A/N: Not much to say tonight, just reminding you to vote in our Wufoo poll (found at the top of our profile page) if you haven't yet! :D
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In the morning, all went as planned. The army was awoken early, just as the sun was beginning to peek over the eastern horizon, and told to dismantle the tents and dress for battle. Sleepily, Enna and Lucy did as they were told, exchanging their decent-looking travel dresses for stained and frayed-hemmed ones and chain mail.
"I'm so excited to fight for Narnia again," Lucy yawned, cinching a belt at her waist and hooking her little dagger onto it.
Enna didn't answer. The thought of being involved in battle thrilled her, but what if she or Peter should be killed—or Aramir? If he was still disappointed in her, she had yet to give him a piece of her mind.
Outside the tent, the camp was collapsing in front of their very eyes, being packed away and set behind a mound of rock for guarding by a few sharp-toothed but sore-pawed hounds. Troops tiptoed into their positions, eating cold breakfasts for fear of their campfires being seen, and all was nearly as quiet as though they were not here.
King Edmund caught up with Enna and Lucy not long after they'd ventured outside. "The plans have been finalized," he whispered. "Would you like me to tell you?"
"Of course, Ed!" Lucy hissed.
"Very well. As soon as the Galmanians look to be ready to continue on their journey, Glauco the griffon will take to the skies and circle above their camp, making a great show of spotting them and returning to us. Once he has been noticed, we shall strike battle colors and come to the edge of this hill and make it seem as though we had just stumbled upon them. If all goes as planned, they shall amass their strength and attack us. We shall simply defend the hilltop."
"Aye, Ed, that's a very good plan," Queen Lucy said, rubbing her hands together with excitement.
"The archers, such as yourself, Lady Enna," King Edmund went on with a nod to her, "will take the main responsibility of repulsing their advance. Our winged soldiers will drop projectiles, as usual, and the Dwarfs have devised an ingenious plan of rolling boulders downhill, but we will rely mostly on your arrows."
Enna nodded, patting the leather belt that secured her quiver against her back.
"Now, eat something while there's still time," the king said. "Lucy, Peter wants you behind the archers—you will be with the swordsmen, but there is little to no chance of us actually utilizing that part of the army."
"Oh, fie," Lucy fretted. "How unfair!"
King Edmund shrugged. "Go on, now."
The two young women turned and managed to retrieve a few bits of cold chicken from their knapsacks before they were taken away, and they gnawed on these while wandering about what was left of camp.
"I told you Peter would let me fight, didn't I?" Lucy whispered archly, her mouth full of food.
"You did."
"He is quite easy to convince, don't you think?"
"Aye. Quite."
The queen swallowed her mouthful. "Excuse me a moment, Enna—I should like to speak briefly to Piretus before this all begins again."
Enna nodded, and Lucy scampered off, her mail jingling in time with each step. If only I could be as thrilled about war! Enna thought woefully. But I can only think about what will happen if I am killed. Where will they bury me? It'll have to be here on the Plains, won't it—we are too far from Cair Paravel. I should like to be buried at sea, like Papa. Forever dwelling under those tossing waves…
Just as she came out of her reverie, Aramir passed by, and she bit her lip. As irked with his as she was, their people were on the brink of a battle, and she might never get a chance to make amends.
"Aramir," she said reluctantly.
He turned, his shield clattering against his mail. "Aye?"
She bit the inside of her lip so hard that she felt the metallic taste of blood on her tongue. "Well, erm…ah…I'm…I would like to a…to apologize for my conduct last night." Even though it was legitimate.
Aramir gave a half-smile, as though he were slightly distracted. "Forgiven, Enna."
The relief at those two words took a load from Enna's shoulders that she hadn't realized she was there, and she smiled. "Thank you." And…now it's his turn…
He smiled again and turned to go.
"Wait—" she hissed.
Aramir turned back. "What?"
"Aren't you going to apologize to me?"
"Apologize?" Aramir looked flabbergasted. "Whatever for?
Enna's jaw dropped. "Whatever for? For insulting my character! For telling me that I made errors in my decisions!"
"Keep your voice down," he cautioned. "I did not insult your character. Someone has got to tell you when you make a mistake, Enna, or you will never know when you make one. I'm trying to help—that's what friends are for."
"Friends do not call friends 'walkovers'," she retorted.
He shook his head. "Very well, Enna. I…at least I can say I made an attempt."
Enna fumed silently as he went on his way. Aramir was not her mother! What right did he have, telling her what was right and what was wrong?
"Is something the matter, love?" came Peter's voice in her ear.
She stiffened instinctively, then shook her head. "No. Nothing."
Sighing, he turned her to him and kissed her hand. "There's no need to worry about me—I'll be quite safe."
It wasn't you I was worrying about, she thought darkly, but out loud said, "Oh, I have no doubt."
"Has my brother told you the plans?"
"Aye."
"The Galmanians are stirring in their camp, I have been told. I hope you're ready."
