moved in front of the High King and his vision of that centaur was lost quickly. It did not take him very long to realize that the horse who had moved in front of him was not the only one to do so in the effort of shielding their king, and Peter soon found himself surrounded by a half dozen or so Narnians, intent on guiding their king towards the safety of the camp, as the Witch had yet to leave her castle and evidently had something planned. Jadis was never one to stay hidden away while a battle raged on outside her door, and Peter knew with a sinking feeling what that meant; this was not the real battle, not to her.
But he had not the time to figure out what exactly that meant for them before another Fell Creature snuck up behind him, through the new defenses, and stole his attention.
Peter muttered under his breath; he hated to be cut off from the battle while his own were expected to fight and die, just because he was the King.
Apparently his rescuers had noticed the wound that Peter had yet to notice himself; the hag had delivered a numbing cut to his ribs that had sliced nearly to the bone, and he was loosing blood through his armor at quite an alarming rate. Peter was too intent on the fight to realize the injury was even present. A dozen other cuts and scrapes also lined his body, but none quite so serious as that one.
His guard keeping position in a circle around him, they made their way forward until Peter suddenly realized something the heat of battle had caused him to forget. Turning to the nearest friendly face, he shouted, "No, find my brother! Make sure he gets to safety first."
The horse in front of him turned, rear legs slamming into a wolf so hard that the wolf crashed to the ground and lay still. "King Edmund is safe, my liege."
Those six simple words caused a wave of relief to wash over Peter, and he threw himself into his fighting- another wolf had slipped past his defenses- with renewed fervor. The creature bit at him, teeth grazing the exposed skin at Peter's wrist, before he twirled Rhindon around and slammed it fully into the wolf's chest.
The creature let out a small whimper before collapsing to the ground, dead. An image of Maugrim, who had died in a similar manner, flashed before Peter's mind and he gasped, pulling back.
High King Peter was not without his own nightmares.
Suddenly, one of his lieutenants was at the King's side, and it took Peter a moment to realize that they had finally reached the safety of the Narnian camp. He glanced around at the soldiers that had rescued them from the Fell Army. Half were gone already. Oreius was nowhere to be seen.
King Lune's army was right behind them, forming a wall between the Narnians and the enemy now, but Peter knew it would not last for long. The battle for Narnia had begun, and his people would need to see him at the forefront, regardless of his own injuries.
But there was something he needed to do first, though he had only a few minutes to do so. Silently, Peter followed his small entourage into the near-empty camp. The only occupants still present, who had not run off into the battle, were the healers.
As if his thoughts had summoned them, said healers appeared in front of him, looks of concern etching their otherwise calm features at the sight of their injured High King. Almost immediately, a cheetah that Peter knew well accosted him, checking over his injuries before he could find his brother.
She let out a hiss once the armor was removed, as well as his shirt of chainmail, and the wound to his ribs was revealed. The broken skin revealed a deep wound, and she found herself snapping, "Just because you're magnificent doesn't mean you're invincible." The words caused a ripple of shock to run through the other healers, but Peter had grown quite used to her bluntness, over the years. The small amount of normalcy calmed him, a bit. "One of these days, you're going to collapse in the midst of a battle because you refuse to get help when it's needed."
Peter didn't bother to respond, gasping as her clawless paw poked at his exposed skin. Annoyed that she had stopped him from his mission of seeing to Edmund, Peter simply ground his teeth.
Of course, the healer realized with no small amount of irritation, the High King would not have allowed anyone to pull him from the heat of battle unless he was this badly wounded.
Peter glanced down at the injury in surprise, only just now beginning to register a dull throbbing from his side, when the healer rubbed some sort of poultice into it.
A dull ache filled his chest as he realized that Lucy would have known what it was.
No, he would not allow himself to think of Lucy now, not allow himself to be too distracted from the fight at hand lest he lose his resolve. He just had to believe that she would be all right until they came for her, despite the doubt that plagued his heart and the Witch's intentions.
