A/N: Phew! Sorry that took so long! It's been crazy here in Sushiland. :P Anyway, just reminding you guys to vote in our Wufoo poll if you haven't already, and enjoy this chapter!

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"I understand completely if you don't wish to go."

"No—I do wish to. I want to see him grovel."

Peter sighed, running his hands through his fair hair. "Enna, I'm not so sure that it's a good idea for you to—"

"Peter, I want this," Enna replied forcefully, taking a step forward. "I want him to see me, and to know that he has lost me."

"Very well. If you insist."

Enna crossed her arms. "Thank you."

Peter brushed a few crumbs of dirt from the front of his tabard and they scattered to the floor, getting lost among the blades of grass. "I'm going to go see to the construction of the parley tent. Try to rest your nerves a bit."

"All right."

He spared her a glance before brushing aside the tent flap and striding out into the sunlight, leaving her alone. Sighing, she lowered herself to her cot, her back to the entrance, and listened to the bustle of activity outside the canvas walls. The Narnians were so ecstatic over the parley—but she, now that her initial exuberance had worn off, was beginning to wonder. Why would her uncle, so underhanded and no less stubborn than she, suddenly offer the hand of peace? It was so unlike him. What could the real reason for this sudden change of heart be? Had he given up on her? The thought initially thrilled her, then stung briefly. As much as she despised him, as much pain as he had caused her, he was her kin, and had, at least for the first half of her life, treated her with love. The idea that the kind of close affection such as that between niece and uncle could be discarded so easily did not serve to boost her mood.

"I must stop thinking like this," she muttered, standing so quickly that the blood rushed from her head. Silently, she took down her braid and brushed out the snarled curls, remembering when her mother would do such mind numbing tasks for her—she sang sad, ancient songs in complex, ancient tongues while Enna, mesmerized by her mother's soothing hands, sat still as stone.

That was before Sabsestrin had limited her bath time to a cursory ten minutes, of course.

As unpleasant as the memory was, it served to put Enna firmly back into the present, and her resolution to wash her hands of her uncle forever rushed back with a vengeance. Instead of re-braiding her long locks, such as she had done in Galma, she set her jaw and attempted to mimic the loose, very Narnian hairstyles that she had seen Queens Lucy and Susan sport. She wanted to look well cared-for and content, though not as regal as Peter perhaps would have wished—it would do no good to put on airs, not when a treaty was being crafted.

Enna gave up on that idea soon enough, and made do instead with the simple pinning that Naeomi had done on her unruly hair before the Great Snow Dance. It was plain, but definitely not Galmanian. "It will do, then," she said under her breath, blowing a stray curl off of her forehead.

Sighing, she turned around—only to see Aramir standing in the entry. A sudden desire to fling her arms around him again seized her, just as she caught her breath in surprise—he looked tired, and an angry red scratch marred the bridge of his nose, but he was calm, already changed from his battle garb to a plain brown tunic, Arondight strapped at his waist. "How long were you standing there?" she asked, pressing a hand to her pattering heart.

"Just…just a moment. I called your name, but you didn't answer."

"Oh. My apologies."

"No need. Doubtless you are preoccupied with your own matters."

Enna did not like how indifferent and falsely nonchalant their conversation was, but, try as she might, she could think of nothing to say to change it. "Aye. Very much so."

"I heard you proposed today's strategy, as well."

"Aye. But I could not see how it all panned out."

"Fairly well."

"We pushed them back."

"Aye. But it was at a cost."

"Oh, dear…"

"A slight cost."

"Still…"

"'Tis battle. There isn't anything a man can do to stop the shedding of blood under such circumstances."

"Very true."

Aramir cleared his throat, putting his hand on Arondight's hilt. "What do you think of the treaty?"

"I am relieved," she replied carefully.

The doe-eyed youth watched her, not unkindly. "It is a mixed blessing, is it not?"

"Perhaps…"

"Are you afraid? Afraid to meet him?"

Enna tossed her hair and told a blatant lie. "Of course not. I am…thrilled."

"I would be worried."

"I am not you."

"Thank the Lion for that."

Eyeing him sharply, Enna lifted her chin an inch. "Did you come here just to natter on in such a manner, or do you have a purpose?"

He stirred as if he'd forgotten. "No—no, I…I came in search of Peter. Is he here?"

"Not that I can see."

"Right, then. I'll leave you be."

