"Aslan!" she cried, running out to the balcony and throwing her arms around his great mane. The Great Lion let out a choked laugh as the force of her embrace pushed them both back against the balcony. "I knew you would come back. I knew it."

Aslan laughed at her enthusiasm, running a paw down her back comfortingly, and Lucy leaned into the touch, wanting, needing someone to provide the comfort that Susan and Peter seemed remiss to offer these days.

"I knew you hadn't abandoned us," she whispered hoarsely.

At these words, Aslan's hold on her suddenly slipped, his eyes once more sad and shadowed with some unnamed emotion that it made Lucy flinch to look upon.

"You didn't, did you?" she asked, voice suddenly much quieter as a hint of trembling swept into it.

The Great Lion did not answer for a long time, only staring down at her sagely. When he finally did speak, it was with a voice so exhausted that Lucy hardly recognized it as his own. "Much has changed in the West of late, my daughter."

The words were hardly satisfying, after all this time. "What does that even mean? Where have you been? Why didn't you come sooner? Susan has all but..." she couldn't say the words, then, her throat suddenly clogging. "And Edmund..."

Instead of answering, Aslan's expression turned even more sorrowful as he said, "Tell me what you've learned of the White Witch."

Lucy blinked in confusion at the order, the words so strange that she couldn't help but eye the Great Lion in confusion, wondering if this really were just a dream. "I...I've been reading about her," she confessed softly, glancing down at the scroll in her hands and suddenly feeling rather foolish. "About how she first came to be in Narnia. Ed...Edmund used to read about her a lot, before. He said it helped him to understand."

"I know, child."

Lucy glanced up, eyes steeling with determination. Surely, if Aslan was asking this of her, she had found something in her reading, or perhaps it was because she had missed something. In any case, it had to be important for him to speak of it now. "She is not Narnian. The Calormenes and Archenlanders feared her when she first overtook Narnia, because they think she is a demon, and she ruled Narnia for a hundred years of winter after the Great Rebellion."

Aslan nodded sagely. "And what else?"

Lucy quirked a brow. "Why am I reciting history books, Aslan?" Her voice quivered. "Why won't you tell me what's become of my brother?"

Aslan gave her a sad look. "They are one and the same, dearest child. What else?"

And Lucy could not help the shaking in her hands which matched her voice as she hurried to answer, "She was here at the dawn of Narnia's creation. Brought here by...others, but not by the will of the Emperor-Over-the-Sea. She had magic, and was powerful, but still had to abide by the Deep Magic, because it runs through every world, not just this one. Aslan, please-"

"She was not of this world, child," Aslan continued her litany, seeming to realize that she was no longer capable of doing so, "and neither was her own magic, though it was bent to the laws of the Deep Magic when she came here. It is a powerful thing, the magic that contains her, of a kind that not even I could dispel. It is why she was able to sustain herself for so long, and why, only by invoking my name could Peter kill her."

Lucy let out a sigh, slumping against the balcony and staring out at the sunrise. Where, not so long ago, she would give anything only to gaze upon Aslan and perhaps have him answer her long-awaited questions, she could hardly bring herself to look at him now.

"Aslan, this is interesting, but I've already read most of this these last few days, and knew some of it before. Please, just tell me. Am I right? Does Edmund still live?" she was pleading now, but she no longer cared. She had to know. She had to be right.

Edmund had to still be alive. He couldn't be that boy down in the crypt. He simply couldn't.

"After she was killed in the Battle of Beruna, her faithful learned of certain...holes in the Deep Magic. Ways to bring her back to life. They would have gladly done so before now, but it wasn't a Fell Creature that she needed," Aslan said softly, still ignoring Lucy's question, though he looked rather pained to do so. "To return to the land of the living, Jadis required the blood of a human sacrifice. They brought her that, and she was brought back to life, to bring harm to Narnia once more."

Lucy blinked in disgust. In all of her reading, she had not come across this tale. She couldn't help but wonder if Edmund ever had.

Aslan continued, not looking at her now. "But what they did not know, and what she did, was that, in order for her to remain in this world without fading once more into death, for blood magic is a strong thing, she required the blood of a traitor, as she had while she was living. All of their blood. If she could not find such a being, she would fade into the Void once more."

"That's why she needed Edmund to die," Lucy said softly, covering her mouth with one hand. "But...then, how, if Peter killed her...?"

"Edmund is a traitor to Narnia no longer," Aslan said solemnly. "He was absolved of his sins before the Witch was killed for the first time, and this time, she was merely a shadow of her former self. The Witch failed to realize the power of forgiveness, and it was ultimately her downfall, for she could not take a life that did not belong to her while she lived a second was destined to die soon after, had not your brother killed her."

