Author's Note: Whew! *pants tiredly* This chapter is finally finished! It completely kicked my butt. Twenty-seven pages! I think this chapter has become the longest of the story. I was trying so hard not to do this, I really hadn't wanted the duel to take up three chapters of this story, but it was the only way that it wanted to work out! But ultimately, I am VERY pleased with it. I think it is some of the best writing that I've done in a long time, and given the trouble this one gave me, I think I'm allowed to beat my own drum a bit. You may want to make sure that all of the tools and heavy objects are locked away before you read this chapter though. I cannot claim responsibility for any damaged computers after you read this chapter. Have pity on me…I'm just a poor substitute teacher, after all!
Thanks to Quathis, doggirlyn, Lauren, Victoria Alatamir Wan, and WiseQueen for your reviews. Thanks to you, we're almost to 130 reviews! I'd love to try for 200 ultimately, and with several more chapters to go, I'm starting to think that goal might be within reach.
Now…on with the story!
Chapter Thirty: On the Edge
It had taken all of Susan's willpower to allow Peter to fight the duel with Miraz. It didn't matter that her older brother was an accomplished swordsman – practically a sword master himself, in point of fact – with years of battles and tournaments behind him. He was still her brother, and all she wanted was for him to come out alive.
Although Susan was a skilled archer and had frequently picked up her bow in defense of Narnia or the lives of her siblings, she hated fighting. She had always believed that a diplomatic solution could be found to any problem – after all, she was the Gentle Queen. It was her duty to try to find peace first, before her brothers sought the way of the sword to solve a problem. Out of everything that had happened since their return, Susan felt like they hadn't tried hard enough to pursue a diplomatic solution to the conflict. She understood why her brothers had decided that it would be necessary to fight to reclaim Narnia – but from what she understood of the last twenty-five years, no one had taken the time to try and negotiate peacefully. It was true that Narnia was a small land, but there was plenty of room for the Telmarines. If a peaceful solution had been tried in the first place, her brother might not be out there fighting for his life now.
Her hand tightened on her bow as she watched her brother being repeatedly struck around the face by Miraz's shield. But when he was knocked to the ground and his shield stomped on, injuring his arm enough to make him scream, it took everything she had to hold her position on the upper levels of the How. She wanted to race down to the lists to her brother's side, but she couldn't. Peter and Edmund had charged her to lead the archers – and she was a Queen. She knew her duty was here. Edmund was perfectly capable of tending to Peter's injury and she would only be in the way.
Trumpkin peered down at the Narnian lists. "The King seems well enough, Majesty. King Edmund and Prince Caspian are taking care of him."
Susan only nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak as she maintained her silent serenity with an effort. Sometimes she didn't know how Lucy managed. Although she was called Narnia's Valiant Queen, Lucy usually waited behind the battle lines with the healers, because Peter and Edmund had not wanted their youngest sister to lose her innocence or her gaiety for life by the sight of blood and death. As a result, quite often she had no idea if Peter or Edmund would be brought in, wounded or near death. But somehow, Lucy always remained calm and poised. The sight of blood didn't seem to bother her, even if it belonged to her brothers. Susan honestly didn't understand how she did it.
On the battlefield, she could put her fear and all of her emotions aside and simply choose targets one after another. But after the battle, she usually had to flee, to find a place that was private where she could be violently ill. It took hours, sometimes days for her to feel clean, even if she had no blood on her at all. And seeing Edmund or Peter injured always petrified her, freezing her heart and her mind so thoroughly that she couldn't think or feel anything except horror.
But she was a Queen, and her brothers were depending on her. She would do her duty; it didn't matter how personally horrifying she found the idea of war. Besides, there was another reason she had been positioned up here with the archers. The arena – and the Telmarine side – was just within normal range for a short bow like hers. At the extreme edge of what an archer could reasonably be expected to hit was the area of the field that the tunnels inside the How ran under – the ones they were hoping to use to ambush the enemy's cavalry. But Susan's bow was magical, and as a result, had a greater range than most bows of its size and power. Susan had found over the years that if she could see a target clearly and wanted it enough, she could generally hit it thanks to the magic of her bow. And since neither Peter nor Edmund trusted the Telmarines, Susan had been put in an elevated position where she could clearly see the entire area directly in front of the How and the ruins. If the Telmarines tried anything to sabotage Peter's chances in the duel, Susan would be able to do something about it.
Peter stepped back up to the fight as the respite ended, pausing long enough to acknowledge the readiness of his opponent with a quick, respectful salute – and Susan's heart crawled up to lodge in her throat, and her mouth went dry with dread. "Be safe, Peter," she whispered.
She watched as Peter and Miraz circled each other, looking for an opening in the other's defenses. Peter was holding his shield up again; ready to make good use of it – although his arm was probably sore and would likely be a little weaker. Miraz was limping slightly, but it didn't appear to be affecting him too much as he swung at Peter's legs without bothering to return the salute Peter had given him.