He turned to go, and Enna would have let him walk away, but at the last moment, she thought of something. "Aramir?"

Aramir turned back, his dark hair lighting up as he stood under the cloudy sky. "Aye?"

"Will you…will you be at the parley?"

"No."

"Oh. I see. That's all."

"All right. Erm…goodbye."

"Goodbye."

He went away, and Enna sat back down on her cot as a moist breeze blew through the fluttering tent flap. She wanted Aramir at her side while she watched Peter negotiate—she had a feeling he would keep a better rein on her tongue than any faun or dryad could. Besides: it was one thing, having one's lover nearby. It was another, much more comforting, thing to have one's dearest friend nearby.

"Enna?"

It was Peter at the flap this time. "Aye?"

"It's time."

Enna was on her feet in an instant, tripping over her hem. "I'm—I'm coming. Wait for me—"

"They're coming up the hill as we speak. Make haste…!"

"I'm making haste!" She stumbled after him as he strode purposefully through the camp, her heart pounding at a million miles an hour. This was it…Sabsestrin was a mere minute's walk away! Suddenly, she began to feel a good deal less courageous. "Peter…"

He glanced over his shoulder. "What is it?"

"Could we please have Aramir present? I think…I think he would like to witness this as much as I." Enna didn't know if that was completely true or not, but it didn't matter, for Peter was already preparing to say yes.

He sighed. "All right. Embla, fetch Aramir Ealion and bring him immediately to the parley tent."

The nearby dryad nodded. "Aye, sire."

"Thank you, Peter," Enna said quietly.

"You're welcome."

The parley tent, as Enna soon found out, was less of a tent and more of a simple awning stretched generously over a low table furnished with a stack of parchment and a few quill pens, surrounded by four chairs; the clammy breeze swept freely back and forth under it, ruffling the fur of the griffin and centaur that stood at attention next to the Narnian chairs. King Edmund sat in one, tossing a wadded bit of parchment up in the air and trying to balance it on his nose.

"Edmund!" Peter hissed.

King Edmund jumped and quickly hid the wad in his pocket. "Er, sorry—are we starting, then?"

"Aye! Any moment!"

Enna heard Aramir approach before she saw him. "You summoned me, sire?"

Peter glanced over at him. "Aye, Aramir—would you mind much standing by Enna during the negotiations? The sight of a Son of Adam with a sword at his waist might temper our adversaries' mercenariness a bit."

"Aye, sire."

"Thank you."

Enna hoped Aramir would understand—she was still cross with him, but her need for emotional support at this critical moment overshadowed any previous grievances. "Thank you, Aramir."

He smiled a slight, good-natured smile, and took his place beside her in the far corner of the awning. "I have little doubt that my brother is in that group we see coming towards us."

Indeed, Captain Minodaurus' tall, dark head was the first that Enna saw in the retinue of Galmanians approaching the tent. She shuddered inwardly at the memories that came crowding forth, but then quickly pushed them away, knowing that the ones Aramir was reliving were much worse than hers.

"Announcing, His Lordship Sabsestrin, Duke of Anwit and Honored Knight of the Marinal Order."

Enna felt both terror and disgust fill her body at the sound of her uncle's name—how dare he take on the title of duke! He must have ingratiated himself to King Helmin while she was away.

"Pretenses of royalty," she hissed to Aramir as the entourage came towards the tent. "We are not of noble stock, the Stalresins."

He said nothing, but put a bracing hand at her elbow—and for good reason. The Galmanian compeers bowed aside, and the two people she wanted to see least of all approached the two waiting chairs. Aramir's hand tightened around her elbow, but she scarcely noticed: it was Minodaurus and her detestable, red-nosed, hollow-cheeked, scraggly-bearded Uncle Sabsestrin.

His narrow blue eyes cunningly scanned each and every nook and cranny of the parley tent. "Well met, my kings," he said, sweeping a low bow.

"Duke Sabsestrin," Peter said stiffly. "Will you not sit?"

As he motioned to the two seats across from him and King Edmund, Minodaurus caught sight of Enna and Aramir and quickly nudged Sabsestrin with his elbow. The breath caught in Enna's throat, and she took a step back, but it was too late—he had seen her. His eyes lit up when they connected with hers, and Enna's knees wobbled dangerously beneath her skirts. Aramir held onto her elbow with a firm grip, and she lifted her chin haughtily and looked pointedly away from her uncle.

"It would be a pleasure to meet you, sires," she heard him say, "were it under any other circumstances."

