A/N: Sorry this took so long, y'all! We hates school, Preciousssss…;D
Anyway, don't forget to vote in Narnia Fanfiction Revolution's Awards! (Yes, I'm going to remind you every time I update until it's over! XD)
One last thing—if you want to see Sea Rat-inspired and –related artwork, there're links near the top of our profile page. Enjoy!
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Enna had never realized just how beautiful her new home was. Yes, she had admired it from the high stone walls of the castle and roamed the nearby heaths, but never had she been so close to the raw and untamed magnificence of the Narnian rivers and their lush floodbanks, silver-skinned fish flashing under the ice flows that still remained on the waters' surface. Naiads, their arms bare, sat and dangled their pale feet in the swiftly flowing water, waving to the passing army as it traveled along the twisted path of the Great River, deeper and higher into Narnia.
For all the great multitudes of persons trekking through the Narnian woods, bare with winter, and over its frozen plains, they seemed to leave hardly a trace of their presence behind. Enna had initially been concerned about the journey through the thick woods, but one blast from Peter's battle-horn, and the trees moved! Bowing, and almost with human-like faces, the ancient old oaks and birches and maples and evergreens bowed at the passing of their high king and his people, and once the last Dwarf had made it safely over the rough path, the trees shook their leaves and moved back into position.
"You'll catch a mouthful of flies if you're not careful, Lady Enna," King Edmund told her laconically at one point.
She shut her jaw immediately and focused on not tripping over any rocks or roots.
Thus, the days wore on. Gradually, Enna's leisure-softened muscles grew tougher, and she did not ache from head to toe as she had at the beginning of the long trek deeper into the country. She had always considered herself a seaman, born on the shores of the Great Sea and raised in the soft, white Galmanian sands, but she found herself beginning to forget the sea, turning instead to the wild beauty of the untamed Narnian meadows and its heathered hills, the river a thin silver ribbon beyond, stretching westward. It did not look much different from Ettinsmoor in the far north or Archenland more southerly, she was told, but it suited her all the same…
But, content as Enna was to wander day after day over the land, others were not so pleased. A week and a half went without any sight of the Galmanian longboats, and, as the vocal dubiety began to grow louder, she, too, began to doubt her own judgment in insisting that her countrymen had taken to the river.
"I'm quite sure of it," she once heard Peter insist when a mail-clad centaur dared to question him. "Galmanians are expert boatmen, and will be hours, if not days, ahead of us, and gaining, even against the current. Their boats are shallow and sleek, and the river navigable. We will have to pursue them to Beruna, if it comes to that."
It sounded rather like Peter was trying to convince himself as well as his people. Uncertainty would have kept Enna awake at night, if she were not so completely and utterly exhausted. (Her sleep was one that comes from a good twelve hours of honest, self-sacrificing work.) As it were, Queen Lucy had insisted on sharing her royal tent with her—"After all, Lady Enna, we are the only women in camp. Did you think I would make you sleep out in the frost when you have no fur to keep you warm?"—which discomforted Enna greatly, so afraid she was of displeasing the queen. But the young girl was surprisingly resilient, and appeared to be greatly relishing the adventure. In fact, she seemed rather determined on having Enna as a confidante, as Enna found one early February morning:
"Enna, I am quite resolved to call you my friend."
Enna looked over at the girl, astonished. "Why—why, Your Majesty—"
"Don't 'your majesty' me," Queen Lucy replied crossly. "You don't call Peter 'your majesty'—and he's the high king! And he's older than you! I'm quite sure I'm younger than you are—why do you insist on ignoring my real name?"
"It's not proper, Your Majesty," Enna said, looking down at her dirtied hem.
"Oh, properness be dashed! We're on a war campaign! There is no greater equalizer of men than sloughing about in spring mud with rations on your back and weapons over your shoulder."
Enna looked over at the young queen—she actually looked gleeful about it all! "I understand, Your Majesty, but it is not my place."
Queen Lucy stopped rather suddenly, and the centaur that was bearing a scarlet standard nearby barely avoided crashing into her. "Not your place? Enna, my friend, if we are trying to be reasonable here, my place is on a horse or—or back at Cair Paravel, and yours isn't in Narnia at all! Not here, and certainly not in the midst of an army, marching like a common footsoldier. Peter, tell our friend Lady Enna that I'm right."
Her voice rang out over the warriors ahead of them, and Enna saw Peter, far in the vanguard, turn around in his saddle, his armor glinting in the sunlight. "Right about what, Lucy?"
Queen Lucy grabbed Enna's hand and led her tripping through the crowd of soldiers, squeezing between Dwarfs and coming frightfully close to the menacing-looking giant cats, all the way to the very head of the column, where Peter, King Edmund, the Nymrunians, and Aramir were all astride fine warhorses, with whom they were animatedly discussing battle strategies.
"Peter," Queen Lucy panted when there came a break in the conversation. "Peter, do tell our wonderful but much too well-mannered Lady Enna that I do wish her to treat me as an equal, not as some stodgy old woman on a silly throne."
All the men, who had long since been convinced by the indefatigable queen to stop calling her 'Majesty', blinked down at Enna, who in turn felt her chin rise with defiance. "It is not my place."
Queen Lucy stomped her foot, and Enna was rather amazed at her ability to stomp and walk at the same time. "Do you see what I mean, Peter? Edmund?"
"I say, Lady Enna ought to call you by your first name, Lucy," Peter said. "You are a monarch, and what you will should be her command—but that is a poor basis for government, I have found. Therefore, I believe it fitting that Enna, a Narnian citizen, should not be forced to refer to her queen in any way that she does not deem apposite."