As the cheetah set to work bandaging him, not exactly a thorough job as there wasn't time for that, the lieutenant, a grey eagle who served directly under Oreius, name of Starwing, stepped forward and gave his report. Once the wound was effectively wrapped up, someone placed a coat around his shoulders and Peter found himself clinging to it, reminding himself a bit of Edmund after a particularly bad nightmare. At that dismal thought, he could barely pay attention to the lieutenant's words.
"We received word from a messenger eagle that King Lune has arrived at Cair with an army at his disposal, my king. Oreius knew that, if we had a fighting chance, we must take it. Any negotiations with the Witch would ruin that chance, so he came after you." The eagle bowed his head to Peter.
Peter swallowed hard, and, though it was difficult after losing Lucy in that castle, responded, "No, of course. You were right to do so, for I fear I would have made a fatal mistake had I been there any longer." Indeed, he would have sold himself to the Witch for Narnia's sake. For his siblings' sake. And now Lucy was left behind to pay the price unless the Witch was defeated swiftly and his sister rescued.
But one sibling had been saved from the Witch's castle, and Peter's thoughts turned to his younger brother once more, searching the camp for him and remembering why he had consented to return to the camp in the first place. It did not take long to find Edmund, and when he did, the raging battle seemed to dissolve around them.
A few feet away, lying in the cold snow even as a few healers hovered around him and tried to haul him to his feet, Peter noticed Edmund for the first time. The younger king, whether it was from stubbornness or fear, refused to move from his place on the ground, and the healers eventually stopped trying to force him, instead kneeling down beside their king and hurriedly wrapping his injuries in silence. They knew there would soon be others in desperate need of their attention, once the wounded begun returning to the camp.
Peter somehow doubted any of those injuries would be as bad as the ones Edmund now suffered after so many weeks in the Witch's dungeons.
Peter really looked at his little brother for the first time since leaving the Witch's castle, huddled on the ground with one hand covering his eyes as if he were afraid to look around. The other was pressed tightly to his side, undoubtedly injured. He looked even more horrible out here in the broad daylight. His body was badly bruised, his skin almost completely purple and blue, and he wore no shoes to protect his feet from the snow. He was shivering badly, deathly pale, what little remained of his shredded and bloodied clothing slowly growing wet from being left in the snow.
The very fact that Edmund had not immediately jumped up, insisting he was fine despite life-threatening injuries, and jumped into battle before he could be stopped was a testament to how badly shaken he was by everything that had happened.
Peter had seen him escape the Tisroc's dungeons after days of captivity and fight readily, not convinced to stop until he collapsed into Peter's arms at the end of the day. Seeing Edmund like this, showing weakness in front of his soldiers, made Peter want to cry for him.
The Narnians saw the look in Peter's eyes and turned away, giving the High King some much-needed time alone with his brother before rejoining the fighting, as he knew he must do. Edmund had spent weeks in the Witch's dungeons, and it had obviously affected him much more than the first time. Peter was the only person in the world who could deal with Edmund while he was like this, except perhaps Susan, and it would need to be done quickly.
Peter took a deep breath, rising from the small bench where the cheetah had been bandaging him, and walking forward until he was standing directly in front of his little brother. The cheetah stepped away with remarkable grace.
From his position on the ground, if Edmund had been looking rather than covering his eyes, he would have only been able to see up to Peter's knees. The fact that he didn't try to look, even as the shadow of the High King fell in front of Edmund, made Peter even more concerned.
Kneeling down in the freezing snow next to his brother, ignoring the sensation of his dampening pants and placing a hand on his forehead, Peter gently pried away the hand covering the younger boy's eyes. Edmund's small, bony hand shook in Peter's gloved, larger one, and Peter rubbed at it, trying to force the circulation back into those numb fingers even as his eyes perused the rest of Edmund's body, taking in all of his injuries with a well-seasoned eye.
Startling out of whatever hell had distracted him, Edmund jerked away and turned his eyes-those haunted brown pools-upon Peter.
Peter cringed at that look, so open and broken, and couldn't bring himself to meet his brother's eyes. Glancing down, he noted the sudden, violent shivers running through Edmund's body, his entire body shaking like a leaf in the wind. One good push and he would topple over into the trampled snow.