"Quite," Peter said with a dry snort.

"We have no desire for pleasantries," King Edmund put in firmly. "Let us negotiate our terms, and be done with it."

"Well spoken, my young sire," Minodaurus said sneeringly. Apparently, he had not forgotten the imagined ills wrought upon him and his crew by the four monarchs. Enna reached over and touched Aramir's hand briefly with her free one, trying to communicate encouragement without words.

"Our demands are simple," Peter began. "We wish for you, and all your people, to leave Narnia at once, and return to your island. You run the risk of having this war labeled—and treated—as a rebellion."

"Quite, sire," said Sabsestrin, leaning across the table. "Are those all your demands?"

"Not all," King Edmund said quickly, just as Enna's heart began to pound with dread. "But that is our main one. What are yours?"

"We seek only one thing, my good kings."

"And that is?"

Sabsestrin smiled. "Only my dear niece, Enwynna Stalresin, bone of my bone, only surviving daughter of my dear, late, brother and his widow."

Mother—! He had not said she was dead! Quickly, Enna glanced at Aramir, heartened, not realizing that Sabsestrin was watching her reactions closely.

"We refuse," said Peter. "Make any demands you wish, but that one will never be granted."

"But that is the only thing we wish," Minodaurus said pleadingly.

"There must be something else."

The two Galmanians looked at each other, and Enna recognized the shrewd look in her uncle's eye. Thank Gale, he was considering something else! "Well, sire…perhaps there might be…"

"Well? Out with it, then!"

Sabsestrin chuckled, stroking his thin beard. "I suppose it is simple. Forgo the tariff on imported Narnian goods. Also…relinquish Galma from your executive control into the hands of her most able king Helmin."

"You make harsh demands."

"Oh, that is not all, good sir king," Sabsestrin corrected. "Free the isle of Terebinthia from your immediate rule, and return her government to her rightful nobles. Also, we demand the payment of two thousand gilds in recompense for those valuable sailors lost in battle with your forces."

"That is too much," King Edmund said stubbornly. "You must lessen your price, or name us another benefit."

Sabsestrin sucked on his teeth for a moment. "Ah, sires…you drive hard bargains. But…I suppose I have one thing more to offer."

"Speak it."

"I, knowing the tender heart of my niece, convinced someone else to accompany me on my journey north to Narnia," Sabsestrin said with a smile.

Enna's heart began to pound, and Aramir squeezed her elbow.

"Who is it?"

"It is my dear wife, Ilsta Stalresin."

Enna choked on a breath. "Mammata!"

All seven heads in the parley tent swiveled to look at her, but she didn't care. Her mother, her dear, downtrodden mother, was here—and she had the power to free her from Sabsestrin's poisonous grasp! Oh, she could just imagine bringing her to Cair Paravel, and showing her the Great Sea, and seeing her old beauty return.

She smiled happily at Aramir, and then at Peter, who turned to Sabsestrin. "Agreed."

"Excellent! Shall we draw up the treaty, then?"

"Right away."

"She's coming, Aramir!" Enna whispered, almost blind with joy as the scratching of King Edmund's quill filled the space. "Oh, you will love my mother—she is so good."

Aramir grinned at her. "If she is anything like her daughter, she will be."

"Right, then. Are we agreed?"

"Agreed."

And, with a flourish of the pen, Sabsestrin signed the treaty, and Enna had to bit down hard on her tongue to keep it silent. "Ambar! Fetch me my wife. And make haste!"

"Aye, sire," said the soldier he'd addressed.

"Thank you, Peter," Enna said, her voice breaking with emotion. "You…"

He nodded slightly, and looked back as someone shouted, "Make way for the duchess!"

Enna ran from beneath the awning, looking for the ivory-skinned woman with flowing flaxen hair and dancing brown eyes that she called Mother. "Oh, Aramir, you will lo…"

She trailed off as Ambar returned, half-carrying a woman that looked as though she were made of bones and a bit of flesh. That is not my Mammata. This woman was ancient, sunburned, weather-beaten, and clad in a dirty peasant's dress, her yellow hair long but snarled and dirty.

"This is not my mother," Enna said loudly, her blood running ice cold. "This woman looks nothing like…"

"Little larkspur," cried the woman in a weak voice, stumbling as Ambar pushed her forward. "Oh, Enwynna…do you not recognize your own kin?"

