A/N: Wow, aren't you guys lucky—two updates in as many days! :D To business, though: at the top of our profile page is a poll concerning the title of Sea Rat's sequel. Do my poor title-deprived mind a favor and vote on the best ones? Thanks so much!

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A clear bugle-call echoed against the sides of the surrounding bluffs, mixing and wavering with the swelling cheers of the victorious Narnian army. Summoned by the sound, the archers from atop the hill started streaming down to the valley, whooping and hollering with joy as they went.

Gradually, as her heart slowed and the adrenaline in her body disappeared, Enna began to shiver with weariness. Despite the elation in the air, she could see no farther than the ruination around her feet: partially-extinguished campfires hissed softly as wisps of steam wafted periodically from the trampled kindle, and a canvas tent that had been knocked over in the chaos onto one of the unattended fires still puffed plumes of dark smoke into the sky. Everywhere, the skeletons of splintered tents lay like dead beasts on the muddy grass.

But it wasn't this that horrified Enna so deeply—it was the real dead beasts, sprawling lifelessly on the ground, that did, Galmanian and Narnian alike. In all the war books that she had so eagerly devoured, never once had a battlefield been described after the fighting was done.

It was a bitterly lonely place.

She wandered aimlessly about, the hem of her brown skirts growing damp with the mud that splashed up from her boots. There were quite a few slain Galmanians about, and the faintly bemused looks on their pale faces made something deep inside Enna's chest give a painful wrench. The bodies of dead Narnians did not yet wrest so at her heart, for their beastly faces did not quite capture the indistinct uncertainty that rested on those of slain Sons of Adam.

Still, the sight was very sad, and tears once pricked the corners of her eyes when she came upon the body of a young, fluffy-tailed hound, savagely pierced with so many red-fletched arrows that he resembled a furry pincushion. Nearby rested the body of the horse that she'd so foolishly spurred into battle—deep gashes in its neck and side demonstrated the extent of the enemy's cruelty, that they would willingly slay a riderless horse.

So carefully was Enna scanning the faces of each scarlet-clad Narnian body that she tripped several times over arrows that had missed their mark and been driven into the loose soil. Methodically, she plucked them from the earth and, wiping them on her skirt, filled her quiver until her bow stopped clattering around. There was no use in wasting weapons, was there?

The Narnian army was beginning to trickle back towards her, and Enna knew that if she didn't find what she was looking for now, she might not until it was too late. She had to find him herself—she could not bear being told by some second party.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of movement. It was a dark-haired, scarlet-jerkined Narnian warrior, staggering to his feet, shield- and swordless.

"Aramir!" Enna cried, and hurried towards him as fast as her faltering feet would carry her.

But it was not Aramir that turned at the sound of her voice. "Lady Enna!" King Edmund sounded surprised to see her. "I did not expect—where is my sister?"

Enna's disappointment was immediately overwhelmed with alarm. "I—I—oh, sire—"

"What have you done with her?" The king took a step forward and seized her by the shoulders, his muddy and bruised face turning red with rage and horror.

She quailed under the ferocity of his stare, but rallied her courage and met his eyes resolutely. "I could not contain her, sire. She went into battle despite all my efforts to stop her."

"She—she—" King Edmund's grip weakened, and his hands fell from her arms. "She went into battle…?"

"I made chase to the best of my horse's ability," Enna said. "I last saw her making admirable progress by that mound of boulders."

King Edmund held a bloodied hand to his face as he shook his head. "Oh, Lucy…Lucy!"

Now more alarmed than ever at the king's weakness, Enna spun around, shading her eyes from the noonday sun as she searched for the queen's horse. But it was nowhere to be found. "Foolish girl!"

"Don't say such things about my sister," Edmund snarled. "If it weren't for your ineptitude at keeping a girl in line, she would have been safe!"

Enna's jaw stuck out of its own accord. "You speak of her as though she were dead, sire. And I see no reason to think her so! You underestimate her far too greatly."