Standing, Peter quickly stripped off his jacket and was about to drape it around the Just King's bare shoulders when he noticed the whip lashes running horizontal along Edmund's back, the blood dried, the skin around each lash red and sore. It had been overlooked before, as Peter had focused on only the injuries he could see, but this...
Peter swallowed thickly, settling the coat around Ed's shoulders and buttoning the top button only. Edmund flinched and attempted to pull away. Gently, Peter rubbed at Edmund's neck, in an attempt to let him know he wasn't going to hurt him.
He wasn't certain if Edmund was aware of what was going on around him, but he leaned into the touch, ever so slightly. Peter took that as an encouraging sign. A moment later, Edmund's fingers lifted up to the collar of the coat and ran along it, as if he were a blind man trying to decipher what it was.
"It's all right, Ed," Peter whispered nonsensically. Of course it wasn't all right, but he could think of no other words to say to reassure his brother. He wanted to gather Edmund into an embrace, but didn't think that would have been a good idea, given the way Edmund was now staring at him, as if he was expecting Peter to run him through at any moment.
"You're safe now. She'll never hurt you again. I promise."
They sounded so much like the words he often muttered to Edmund after a particularly bad nightmare, but where they had been reassuring and comforting then, the words only seemed hollow now.
After all, hadn't he promised back then, when those nightmares were bad, that Edmund would be safe? That Peter would never let the Witch hurt him again? They had been lies then. The Witch was back, she wasn't dead as Peter had promised nearly every night since her death. And with the Witch about to fight them, and very much alive, the words of comfort he even now uttered could very well become lies once again.
Tears formed in Peter's eyes, and he blinked rapidly before pulling Edmund into a tight embrace. His younger brother struggled for a moment, flailing and fighting against him, before settling silently into his arms and leaning his forehead against Peter's shoulder, eyes sliding shut.
His body started to shake with loud sobs, and then, in a broken voice, he whimpered, "Peter?" as if recognizing his brother for the first time. He lifted his head to stare at Peter's face, as if he had just awoken from a dream.
Peter smiled sadly, clutching Edmund tightly against his chest and running a hand through his messy hair, matted with grease and...blood. "I'm here, Ed. You're all right now, Ed. It's all right."
The empty words were better than the silence, better than listening to Edmund cry as he had been. Edmund leaned into him, closing his eyes once more and beginning to hiccup.
Peter would have been content to sit like that forever, to never let go of Edmund again, but then he heard Starwing clearing his throat and knew that the moment could not last, remembering the war going on around them.
"The Witch's army approaches, sire. Narnia needs to see you at the forefront of the battle. They need to see...hope, now more than ever."
At his words, Edmund clung to Peter's chain mail, determined not to let him go. Not again, please.
Gently, Peter pried off Edmund's fingers and slowly stood to his feet, hating himself for doing so. "Yes, of course."
Taking Edmund's bony hands, far too skinny, he brought the Just King to his feet as well. Edmund stumbled forward, his legs buckling beneath him, and Peter just barely kept him from falling again. Three healers immediately stepped forward in case Peter dropped the young king. Shaking, Edmund leaned against him and Peter frowned.
He was loath to leave his little brother in this state, but Peter knew what he had to do.
Turning to a healer, a badger, standing nearby, Peter ordered, "Stay with my brother, and keep him here. Bring three others to guard him. Make sure that he..." He couldn't say the words. It was too painful. His voice choked off before he had the chance.
Fortunately, the badger understood. "Of course, my liege."
Stepping forward, the badger attempted to lead Edmund back into the tent, where Peter would have to hope he would be protected until the end of the battle, whatever outcome it might have.
"No, Peter," Edmund begged, hands twisting in his chainmail with surprising strength even as the badger and several other healers tried to pull him away. "Don't leave me."
Sighing, Peter placed a finger under Edmund's chin and lifted it gingerly, making sure Edmund was looking at him so that he knew the younger boy was paying attention. "I'll be back soon, Ed, I promise."