And then Enna knew. "Oh, Mammata—!" she croaked. Emotion threatened to overcome her, and she ran to her mother's side just as she pitched forward. Her body was like straws in Enna's arms—but it was her mother. "Mammata!"

Her mother burst into tears and struggled to sit up, tugging Enna close with her suddenly strong arms. "Oh, my little larkspur…I thought I'd never live to see you again!"

Enna could feel the damp grass soaking through her skirts as she sat crumpled on the ground, but she hid her face in her mother's shoulder, fighting back the tears. It had been a year, at least, since she had been held in her arms, and though the older woman's flesh felt hot against her forehead, she clung tightly to her.

Her mother's hands, though weak, stroked her hair, and she kissed her forehead, trying to speak but only mouthing senseless words.

It did not take long for Enna to feel more that she was holding her mother, cradling her, instead of the other way around. What had happened to the Mammata of her youth? A red-cheeked and white-skinned gentlewoman, finely bred and well loved by all, Ilsta had been. But now, she was shriveled and wrinkled, yellow with jaundice and hollow-eyed with hunger. As she looked up at Enna, their places of protector and protected so drastically reversed, the younger woman felt the hot burn of rage ignite in her chest.

"What have you done to her?"

Her voice rang out, challenging the skimpy-bearded man who stood nearby for the first time.

"Done?" Sabsestrin said, sounding shocked. "I have done nothing!"

"You liar!" Enna snarled. "She is but a wraith—a mere shadow of Ilsta Stalresin!"

"There…was a famine, on Galma," Mammatta whispered, struggling to sit up.

"Aye! A great, great famine," Minodaurus chimed in.

"You liar." This time, it was Aramir who spoke, stepping forward with blazing brown eyes, his broad shoulders thrust back. "There has been no famine. You and your men are fit as pigs, while this good woman emaciates in your presence."

"I shall not tolerate such insolence from my infant kin," Minodaurus said to Sabsestrin in a low voice, but loud enough for everyone to hear clearly.

"By the lion, you shall, Argo!" Aramir spat. "I am your brother no longer."

"No longer?" Captain Minodaurus laughed. "How can you not be?"

"By my choice and the favor of the lion Aslan, that is how. Straightway—Narnia demands explanation of your loathsome treatment of the Duchess Sabsestrin."

"Foolish boy," Sabsestrin laughed. Enna's rage was only fanned into leaping higher at the sight of those white teeth, leering at Aramir as they had once leered at her.

"Foolish man," she shot back.

"Enna, dear…"

"Mammatta, try to rest."

"Aramir," King Edmund said warningly as Aramir's hand twitched toward Arondight. Enna saw the fire of battle in the youth's dark eyes, but she made no move to soothe his anger, feeling her own intensify by the moment.

"That woman is of no royal blood," Minodaurus replied calmly. "That is simple enough to see. Look upon her, boy. She is hardly worth the effort to turn your head. Daughter and mother alike, eh?"

In a moment, Aramir had drawn Arondight and was nearly upon his brother, and it took both King Edmund and Peter to drag him away by the jerkin, red-faced and struggling mightily.

"Treachery!" Sabsestrin bawled, his eyes bugging out as he scrambled to draw his short broadsword. "Treachery! To arms, men! We will have nothing of these Narnian renegades!"

"Then we will have nothing of your treaty!" King Edmund bellowed, and tore the document in two.

The sound seemed to echo in Enna's ears, and she stared at the destroyed pile of scraps, Mammatta trembling in her arms as a few sprinkles of rain began falling from the sky.

"Very well," Sabsestrin growled. "You have lost your chance, wooden-headed barbarian brats. I shall not offer you such an opportunity again! Galma shall win the day in the end."

"We shall see," Aramir said sharply, still struggling against Peter's iron grip. "Now begone, before the wrath of the lion is unleashed!"

"Forget the duchess," Minodaurus snapped as Ambar approached Enna. "We shall claim our due soon enough."

Enna did not relax her grip on her mother until the last echoes of the Galmanian host had faded away, and someone began tugging at her hands. It was Glenstorm the centaur, wise and wrinkled, gathering Mammatta up into his strong arms.

"She needs medical treatment, my lady," he said when Enna kicked and prepared to put up a fight. "She must be cared for."

And so, defeated at last, Enna opened her arms and let him bear her mother out of them; it felt as though she were being torn apart, piece by piece, limb by limb.

So she was not free, after all.