As if on cue, a chestnut, sweat-stained horse trotted out from behind a stand of tall brush, and, a moment later, a hopping-mad young queen ran after it, letting her fine skirts drag in the dirt.

"Lucy!" King Edmund exclaimed, and he ran towards her, his armor clanging madly. "Where on Earth have you been?"

"I do dislike Dumb horses sometimes," Queen Lucy replied crossly. "That one just dumped me from the saddle and left me there in a heap!"

Enna felt the tension melt from her body, and she even managed a shaky smile as the king embraced his sister, the young queen still ranting on about her horse and how silly it was, and—"Oh! Did you see how I repelled that big Galmanian brute that came running at me with a spear? Our people put up a good fight, did they not? And Edmund, I rallied a flank! Did you see? Of course you saw—how could you not have? It was my flank that pushed the Galmanian one back against the cliff, after all! And Peter said that the Galmanians were fleeing southward—is that not wonderful news? Oh, it has been the most glorious day."

Enna shook her head, wishing to be like Queen Lucy, irrepressible and ebullient despite all odds. Then she could stop worrying about Aramir! Oh, the distress was gnawing at her insides like nothing else—her heart, now without the distraction of the missing queen, was free to pound in her ears while her brain concocted evil images of the dark-haired youth lying cold and forgotten under some Galmanian corpse.

Without her knowing it, tears had sprung to her eyes once again, and she heedlessly sniffed them back, drawing into her nostrils the sickly sweet smell of death as she scanned the field for any signs of movement.

There. It could be no other. Dark-haired and clad in mail and scarlet, a warrior was struggling up from the battle-strewn meadow, clutching at his arm and swaying weakly, but very much alive.

"Aramir!" she cried, and this time, she got a feeble wave in validation of her hopes. As he struggled to his feet, she rushed to him and flung her arms around his battered shoulders, ignoring the sweat and the blood that streaked his face. By Gale, but she never thought she'd be so glad to see anyone! Relief rushed through her as his tabard chafed her cheek. "You're a terrible farewell-giver, Aramir Ealion."

He painfully patted her back with one hand. "I could say the same for you."

Sighing with reassurance, she stood back, looking him over as he grimaced. He seemed to be favoring his left arm—"Oh—you're hurt!"

"It's not bad, not at all," he started, but Enna was no fool. The mail on his upper arm was damaged, and dark blood stained the cold metal rings. He had gotten a hard knock off of a Galmanian blade, that much Enna could tell, and his helmet and shield had been knocked away—Arondight was all that was left, and its hilt and part of its scabbard were covered with bloody handprints.

"Come along," she said to him, nodding towards the thin rows of gathering warriors. "You need taking care of."

He didn't argue, following her meekly back to the others, where Enna was glad to see Peter, sweaty and dirty but otherwise unharmed, conversing pleasantly with his siblings. By this point, Aramir was leaning heavily on Enna's shoulder, even more exhausted than she.

As they approached, a centaur with a rather scarred chest noticed Aramir's condition and kindly offered his arm to lean on, freeing Enna from Aramir's weight. She helped him off with his tabard and mail as soon as she was free, wincing when she found the tunic underneath the armor stained with blood.

"You're not suited for battle yet, youngling," said the centaur as Aramir wrenched his greaves and mail leggings off, grimacing.

"At least I tried," he groaned, throwing his good arm over his eyes.

Queen Lucy hurried to his side and dropped to her knees. "Oh, Aramir, you've been wounded!" she exclaimed. "'Tis a miracle you're still alive! I'm going to have to ask you to take off that shirt—Peter didn't let me bring my cordial, but I'm going to try and patch everyone up all the same."

Enna blinked at the queen's oddity, but helped Aramir free his bloody arm from his sleeve. The wound itself was rather disgusting, as the impact had left deep imprints of the mail in his flesh, along with tearing the arm open itself and leaving a dusky bruise around the edges of the cut.