"But then..." Lucy bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting blood. "The boy? The one whom she turned to stone?"

Aslan's eyes saddened. "Whether he knew what his actions would unleash, the child betrayed his world by bringing her back to it. However, the Witch was unable to kill another soul that was not already one of her own, while she was here. The child was the only life she took with her own hands while she was here, and did not rather turn to stone."

Lucy swallowed, tasting blood, the question she truly wanted to know on the tip of her tongue, and yet she found it so difficult to ask, now. "And Edmund?"

Aslan gave her a calm look. "I believe I've already told you what you want to know, Child."

Lucy finally felt hope bubbling into her heart. "But, where is he? And will you come and tell Peter and Susan what you've told me? They didn't believe me, when I'd told them that I saw you."

Aslan's eyes grew sad then. "You will find your brother soon enough, dear one. But I cannot. There were many turned to stone by the Witch during her time in Narnia, and I must go to them now."

Lucy wilted. "But...They won't believe me."

Aslan's eyes twinkled then, surprisingly filled with mirth. "I think that, this time, they might."

"I will return."

And, once again, he vanished.

If Lucy were of the disposition to do so, she might have cursed under her breath then. Instead, she simply sighed and hurried off to find her siblings. Even if Susan didn't believe her, she could hope that Peter might. And if neither did, well then, she would simply have to find Edmund on her own.

Ailyan could feel the cold stares of the loyal Narnians as he made the painful march up to the throne room, knew that, whatever headway loyal wolves had made since the first death of the Witch, all faith in them had been lost now.

And he couldn't say he blamed them. But if these loyal creatures were not going to let him pass, and soon, he was not going to be pleased. And neither, he thought, were they. What he had to say was in their best interest, after all, and he was risking his neck to let it be known.

The High King was all that he'd imagined the boy would but and nothing he'd thought he would be at all. He slouched in his throne as though it were a couch, rather than made of solid gold, staring dispassionately down at his fingernails while the creature before Ailyan in line - a young sparrow, needing a new nesting area for her young after the White Witch tore down so many trees in the Western Wood - continued her pleas.

His sword, Rhindon, the weapon that had killed Maugrim and terrified so many of Ailyan's old pack, hung at his side, sans its sheath, and Ailyan wondered if this was on purpose, that the Magnificent King was planning on using it today at the slightest provocation.

The two youngest monarchs were not in attendance. One for obvious reasons, Ailyan thought grimly, reminded of how he had abandoned the boy when he needed help the most, and the other likely too young to understand what was going on. These monarchs were children, after all.

Finally, the Queen to Peter's left, younger and yet with a serene beauty that reminded Ailyan eerily of the White Queen, as his mind chose to remember her, before the horrors of her reawakening, pressed down tightly on the High King's arm and turned to the sparrow with a benevolent smile, "Of course, you and your young Will find shelter in Dancing Lawn. Our dear friends the dryads have kindly welcomed any and all in need of new homes to find shelter there, as well as good food and warmth, for as long as they need to rebuild their homes in the Western Wood."

The little sparrow dipped her head. "Thank you, Your Gracious Majesties," she murmured before backing away, though Ailyan was left unsure what they had been so gracious about.

And then he was moving forward, to the gasps and sounds of disgust and annoyance from all those in the audience chamber.

Ah yes, the Fell Creatures were still negotiating with the King, who had not been very merciful so far in his decisions regarding them, given their most recent defection to the White Witch. He should have remembered that from the last time, he supposed.

A particularly harsh-looking centaur stepped forward, one hand on the hilt of his sword. "Wolf, your kind have a representative negotiating your surrender at this very moment. The High King and Queen cannot be disturbed with more-"

"What I come to say is not on my own behalf, but concerns the High King and Queen nonetheless," Ailyan interrupted, quite aware that he could be killed before he even had a chance to speak.

And what a shame that would be, for them. He was not so certain that his remaining alive after his mate had truly helped anyone, least of all himself.

He was beginning to wonder why he had even bothered to come to these creatures, his enemies, but that thought was quickly replaced by the image of the boy, lying on the Stone Table, covered in his own blood as the White Witch cackled above him with glee.

"How dare you-"

"We would hear what this Fell Creature has to say," the High King interrupted, speaking for the first time that day, and the centaur froze, obviously as surprised as the rest of the creatures in the room, including his sister, the Queen. The High King sat up in his chair, eyes turned to Ailyan. "Speak, Wolf. And you had better make it worth our time."

Ailyan snorted. "It sounds as if His Majesty has already made a decision regarding the fates of those who followed the Witch." He said Witch, for he feared that this crowd would not take kindly to Ailyan referring to her as the White Queen.