"I hope so, too."
He kissed her wrist and then her forehead, and Enna saw the noble-looking golden beard that was forming on his jaw. "Do not stand in the front lines, Enna. I don't know what I would do if you were killed."
"Well, this war would be over, for one," she replied teasingly.
Peter did not laugh. "Don't even joke about such a thing."
Chastened, she looked away.
Suddenly, there was a flutter of wings, and a tawny-coated griffin took to the sky above the army's heads. Peter pulled away from Enna, shielding his eyes against the rising sun as he watched. "I see it is time."
Enna bit her lip.
"Well, goodbye, then," he said, and placed a light kiss on her mouth before hurrying away. Enna wiped away the moisture that his lips had left on hers with her sleeve, adjusting her quiver on her back and straightening her shoulders.
A shout went up from the valley below them, and she closed her eyes briefly against the sudden flurry of activity that burst in the camp as Narnians took their positions.
"Lady Enna, you must go to the archers," a passing centaur admonished, pushing her in the general direction of the outfit.
"Aye, I must," she replied breathlessly and went where she was told. There, the Narnian archers were gathered close together in long, neat columns, gripping their bows and looking grim. From the valley came a distinctive lowing, groaning blast of noise, the sound of a Galmanian battle horn.
"Strike the colors!" cried an eagle circling overhead.
At its command, Narnians that had been holding the scarlet banners low, almost touching the ground, hoisted them high and proudly into the air to tumultuous cheering from the scarlet-clad host clustering atop the hill.
Enna could not see what was happening in the glen below, but she heard the sounds of hooves as King Edmund galloped past, his sword gleaming in the sun. "Ready, archers!" the young boy cried out.
Piretus the faun saluted his king smartly and turned to the archers. Enna scrambled to get her bow and an arrow from her quiver as he took a breath to command them: "Aim!"
As if they all shared one mind, the archers lifted their bows high towards the bloody sky of morning, higher than usual, and drew the strings taught. Enna's hand trembled as she held the string against her chin.
"Fire!"
The hissing of arrows filled the air, and a moment later, a few distant shrieks as the sharp darts found their marks. Enna was glad she couldn't see the outcome of her shot, as she had been forced to at Lithil Downs, for she didn't think she could stand to see another Galmanian die.
"Aim!"
Griffins and eagles careened overhead, their thick talons gripping boulders that were eventually thrown down into the glen. As she watched, one eagle banked steeply to avoid a Galmanian arrow and lost its grip on the stone it had been carrying; it plummeted to earth near the Narnian foot soldiers, sending a whole division fleeing for their lives.
"Fire!"
The string of Enna's bow caught a lock of her hair as she released it, tossing the curl into her face. A deep rumble betokened the Dwarfs hard at work, digging up boulders to roll down the hillside into the seething masses of enemy soldiers streaming at the foot of the hill.
"They have gained the slope!" came a strained cry from the vanguard. A ripple of fear rushed through Enna's unit—their onslaught had done little to prevent the opposition from reaching the hill.
"Fire at will!"
King Edmund's horse galloped past again, and his agitated expression was not lost on Enna, whose mind immediately sprang into action despite the steady whistle of arrows overhead. If the Galmanians were scaling the hill despite the Narnians' arrows, then there was no point in continuing that offensive. The enemy would have to be swept off the slope somehow.
An idea formed in Enna's head. It was a foolish one, but it could work…in theory.
When Edmund cantered by again, Enna leapt out from the ranks and waved for him to stop. His horse's mouth frothing, he reluctantly reined it in, panting almost as hard as the beast itself. "Enna, are you crazy? You'll get yourself killed!"
"I have an idea!"
"An idea? Now? When the enemy is streaming at our gates?"
"That's what the idea is for!"
A brief moment of indecision crossed the young king's face, but he reluctantly nodded. "Fine, then. Peter is in back—follow me. Hyah!"
He kicked his horse into a canter away from the front lines and Enna followed, tripping over her skirts in her haste. She had to think of some way to present her idea without making it seem as rash as it really was—perhaps she could flutter her eyes at Peter. He, of course, would be easy to win over, but what about his brother and the commanders?
Peter stood up at their approach, nearly knocking over his chair. "Is something wrong?" he said loudly to his brother, but looking at her.
"I have a suggestion," Enna panted, clutching the stitch in her side.
"Speak it, then, and quickly!"
"We must repel the Galmanians—from the hill," she breathed. "Our arrows aren't doing enough. I have heard you say before that desperate—times call for desperate measures."
"And you are proposing a desperate measure."
Enna clung to the back of a chair for support, gulping air as she nodded. "Aye. I propose a downhill charge—strike right at the enemy's center, and split him in two as we simultaneously force them back."
"That is foolhardy!" Peter cried, gesturing at the flurry of arrows and movement that was the front lines. "Do you wish for all your people to die?"