The queen tsked sympathetically, unrolling a rough-looking cotton bandage. "Poor dear. It's your first wound, too, isn't it? Those are the worst." As she spoke, she gently bound his arm, ignoring his strained sounds of pain, and with the scraps did her best to clean up the residual blood. Enna tried to be angry with her for being so rash earlier, but at the sight of such consideration felt her annoyance melt away.

"Peter is going to make you a knight, you know," Queen Lucy whispered conspiratorially. "Edmund saw your bravery on the right flank, and we want to reward you for it."

Aramir blinked and looked at Enna. "I—I don't think—"

"Oh, here he comes," Lucy cut in, looking excited. "Sit up! Sit up!"

Enna looked over as Peter approached, his hand on Rhindon's hilt. "My royal brother tells me of your audacity, Aramir," he said, sitting on his heels. "I was impressed by what I heard."

Aramir's freckled face turned pink under the dirt, and he shook his head. "I just whacked away at whatever I could reach, sire."

"Nevertheless! It was brave whacking! And we Narnians like to reward bravery."

"Kneel! Kneel!" Queen Lucy urged, tugging on Aramir's good arm.

A bit bewildered, Aramir clambered to his knees and Peter stood, drawing Rhindon from its sheath. (It was very clean, Enna noted. He must have taken the time to clean it.)

"Very well," said Peter. "I hereby dub you, Aramir Ealion, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table." And he tapped Aramir's shoulders ever-so-lightly with the flat of his blade.

Lucy clapped. "Now I may officially call you 'Sir Aramir'!"

Grinning weakly, Aramir looked at Enna, who, a bit reluctantly, smiled back. It was a great honor for him, indeed, and she was proud, but…didn't she deserve something? After all, it was her idea to pin the army against the cliff, and she had killed many enemies, and even plunged into battle of her own will.

But she kept her mouth shut for the moment and concentrated on congratulating Aramir, who was beaming despite his pain.

"You were awfully brave, too, Enna," Queen Lucy said. "My brother told me how angry he was at you, and I must apologize to you for it. It was entirely my fault. You tried very hard to keep me in line. She followed me into battle, Peter!"

Peter, who had begun to turn away, looked back with interest. "Enna did what?"

"I ran off from the archers," Lucy said matter-of-factly. "And Enna followed your commands, and chased me all the way to the battlefield."

"That was very foolish but very lucky of you," Peter said to both of them very sternly.

"She was thrown from her horse, and that was the last I saw of her until now." Queen Lucy shrugged. "I think Enna deserves at least a congratulations."

Enna lifted her chin. "I think I deserve a knighthood, Peter."

Everyone in the near vicinity fell dead silent and gaped at her, but she ignored them. "I have proven myself, have I not? I suggested the tactics that won the day, and I convinced you to follow them. I was not perhaps so brave in battle as Aramir, but then award me with a lower knighthood."

Peter blinked. "Enna…in Narnia, women are not given knighthoods."

"And why not?" Queen Lucy challenged him, cutting across Enna's rebuttal. The young queen stood up and put her hands at her hips. "Why may women not become knights, Peter? Enna has certainly proven herself, I agree. Knight her."

"It isn't done," Peter protested.

"Oh, to balderdash with what is done," Queen Lucy retorted. "This is war, and unless you can come up with a suitable alternative for knighthood, you must repay your subject with gratitude, not 'it isn't done'."

Peter groaned. "All right, Lucy."

Aramir winked at Enna, and she knelt happily as Peter drew his sword. "I hereby dub you, Enwynna Aldenthew, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table."

Lucy clapped her hands, beaming. "Good! And now that you are done with her, I want you to observe me in the next battle and judge if I am knighthood-worthy."

"That I refuse to do," Peter retorted, and walked away.

Lucy shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by her brother's refusal. "Nevertheless. Peter is easy to win over—I shall convince him yet!"