"I can fight," Edmund pleaded, his eyes wide and shining, his tone abruptly changing to one with which Peter was much more familiar. "Please Peter, let me fight. I can do it."
And Peter saw in his determined eyes how much this meant to him. Edmund needed the chance to defeat the Witch, after everything she had done to him. He deserved it. But Edmund was in no shape to lift a sword. So Peter would just have to see to it for him.
It was not a chore he was going to regret performing for his brother.
"I'll come back soon, Ed, I promise. Get some sleep."
Edmund gave Peter a wounded look, but followed the gentle badger nonetheless, too tired to put much more of a fight over this.
Peter ordered two centaurs and a bear to keep watch over the tent, and then turned back to Starwing, with the awful feeling that he would never see Edmund again.
It was a foolish thought, he reprimanded himself as his war horse was brought forward. Edmund was about to be much safer than he.
Lucy swallowed hard, huddling in the corner with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Unconsciously, she shivered when the White Witch took a step near her. This gave the Witch pause, and she turned away from the Daughter of Eve quickly.
Lucy's hands had been bound together with a thick rope, and her wide eyes had not left the sight of the wolves who had given their lives in defense of their Queen since the escape of her brothers. Nevertheless, the Witch could never be too careful, and though the girl was only a few feet away and relatively harmless, she had placed a minotaur over the girl to guard her.
She was not taking any chances now. Although the girl was not the one she wanted dead, she would have to do with what she had, the Witch supposed, sighing at thought.
"How many have joined them now?" she demanded from the scout, hovering just below her throne. The spear had yet to be removed from the chair, and until then, she had no desire to sit back down.
The scout shifted on his feet, not daring to look up at her, as he knew the news would not be taken favorably. "King Lune of Archenland sent an army five thousand strong, my Queen," the creature reported nervously. "This is not a battle that can be won easily."
The Witch examined the spear sticking out of her throne. "I did not come back to the land of the living to be beaten during a petty battle with Sons of Adam," she snapped coldly, and in a moment, the scout had been reduced to a stone pillar standing at attention before her throne.
The Witch turned to the minotaur guarding Lucy, brandishing the wand like a whip. "Keep the girl here, and ensure that she is well guarded. If, for some unfathomable reason, the little boy king manages to take the castle," she eyed Lucy in boredom, "slit her throat."
Lucy shivered, glancing up from the wolves for the first time and meeting the Witch's eyes. "You won't win," she said softly, so soft the Witch barely heard her. "Aslan will save us."
The White Witch flinched at that name, and then rushed forward and smacked Lucy across the face for speaking it in her home. The loud crack was the only noise in the room at that moment, and everyone turned to see Lucy lift a hand to her stinging cheek. But for some reason, the girl seemed to derive courage from it, and sat up a little straighter, the shivers dissolving.
"Your faith in that Lion is misplaced, Daughter of Eve," the Witch responded icily. "If he hasn't come to save you yet, why do you insist that he shall at all?"
Lucy gulped, looking away. Then, "He will come in his own time."
The Witch rolled her eyes, deciding this girl was no longer worth her time. "He will not come at all." She spun away, her skirts flying through the air as she walked briskly towards the gates to her castle. "And Narnia will be mine once more."
The gates to the castle opened slowly, dramatically, and the Witch, smirking in triumph, went out to meet the enemy, the rest of her army at her back.
Lucy shook her head sadly, ignoring the bloodthirsty look the minotaur awarded her. Aslan would come, she had to have faith. Or her brothers would.
Susan burst into the royal tent, taking in the sight of the badger, holding a bowl of soup, and Edmund, lying wrapped up in the many blankets in Peter's hammock, clutching his side and refusing to take the spoon the badger offered him. The young king turned his face away, scrunching it up as if he were a picky child.
Behind her, Philip followed, mane flapping wildly in the wind and eyes filled with concern for his young friend. And guilt, that could not be denied. For he felt guilt that he had not been here earlier for the Just King, having stayed behind in Cair.
The moment Susan had learned where her youngest brother was, she did not hesitate to go after him, leaving the battle even as she knew it was not a wise idea to do so. Finding Philip had simply been a coincidence, and the two had braved their way into the nearly empty Narnian camp together.
