A/N: Meh, this chapter's kind of short. Sorry! But it was quick in coming, and it got my point across, so I'm happy. :) In other news, we have an ETC in sight! (That's Sushi-speak for "Estimated Time of Completion.") I'm aiming to have "Sea Rat" done and its sequel begun on or before April 19 of this year (my birthday, actually!). So keep me on task! ;D

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It was nightfall the next day on the rain-swept plains before the Narnian camp regained a sense of composure. Wild, wet winds buffeted the re-erected tents, howling over the flat grasslands, driving black thunderclouds across the darkening sky.

The weather matched Enna's mood nearly exactly, and she silently watched the shadow of raindrops dripping down the tent walls as the light of day gradually faded. Her mother, bundled tightly in thick blankets, shivered unknowingly despite the warmth, caught up in fitful sleep. Enna sat by her cot, playing with a corner of her cloak, her hair rebelling against the sudden humidity and lack of attention.

The Narnians had been so good to Mammata, giving the poor, ill woman weak broth and the tenderest care they could afford. Peter had agreed to delay the pursuit of the Galmanian army until the next day, even. Even now, as Enna sat uselessly by her mother's side, he was busy mapping out his strategies.

She felt a slight twinge of disgruntlement—he had not even come to meet Mammata while she was still awake. Aramir—even King Edmund!—had spent long hours sitting by them, listening to Mammata's halting, hard-to-follow stories and in turn telling what experiences they and Enna had shared at Cair Paravel. When she, at last, had slipped into fevered sleep around five o'clock the first day, Aramir had remained quietly by Enna's side for a few more moments until King Edmund poked his head in and informed him that it was his turn for the watch. He had returned the next day, but looked so weary that she sent him off to bed early.

Thus, it was nearly seven o'clock, and Enna was alone with her thoughts. Glenstorm and his dryad apprentice had given Mammata herbs and teas and broths throughout the course of the two days, but when her feeble, drained condition only worsened, they had set aside their medicines with grim expressions.

"She is too spent," Glenstorm had said, his broad centaur's shoulders stooped with deference. "The illness has ravaged her body beyond the assistance of our physic."

Enna nodded. "So does this mean…she is dying?"

Glenstorm lowered his head. "Unless she survives the night, I fear so, milady."

Enna sighed. "I see. Thank you for your help, Glenstorm."

And he had retreated, leaving Enna to herself.

The tent flap was drawn aside quietly, and Enna turned to see Aramir duck in from out of the rain, his dark hair glistening in the lamplight. "Is she any better?" he asked softly.

Enna shook her head as he came to sit by her side. "She is sleeping much." So saying, she slipped her hand into the older woman's shriveled one, causing her to stir.

"Larkspur…"

"Hush, Mammata. You must rest."

Aramir got the flask of lukewarm water from nearby and uncorked it, holding it to Mammata's lips. She took only a few sips before turning her head away, and he looked gravely at Enna.

Enna said nothing, could only look at her once-beautiful Mammata. Was this what it had come to, then? The protector had become the protected, the weak become the strong.

Aramir nudged her. "Enna…"

"What?" She looked up to see Peter standing in the entry, his hands knotted behind his back. "Oh, hello, Peter…I did not notice you come in."

"Who is Peter?" Mammata whispered as she heard Peter's footsteps come closer to her bedside.

"I am the high king of Narnia, good lady," Peter responded before Enna got a chance to, kneeling on Enna's right.

"The king…why do you call him by his given name, daughter?"

"I have asked her to do so, my lady."

Mammata swallowed with obvious pain. "And why is that, my liege?"

Peter looked at Enna, who in turn looked away. "Because, madam, I am quite enamored with her."

"Peter…"

"Marry him, daughter," said Mammata weakly, motioning vaguely. (Enna did not quite see where to, for she was gazing at the ceiling of the tent, burning with mortification.)

Thankfully, she was spared the discomfiture of telling her mother—and Peter, for that matter—that she was nowhere near wanting to marry him, because a distraction in the form of Queen Lucy came into the tent.

"Peter, Su has sent us a dispatch from Cair."

Apologetically, Peter looked at the other three and nodded. "I must go…farewell, my lady Stalresin."

"Farewell," Mammata sighed, her papery eyelids fluttering closed.

Enna carefully pulled the blankets up higher, tucking them gently around her mother's shoulders. "Try to rest, Mammata. Save your energy."