"They will not die if the attack is carried out properly," Enna countered. "Besides—wouldn't you rather have them die doing something worthwhile than standing here in a bunch and shooting arrows blindly?"
Peter leaned on the cartography table, his head between his shoulders. "I cannot argue with you."
"Then it will be done?"
"It will be done as you say."
Enna's heart gave a twinge of impatience with Peter's mindless agreement, but she nodded briskly. "Very well."
"Edmund, come here!" Peter bellowed, motioning for his brother.
King Edmund spurred his snorting horse over to the scarlet tent, stopping the sweating beast just a few yards shy of the table. "What is it?"
"Organize a charge," Peter said.
"A what?"
"You heard me! I want a downhill charge—all sword-bearing Narnians assembled in one concentrated mass, three rows deep and as many columns long as needed. Sweep the Galmanians off the hill—strike with all your might. I want the archers standing by to fire upon the rear."
"But Peter, that's foolhard—"
"Follow my commands, Edmund," Peter roared. "With all haste!"
Screwing up his face in anger, Edmund wheeled his horse around and spurred it towards the front to relay Peter's orders to the commanders.
"You had better pray this works, Enna," Peter sighed.
She put her shoulders back. "If all goes as planned, it will."
"Good. Now, will you stay back?"
"Peter, I will not stay back. I am a Narnian archer, and I shall fight as one." Without waiting for him to object, Enna spun on her heel and ran back to her division, now being moved aside to make room for the growing throng of gleaming-sworded foot soldiers. Being placed in the far back by her brother she saw a disgruntled-looking Queen Lucy.
A sudden dismay seized Enna then—she had forgotten that Peter had allowed the young girl to participate in any of the battle's infantry movements. Oh, if she had only remembered, she would not have pressed for her suggestion to be taken!
Before she could make a move to somehow pull the queen from the ranks or change Peter's mind, Oreius blew a long blast on his horn, and with a mighty roar, the Narnians rushed down the hillside like a river let loose from its dam.
Enna turned away.
"Aim for the rear!" Piretus bellowed, his thin, goaty voice rising above the clash of battle. Enna, with great reluctance, lifted her bow high in the air, praying the gradient was accurate.
"Fire at will!"
The arrows screamed from the bows, sailing out beyond the lip of the hill and disappearing. Trembling with apprehension, Enna fitted another to her bow and let it loose, the string cutting into her chilled fingers. A red-fletched Galmanian arrow struck a griffin overhead, and its shriek of pain threatened to break Enna's already wavering concentration. Arrows sang out to her left and Edmund's horse thundered by on her right, and her breath came shorter and shorter—how was the assault faring? She was blind to the progress!
A splotch of bright red blood landed on her hand just as she drew the bowstring taught again; she looked up into the cloudy sky to see the griffin, the arrow stuck in the juncture of its back knee, wheel upside down in midair to avoid yet another dart.
King Edmund's horse thundered past one last time, and then, unexpectedly, a cheer rose up. A Narnian cheer!
"The Galmanians have raised the flag of armistice! Armistice!" came the gleeful cry.
"They have requested a treaty?" gasped the archers near Enna.
She closed her eyes and let the jubilant sounds wash over her, taking a deep breath. They had not only beaten them back, they had beaten them back into submission! The clash of battle had died away, and now all that was left was the cheering of the valiant Narnians. The war is over.
A horse's footsteps were heard, and Peter, now wearing his crown, rode out through the crowds to tumultuous hurrahs and the unique calls of all of Narnia's creatures—the eagles overhead did dizzying spirals in midair, their triumphant shrieks echoing across the wide Narnian plains. There was, on the near edge of the cliff, a figure that Enna had not noticed before—a Son of Adam, dressed in Galmanian leather armor, kneeling humbly at Peter's horse's feet, flanked by two exceptionally fierce-seeming centaurs.
"Speak your business," Peter said over the roar of the Narnians.
They hushed immediately.
"I come in the name of His Lordship Naval General Stalresin, Duke of Anwit, and Honored Knight of the Marinal Order," said the Galmanian.
"As I can well gather. What have you to say on his behalf?"
The soldier swallowed visibly, glancing around. Enna tried to melt into the crowds, but she was certain he saw her. "My lord duke extends the hand of peace to his formidable Narnian opponents."
"Go on."
"He requests that a parley of treaties be held today, in the interest of ending this war before any more Galmanian—or Narnian—lives are lost."
"Then he does not surrender?"
"Nay."
"Very well, then. A parley of treaties shall be held in no less than an hour, here, under our terms."
The soldier wavered, but under the steady glare of the Narnian host, acquiesced. "Aye, sire. It shall be as you have commanded."
"Then you are dismissed."
Bowing once more, the soldier straightened and hurried down the hill, casting a frightened look at the horrid beasts that made up the Narnian army. Once again, the scarlet-clad soldiers raised a vociferous hurrah, and Peter grinned.
But no one smiled as broadly as Enna—at last, long last, she was free.