She rushed forward, skirts flying through the air before she bent down next to Edmund and enveloped him in an embrace that nearly choked the air out of the wounded young king. Realizing this, Susan pulled back quickly, choosing instead to run a finger along Edmund's cheek, wiping away the tear track there.
The feel of him, safe in her arms once more and not dead as she had worried, though she would never admit to such a fear, allowed Susan to breathe easy for the first time since he had disappeared.
Edmund, for his part, seemed content to simply stare at her with those wide eyes, raven hair sticking up wildly in all directions as he attempted to sit up a bit in the hammock. Peter having earlier pulled him from his nearly catatonic shock, at least for the moment, he immediately recognized the young woman before him.
He reached out his left hand, shaking badly as it hung in the air, though whether that was from the cold or something else, she could not say, and she caught it tightly within her own, bringing it to her lips and kissing his white, scabbed knuckles desperately. His hand was so cold and clammy within her own, and she too began to match her brother's shaking.
The badger lit a fire in the middle of the tent to boil some of the herbs, but Susan doubted this would do away with the cold she felt creeping up her chest.
"Oh, Edmund," she whispered softly. "I never thought...I thought you..." she couldn't finish the thought, turning instead to the badger, leaning over his poultice, even as she clutched to Edmund's hand, unwilling to let go of him. "Will he be all right?"
The badger smiled sadly. "If we can get some food into him, my lady. He hasn't eaten in...a very long time, that I can see. And we need to change those bandages, quickly."
Susan nodded, taking the bowl of soup that the badger had set aside in failure and holding it out to Edmund. Getting him to eat was not something that the badger would be able to do, while her brother was in this state, but was certainly something that Susan excelled at. Edmund glanced at it, turning his face away and grimacing with a stubbornness that she had missed terribly in the last few weeks, but that she did not miss now.
"Edmund," she snapped in exasperation, taking in his tiny frame and the way his bones seemed to stick out everywhere. She forced herself not to focus on the bruises and cuts lining his body, as well as how badly the more serious wounds had already bled through hastily applied bandages. "You need to eat."
Edmund shook his head stubbornly. "Can't," he insisted, but Susan would have none of that. Picking the spoon back up with renewed vigor, she brought a spoonful of broth to his lips. Despite her efforts, he kept his lips stubbornly closed.
"Please," she pleaded, sounding heartbroken. Edmund glanced at her, hesitating, before once more shaking his head and turning away, the idea of food absolutely revolting to him after going so long without.
"Edmund," Philip snapped, making his presence known in the tent. Edmund glanced up at the horse in surprise, not having realized he was there, before letting out a long suffering sigh and reluctantly opening his mouth. Susan smiled, too worried about him to be bothered by the fact that he would listen to Philip and not her, watching intently as the soup poured between his teeth and into his mouth.
Edmund swallowed, almost as an afterthought, and seemed to consider the broth for a moment. Once satisfied that it was not going to reappear, he opened his mouth again, eager for more. Susan was quick to comply, having already brought the next spoonful to his lips by the time he finished the first. The battle being waged just outside this tent no longer held the forefront in her mind, and she focused solely on Edmund.
With someone else to feed the boy, the badger pulled off his bandages and started cleaning the nearly festering wounds beneath before applying the poultice. It was obvious to him that the Just King had been whipped, as well as beaten with other instruments, and cut with a knife, not to mention being nearly starved. Despite the calm demeanour he was upholding before the Queen, he was worried that King Edmund would not survive the night, but he worked diligently all the same, stepping around the Gentle Queen and being careful not to upset the young man.
The next spoonful of thin soup appeared to be too much for Edmund, and he spit it back up, half of the stuff landing in the bowl and half splattering onto the dress Susan wore. She noticed in dismay that the soup was not the only thing to come back up; blood and bile quickly joined it, and Edmund pushed the spoon and bowl away, what little that had been regained of his appetite now lost.
Edmund started breathing harder, nearly hyperventilating, and Susan reached out a hand to his in order to reassure him. Setting the bowl of soup onto the cold ground, she whispered, "It's all right, Ed. You can eat later."