He was not here under some misguided belief that his revealing what had truly happened to the Just King would grant the Fell Creatures mercy for their deeds. Quite the opposite, in fact, if he were to reveal all the gruesome details. And he rather doubted he would be allowed to leave, after telling such a tale.

Well, but it didn't matter.

He was only here for his mate. For her memory. Because the boy had looked so like a child, a pup, and had needed protection from someone.

The High King all but snarled. "Our royal brother is dead. Your kind will not receive mercy from us, but what is due to them as traitors against Narnia."

"No justice either, I presume?" Ailyan asked, though he knew it was in bad taste. But as the guards stepped forward, he drawled, "What I come to say concerns your brother the King."

The throne room, as one, seemed to freeze at the Wolf's words, all perhaps reminded of the last time a Fell Creature had walked into this very room and announced something equally as shocking.

The High King's face twisted. "And what would you have to say about that? We know what the White Witch did to him, what your kind stood by and allowed to happen to our-"

"No, I don't think you do," Ailyan said past a gulp. His courage seemed to grow at the look of shock on the High King's face, though he was unsure if this was because the High King couldn't believe he didn't know, or couldn't believe he had been interrupted.

The Gentle Queen's eyes narrowed, her face morphing into an expression that was most certainly not gentle. "Choose your next words carefully, Wolf, and be sure not to dishonor our beloved brother's death with your words."

He did. "No matter. I swear upon my honor that what I am about to say is the truth." He heard a few choice words about his honor, but ignored them, not breaking eyes with the Magnificent King. "I was there. The night of battle when the White Witch slunk away and abandoned her troops to your superior forces to kill your Just King."

The High King's hands clenched into fists at these words, but no one spoke, all seeming to lean forward in their chairs, wanting to hear. All wanting to know of the last hours of King Edmund the Just, even if they would never admit such aloud.

"He died nobly," the wolf went on, biting out the words as if they pained him. "The White Witch could not defeat him, in the end. His last words were of As...of the Great Lion." Even if he had to admit that his loyalties to the Witch had been lost when she butchered the child as she had, he still did not think he could utter the lion's name without considerable terror of what would accompany the name.

The Gentle Queen closed her eyes at these words, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she shook her head minutely, as if unwilling to believe the words.

The Magnificent, however, continued to glare down at Ailyan. "How?" he demanded. "Did...did he suffer?"

"The Witch's dagger," he breathed, and there were several audible gasps then, for it was much different to see the Just King's body and know that he had clearly died in considerable pain than to hear the events that had led up to that death. "He...was a King to the last."

Those words only caused the Magnificent's face to pale with horror.

The Wolf continued, a bit more shakily then. "After I saw...what she was doing, I...woke up. I could not stand by and let the boy-"

"His Majesty the King," someone corrected behind him, but Ailyan just rolled his yellow eyes and continued,

"So I went for help, someone who might be able to revive him after the Witch left."

"Coward. You will not receive pardon for that! You abandoned him and ran off," was a taunt from behind again, but Ailyan just squared his shoulders and waited for the High King's reaction.

The King was silent for some time, as if he had heard the words but it would take him some time to process them. Beside him, his sister reached out and touched his arm tentatively, as if she weren't sure whether he was angry or actually believed the words; Ailyan could see the skepticism in the faces of many of those gathered. He might well lose his head for coming here and only forcing them through further pain.

No matter. At least he would be reunited with his mate.

And killed by the usurper king? He could think of no more fitting death, for this...boy did not have his loyalty, regardless of what Ailyan was attempting to do for his brother.

"Go on," the High King said then, and the Wolf could hear the desperation in his voice. The plea.

He swallowed thickly. "But when I returned to the Stone Table, to help the boy after the Witch left-"

"Like the coward that you are," he heard one of the creatures behind the Magnificent's throne mutter, but refused to acknowledge that he had.

"-He was not dead."

The Magnificent King leapt to his feet, sword in his hands before Ailyan had the chance to take a frightened step back, and the Gentle Queen, besides raising an arm toward her brother that he ignored, only looked on with wide eyes.

"Explain yourself," The Magnificent demanded archly. "And I suggest you do so quickly."

Ailyan was silent. Then, "Just what I said, Your Majesty. I cannot explain what I saw anymore than you can, but I do know what it is I saw. The boy was dying, or close to it, when I left him to go for help. The White Witch would not have left him while there was the slightest chance that he lived. And yet...when I returned...The boy...he seemed uninjured. He...breathed, as much as I do now."

The Centaur behind him let out an annoyed, "That can quickly be remedied, liar."

"Aslan," he heard the creature behind him in line breathe at his revelation.

"Then where is he?" The Magnificent King demanded, legs shaking, though Ailyan noticed that he took a considerable effort to stop them from doing so. "Why have you not brought him with you," he mused, speaking more to himself than to Ailyan, "for doing so might have granted you mercy at my hand."