Enna smiled with gratitude, and Queen Lucy stuck her tongue out good-naturedly. "Very well. But I shall convince you yet!"
Peter and Aramir chuckled knowingly. "You will be hard-pressed to inveigle Enna into anything," Aramir said, winking down at her.
"I shall try nevertheless," said Queen Lucy.
"There is something to be said for determination," Peter laughed. "I have often thought that my royal sister has a certain look to her…a habitually set expression on her young face, as though she has determined to drive her head through a brick wall and is about to do it."
The Nymrunians laughed heartily, and even Enna giggled—Peter's observation was dead-on. He grinned down at her knowingly, and she nodded in response, hiding her smile behind her hand.
"Your Majesties!"
Their laughter was cut short by the arrival of a glossy-backed raven, shaking feathers loose from its wings as it fluttered about in agitation above their heads.
"What is it, good Sablequill?" King Edmund asked, and held out his arm for the winded bird to settle down on.
"Wraaawk! Ships, good sirs and mada-a-a-ams!" Sablequill croaked. "Up ahead, just 'round the riverbend and over the next ri-i-ise."
"Ships?" said Peter, instantly straight in the saddle. "What kind of ships?"
"Longboats, si-i-ire," replied the raven, fluttering its wings as a brisk breeze threatened to knock it off its perch. "A great number of them, too! They are all drawn up on the ba-a-a-anks of the river, some wrecked for firewood, I presume."
"Are they Galmanian?"
Sablequill squawked. "Pardon me, sire, but how should I know? I'm a Na-a-a-a-rnian raven, not a Galma-a-anian raven!"
"I shall look upon these ships with my own eyes before I make any decision," Peter said firmly. "Stormglen, kindly summon the warriors to a halt. I wish to go ahead of them—allow them all to have a morsel to eat."
"Aye, sire," said the dappled centaur, and blew his horn several long blasts. "The high king desires for the army to break for luncheon!"
There was a brief huzzah of appreciation, and the warriors broke ranks, the clatter of weapons being set aside almost deafening.
"Enna, I desire you to come along," Peter told her, drawing his horse's reins up in his gauntleted hands.
"Peter! If Enna goes along, you must let me go with you, too," Lucy protested.
"Very well," he sighed. "Mount up with Edmund. Aramir, will you be so kind as to share your mount with Enna? It is a dumb beast, and will not mind the extra weight as much as Bronni would."
"You know me well, sire," said Peter's horse with a dry snort.
Aramir led his horse over to where Enna stood and held out a hand, swinging his foot free from the stirrup so she could get up. With a great deal of struggle and a few unhappy whinnies from the poor beast, Enna managed to scramble up and perch precariously on the back of Aramir's saddle, clinging to him for dear life. It was one thing to sit a horse—it was another thing entirely to have one's legs hanging free and nothing but the rather unskilled rider in front of one to hold on to!
"Are you ready?" Peter asked her as he guided Bronni up beside the two and nudged Enna's leg into a less cumbersome position.
"I believe so," she replied, Aramir's lion-emblazoned jerkin surprisingly soft against her hands. Was it velvet? Yes, it was! Curious.
The horse lurched into motion down the shallow hill, and the jangle of Peter, King Edmund, and Aramir's armor almost drowned out the steady clomp of the horses' hooves on the cold ground. It was still February, but Enna could smell the gradual thawing of the soil underfoot as spring approached…
The sound of the river grew louder and louder as the horses crested the last small swell. It was wider here than Enna had ever seen a river be—it looked nearly two warships' length across! And indeed, sitting on the bank in an uncannily empty way were dozens of sleek longboats, some hacked apart and resting on their sides, others disrupting the flow of the water, and still others creaking eerily as they rocked to and fro in the rushing current.
"They look Galmanian to me," Enna said, her voice sounding loud in the stillness.
Aramir glanced over his shoulder at her as Peter nodded and urged Bronni down the slight hillside; King Edmund and Aramir following dutifully. When the horses' hooves scraped the rocky bank, Peter dismounted, his chain mail clanging loudly, and approached one of the abandoned ships, his hand on Rhindon's hilt. Enna swung down from Aramir's horse to follow, and one touch of the glossy wood told her—"Aye, Peter. This is Galmanian handiwork if I ever saw it."
Peter kicked at the cold, charred remains of a campfire. "They have been here and gone, at least a day heretofore."
King Edmund sighed. "They must have known Beruna is nearby."
"I hope they have not ravaged the town," Queen Lucy said fretfully from behind him, peering over his shoulder.
"We would have heard about it, Lu, have no fear," King Edmund reassured her.
"Nevertheless," said Peter, turning quickly and marching back to Bronni, "I feel a great need to catch up with the army. I did not like the idea of their boats sailing down my river, but I dislike even more the idea of their people intruding on mine. We shall go back to the army, and make for Beruna with all haste. There is no longer any need to follow the river—we will break away from it today, and cut down across the plains through the Lithil Downs pass. You know of what I speak, Edmund…?"
"Aye, Peter," King Edmund replied. "But we must find a ford at which to cross the river before we can reach the Pass."
Peter swung up on Bronni, and Enna scurried back to Aramir. "Aye. Of that I am well aware. I believe an opportunity awaits just beyond Owlwood—a few damp feet is but small price to pay for the safety of our homes."
"Most excellent," said King Edmund. "We must stay the Galmanians before they reach the Fords of Beruna! If Beruna falls, the Great River and all its tributaries are lost. If those waterways are lost…"
Enna knew this only too well, and she shook her head grimly. "Then Narnia is lost."