Edmund regarded her sleepily, the day's events beginning to take their toll on him. He vaguely registered that Susan continued talking, speaking about all the nice things they would do once he was better, once they'd returned to Cair and this whole mess was over, and then his eyes slipped shut and he was asleep, Susan's hand still tightly enclosed around his own.
Susan stayed with him while he slept, Philip keeping vigil at the entrance to the tent while the badger rewrapped Edmund's wounds, still not entirely satisfied. But he knew that Edmund would not be able to get the care he needed until he was returned to Cair Paravel.
"Tell me the truth now," Susan demanded of the badger once she was certain Edmund was asleep. "Is he going to be all right?"
The Pevensie siblings has been through plenty of bleak situations, many of them involving Edmund being terribly hurt while his siblings were not, for some reason that was absolutely unfathomable to the Gentle Queen, but in almost all of those situations, Lucy's cordial could be found nearby. She'd earlier had the idea of sparing an eagle to fly Edmund back to Cair, but what good would it do?
There was no one there now, every available body having joined them in the battle here, and the cordial was not there.
Now, with Lucy nowhere to be found and her cordial equally missing, Susan feared for her brother's life as she had never quite done before.
What had Lucy been thinking, going off on her own like she had? Now, she too, was likely captured by the Witch, though Susan still did not know for certain on that count, and the horn and cordial, in that case, lost forever.
The badger swallowed nervously, not turning to meet the Gentle Queen's eyes as he answered truthfully, "I don't know."
Before Susan had the chance to respond, there was a loud scream from outside the tent, and her hand instinctively reached for the bow strapped around her shoulder. Glancing up at Philip, she saw the wary expression on his face before he crept forward to investigate.
Susan stood, slipping an arrow into the notch despite the close proximity of the tent and glancing once more at Edmund to make sure he was all right. If some of the Fell Creatures had managed to slip into the Narnian camp, then she would have done well to continue worrying about the battle outside.
There was a noise like a grunt and then the clanging of steel outside the tent, and this time Susan knew that there were enemies present. Then there was nothing but deadly silence.
Philip pushed back the flaps to the tent and stuck his nose outside, glancing around quickly before turning back to Susan with wide eyes. "Protect your brother, my lady," he whispered softly, and before she could ask him what he had seen, he was gone, his tail slapping against Edmund's blanketed feet in farewell.
Philip stepped outside the tent and met whomever was out there in silence, but after a moment Susan heard a loud, grating voice greet him. The voice sounded dwarfish.
"Step aside, horse, and you won't be harmed."
There was no response, and then a horrifying noise from Philip, somewhere between a whine and a braying sound, before a sickening crunch. Then, once again, Susan could hear only silence.
Motioning for the badger to guard her brother at all costs, Susan stepped forward, hand lowering down to her waistband. It was where she kept the dagger Edmund had given her as a birthday present last year. Her fingers closed around the bone hilt and she held her breath. She forced herself not to think about what had become of Edmund's best Narnian friend, instead focusing on her even breathing.
Philip was a strong warrior, and would die to protect Edmund. The fact that he had been felled so easily brought terror to Susan's heart, a terror that she did not even want to contemplate.
The tent flaps flew aside then, admitting a red dwarf, which Susan quickly dispatched with the knife, watching with morbid interest as it embedded itself into the dwarf's flabby neck, slowly going still. The dwarf collapsed to the ground, grunting loudly.
The next to enter the tent was a hag, stepping gingerly over the dwarf's body as if it were refuse on the ground. It was leering at Edmund, and Susan suddenly realized why they had come to this particular tent.
The White Witch was reclaiming her prize.
Susan shuddered at the sight of the hag, as she supposed she would shudder at the sight of all hags in the future, and hurriedly pulled out an arrow. Although the close corners of the tent hindered her, Susan was not known as the best archer in Narnia for nothing.
The hag soon joined the red dwarf on the floor, screeching as she fell. The sound rang in Susan's ears, making her flinch.