Ailyan was just about to answer, when the Gentle Queen did so instead, and, despite her reputation, her words were not so gentle. "Obviously he lies, Brother. He seeks only to torment us further, with his silky words that beggar belief." Her eyes narrowed as they came to a rest on Ailyan. "We will not be fooled by your hopeful words, Wolf, nor are we amused that you saw fit to dishonor our royal brother's memory in such a horrific manner. Clearly you believe yourself to be committing one last act of loyalty for the Witch, by bringing us such pain after she met her end."

Ailyan opened his mouth again, to deny her words, to give his proof that the boy still lived, but, once again, was cut off by the swinging open of a door to the side of the throne room, a lithe young woman running out of it with loud, panting breaths, and a wide smile on her face.

"I knew I wasn't imagining it," she shouted excitedly, seeming to have no eyes for the others in the room, only for her siblings, for Ailyan guessed correctly that this was the Valiant Queen. "Aslan returned to me, Peter, Susan, and he told me that...Edmund's alive!" It seemed she had no patience for decorum in her mood, and, after hearing her words, Ailyan doubted the court could blame her.

The room gasped as one, for, it seemed, most had not believed Ailyan's tale until it was confirmed by the mouth of their youngest Queen, Peter falling shakily back into his throne upon hearing this confirmation of the Wolf's words, and Susan's face going a deadly shade of pale.

"Aslan," Peter echoed the sentiments of the badger behind Ailyan in that moment. Then he turned to Lucy expectantly. "How is this possible? Where has he gone?"

"He...couldn't stay," Lucy said, in a soft voice, as though she realized how this would hurt her tale. "But he told me that Edmund was alive. That...the White Witch couldn't kill him on the Stone Table when he wasn't a traitor to Narnia, and that that was her downfall."

Ailyan blinked at her.

"What of the body we found on the Stone Table?" Susan demanded in disbelief, speaking loudly over the raising voices of the audience chamber. "Whose was it, if not our royal brother, King Edmund's?"

Ailyan stepped forward then, growling when the centaur tried to hold him back. "Perhaps, Your Majesties, if I could shed some more light on the situation."

The youngest Queen turned to stare at him, clearly not having noticed him before, and her eyes widened. "Who are you?"

The wolf ignored her, eyes only for the elder King and Queen. "There was a Man during the battle against the Witch. I led him to the Stone Table because I genuinely believed he would help the Just King. Because I felt...guilty over what the Witch had done to him. He chased me away when the boy woke...but it was most definitely your King upon that Table, and he was most definitely awake when I left."

"You left him," the High King repeated dumbly, too shocked to even turn the words into an accusation.

Ailyan's lips curled into a sneer. "I have sworn no oaths to the usurpers. My faith was always in my White Queen before she returned this last time, and my mate was lost to me forever. I thought only of getting the boy help from one of his own when I saw his sorry state and pitied him it. I owe your kind nothing more than that."

Peter looked as though he were about to seriously contest that, and, indeed, the centaur's blade was now inches from the Wolf's neck, the centaur no longer pretending he planned on letting the Wolf leave this place alive.

"But he has not been returned," the elder Queen pointed out, still looking as though she did not believe the Wolf's story, "and the only Men in the battle were from Archenland, and would have surely done so by now."

Peter's eyes widened in dawning realization. "He's still out there somewhere," he whispered, and though it was meant to be under his breath, the whole of the throne room seemed to hear.

"Who would have to gain from continuing to hide him, besides the White Witch?" Susan demanded, now openly contesting the story as she stared at the Wolf in distrust. "Or one of her Faithful?"

"Exactly, Sister," Peter said, eyes suddenly glittering with a newfound determination. "Who would have gained from taking Edmund, if he were still alive when they found him?"

And with a horrible realization, all remembered the only ones who had managed to land in Narnia before the ports had been closed, the only other foreigners on a ship who had left without complaint when Susan asked them to before they could have an audience with the High King.

Because they already had something far more satisfying than mere information on how vulnerable Narnia was at the time. They had inexcusable proof.

"Oreius," Peter barked then, voice loud and clear in the chamber, "Prepare what soldiers we can. We ride for Calormen tonight."

There were no objections, voiced worries that Narnia had just gone through a brutal war with the White Witch, and did not have the resources they would likely need to mount an attack on Calormen now. No words of caution, that the High King send word to the Tisroc, demanding an explanation, before he make a decision of such magnitude.

For the Narnians remember the Fire King as well as any Calormene.

A/N: Unfortunately, no Edmund in this one, but not to worry; the next chapter is entirely devoted to him to make up for it.