Mammata nodded, and Enna kissed her pale cheek, the older woman's withered lips fluttering uselessly against her own face. Aramir reached out and squeezed her hand, and the three fell into silence.

Gradually, as night wore on, Enna noticed a slowing of her mother's breathing. Oh, thank Gale—she was finally sleeping soundly. Her eyes burned with lack of sleep, but relief flooded her body. Mammata would live to see Cair Paravel!

But then, slowly and gently, the breaths came fewer and farther apart, until, at long last, they finally stopped. It was as uneventful a death as death can be.

A strange flutter ran through the tent's surviving occupants when they realized what had just happened. Aramir sat up a bit straighter, running his hand through his hair, and Enna stared unseeingly at what had once been her mother. She was now an orphan. Her last solid rock, her last place of safety in the swirling sea of life, had gone for good.

She realized after a few minutes that there were more people in the tent than there had been before: Glenstorm was packing up his medicines, a faun was clearing away the extra linens, and someone had pulled a blanket up over Mammata's face, but Aramir was still at her side.

"What will you do with her?" Enna thought her voice sounded awfully loud in the silence.

"Upon daylight tomorrow," Glenstorm said quietly, "she will be buried."

"I see. And must I observe?"

"If you do not wish it."

"I do not." Enna stood up, taking her cloak with her, and strode out of the hot and stuffy tent into the damp, cool night air. The breezes slapped at her burning cheeks, stole her breath and tossed it out of her mouth as mist, and sent it wafting up towards the fully waxed moon.

The rain will have coaxed Spring out from her hiding, Enna thought, striding to the edge of the hill where, in the valley below, there were still remnants of the former day's battle. I suppose they will bury her down there. How fitting, that she be laid to rest in ground that holds both the blood of her saviors and her kinsmen.

"Enna…"

She turned partway to see Aramir approach. "Aye?"

"Are you…"

"I'm quite well," she replied firmly.

He put his hands behind his back, gazing out upon the abandoned glen below them. "Then, you have no…regrets?"

"Regrets?" Enna turned to look at him. "About rescuing my mother? Never. She is dead now, yes, but she died warm and well cared-for. 'Tis better than I can say my uncle would have done."

"You bear her resemblance, you know."

Enna gave a laugh of derision. "You would not have said that, had you seen my mother in Galma. She may look like me when she bears the resemblance of a peasant."

"You have her eyes."

Enna lifted her chin and looked out upon Galthera Glen again. How many times had she been told that? Too often to count. "I have always thought I resembled my father."

"Nay…you share too many similarities with your mother to strongly resemble your sire, though I have not met him."

"At least you met my mother."

"Aye. And she was a good woman, what little I knew of her."

"She was good. She was the only thing standing between myself and my uncle's whip, many a time."

"She must have loved you dearly."

"She did. I know she did."

"I scarcely knew my mother. You, Enna, though you consider yourself wretched, are a lucky, lucky person. Your mother loved you, she raised you, and she would have died for you."

"Aye…"

"I cannot help but notice how she clung to life until she saw you again."

Damn this cold air! It was making her eyes sting! "Perhaps. Though I think it was just her time."

"If you say so. But I have never seen such bliss on a human's face before that I saw on your mother's, when you rushed out to meet her."

"I did—did miss her terr…" Enna couldn't go on. Choking on her own tears, she hid her face in her hand and turned away. "Pardon m-me, I'll be all right in a moment…" Though she knew she wouldn't. The realization of all that she had lost came crashing violently down on her, and her chest heaved with repressed sobs—she was adrift on a sea of responsibility, no parental anchors to stay her tossing boat.

Aramir clasped her tightly in his arms, and she went readily, vaguely drawing the parallels between her losses and his. He, at that moment, was the only steadfast thing in the world, and she clung desperately to his arms as she shook with tears that had not been shed for what seemed like a lifetime.

"I understand now why men of old would spend their whole lives seeking revenge for bloodshed," Enna said at long last, her legs unsteady but her voice firm against his rough tunic.

"How is that?"

She pushed away from him, caught up in the emotions that were flooding her heart and mind and banishing all previous uncertainties about the war. "I want to keep fighting. I'm glad Edmund tore that treaty—I would rather die now than give anything up to the Galmanians."

Glaring up at the white moon, Enna dashed a stray tear from her cheek with the flat of her hand. "Let Sabsestrin bring what he may. Even if Cair Paravel itself falls, I will never yield to him. Not ever!"