Whoever was still outside made a noise of disgust, and apparently decided to take matters into their own hands. The tent flaps opened wide, revealing more than a dozen Fell Creatures, and behind them-
A flash of light was all the warning Susan had before the innocent badger standing guard by Edmund's bed was turned to stone, his small face pinched into an expression of pain. His right paw still clutched to the bandages he'd been attempting to fix around Edmund, and the little pieces of cloth fluttered in the air.
Susan brought up her bow once more, aiming directly at the White Witch's throat. The thought of ending this evil woman's existence was all too tempting for the Gentle Queen, and her breath shook against the string of her bow.
"No!" Susan shouted at the Witch. "You cannot have him!"
Jadis stood tall, eying the arrow with some apprehension but with no real fear. She twirled her wand between lithe fingers, enjoying the look of true horror she saw on the face of the Daughter of Eve. Her malevolent beauty was perfectly framed by the snow bank just beyond the tent.
Getting past the battlefield had not been difficult, as everything in her path was turned to stone upon the sight of her. Normally, she would engage them in petty battle first, but she did not have the time. She had not encountered the boy king, though, which had been a bit of a disappointment.
The Witch had found amusement in toying with the little "high king" earlier, and would have loved to try again. She could see the doubt in his eyes, a doubt that had been nonexistent the first time he pointed a sword at her and just dared her to "try and take" his brother.
Now, there was only doubt, coloring those eyes a dark shade of blue. Doubt in the Lion that had yet to save them, doubt in his own lack of forces that had caused him to go to the Witch in the first place, and, most importantly, doubt in himself.
The White Witch fed off such feelings in others. But now was not the time for such things. She had come here, to the enemy camp, for one reason and one reason only: to kill the little traitor that had, for so long, eluded her.
Not so this time. She would not make the same mistake again.
The Witch regarded the Gentle Queen in silence. In all honesty, she wasn't quite sure what to do with the girl. She hadn't been expected here, of all places, standing by her weak brother rather than fighting in the battle.
Killing this one was not part of the Witch's plan, and wasn't necessary, now that she had Edmund within her grasp. The prophecy would be ended the moment the traitor died, no matter what happened to his other siblings, and she would not deprive herself of the opportunity to kill Edmund.
Still, the Witch could not help herself.
Smirking, the White Witch turned her destructive wand upon Susan and raised it, intent on putting an end to the brat's life. She felt the power within her weapon, aimed at Susan, and watched the girl with excitement. She had turned many to stone, but she had yet to do so with a Daughter of Eve.
The awkward silence that followed gave her pause, and she stared down at her wand in shock as the cruel device did nothing to the young queen.
Susan took the moment of confusion to duck out of the way, disappearing further into the tent and shooting three arrows in the Witch's direction, all of them, oddly, missing their target.
The Fell Creatures standing alongside the Witch, at a nod from their mistress, invaded the tent. The White Witch was still staring at her wand in shock, unable to comprehend why it had not worked on the young queen. The Witch uttered a few spells on the wand, hoping this would do the trick, before turning it upon one of her own.
The Fell Creature was quickly turned to stone, as the Gentle Queen should have been.
She did not have long to contemplate, however, as soon enough, against her warnings, the Fell Creatures had dispatched of the Gentle Queen. Jadis heard a grunt from the girl, and then silence.
She had her prize. It should not have bothered her as much as it did that Susan the Gentle's death would not be by her hand.
The White Witch bent her head stepping into the tent, rather tall for the crude bedchambers of a Son of Adam. She glanced down at the crumpled form of the Gentle Queen in disgust as she noted the awkward rise and fall of the younger woman's chest, despite the blood now running down her forehead and the concussion likely claiming her. So. Still alive then.
It mattered not, the Witch decided as she turned her attentions upon the Just King. She had what she came for.
He lay in the hammock, unconscious and oblivious to the small battle that had just gone on around him. The subtle rise and fall of his chest, much slower than his sister's, made the Witch worry. She knew exactly how he had been treated under her care.
She worried that he would not make it.
"Carry the little traitor," the Witch ordered, examining her defective wand once more, "We have very little time."