"Your Majesty? Your Majesty? Queen Susan?"
Trumpkin's voice distracted her and she glanced down at him. "What is it, Trumpkin?"
"Your brother."
Susan frowned. "I know what Peter is doing. I was watching him."
"Not the High King, Majesty. King Edmund." The Red Dwarf indicated Edmund, who had stepped away from the lists slightly and was holding something – a dagger, Susan realized after a moment – and turning it oddly, as if he was admiring it.
Susan frowned deeply as she watched her younger brother. "What on earth?"
The sunlight kept reflecting off the dagger into her eyes as she watched Edmund. She blinked the spots away from her vision, trying to figure out what he was up to.
"What is King Edmund doing?" Trumpkin wondered softly.
"I'm not sure. I've never –" Susan cut herself off abruptly, as the light flashed in a distinct pattern she recognized. "Oh, Edmund!" She turned to one of the archers standing behind her. "Fetch me parchment and a quill, immediately!"
The archer snapped to attention before rushing inside the How. Susan turned back to watch her brother, in time to see him lower the dagger. "No! Oh, Ed, repeat it!"
"Queen Susan?" Trumpkin was peering up at her.
"He was sending us a message. I didn't realize it at first, because he was using an old code that we used to use – but we hadn't used it for almost a decade before we left," Susan murmured as the archer returned with the items that she had requested. "Come on, Edmund, repeat the message!"
She watched tensely and was rewarded a few moments later when Edmund began idly turning the dagger in his hand; although this time he didn't raise it as high, so as not to draw attention to himself.
"What does he say?" Trumpkin asked.
Susan scribbled frantically, trying to remember the code. They hadn't used it for almost eight years before they left, and she was a little rusty in translating it.
Danger….threat not…oh, what is that word?...Beware….betrayal…S…o…p…e…s… Edmund, slow down! Must…eliminate….at…all…
Edmund handed the dagger back to Caspian while Susan tried to remember what the final word he had used was. She was frustrated with her lack of knowledge of the code – it had mostly been used by Peter and Edmund to coordinate ambushes on the battlefield, and she had never had much practice with it to begin with. They had tried to keep it simple, but it had never been easy for her. She scanned what she had come up with, reading the message to herself.
"Your Majesty?" Trumpkin asked as Susan read the message over and over.
Danger. True threat not from Miraz. Beware betrayal from Lord Sopespian. Must eliminate at all costs.
Trumpkin peered at the parchment as she lowered it to stare down at her brother, who was again watching Peter as if nothing had happened. "Lord Sopespian?" The dwarf scowled. "Who is Lord Sopespian?"
"I wish I knew," Susan replied, "but Edmund wouldn't have sent this unless it was urgent."
All his life, he had believed in a simple fact – act with honor, as a true soldier should. On the surface, this was a simple command – be respectful, follow orders, and go beyond what was expected. But in reality, the idea of honor was a murky morass, filled with pitfalls that the unwary could not avoid. And somehow, everything had gone horribly wrong.
It had been the proudest day of his life when King Caspian the Ninth had promoted him to General. He had been young, but the King had recognized that he had a talent for tactics and leadership, as well as always carrying himself with honor and dignity. It had been a hefty responsibility, but he felt in those first few years that everything had gone reasonably well, and that he had done more than was expected for someone of his age and new rank.
Then King Caspian had died in his sleep, leaving behind his infant son to be raised by his brother Miraz. Even for a few years after that tragic event, things had been fine. He had noticed a few odd orders from the Lord Protector, but he had obeyed as was his duty. It was only a few years ago – when seven of the Council's Lords disappeared – that things became unusual. Miraz had begun issuing orders that were progressively more tyrannical, especially as Caspian got older and grew closer to claiming the throne.
Somehow along the way, he had lost some of his honor, and he knew it. Even a year ago, he would never have obeyed the order to kill the Prince while he slept. He would never have killed three of his men for failing to stop the Narnians from stealing weapons and armor. He honestly didn't know what he was becoming or at what point he had begun to change.
And now Miraz had ordered him to shoot the boy King he was dueling if it looked like he might lose. Glozelle had had every intention of following that order – in fact, he had almost raised the crossbow when the boy had drawn first blood – but something had stopped him before he could. There was something about the boy with the golden hair – nobility, or pride perhaps – that spoke to the truth of his claim of being the High King of Narnia. There was authority in the way he carried himself, an ease of acceptance that told Glozelle that this boy was not simply putting on an act. Even after Miraz had injured his arm – dislocation was Glozelle's guess – the boy didn't cave.
He had been thinking a great deal about if he had made the right choices in his life ever since he had killed those three men at the Ford, and he was slowly coming to the conclusion that he had lost his honor by serving a murderous usurper. He knew nothing about the High King who fought so boldly – but Glozelle almost found himself wishing that he served under the High King, despite the bestial nature of the Narnians he commanded.
His gaze shifted to study the dark-haired boy who had also claimed to be Narnia's King. Edmund the Just, he called himself, Glozelle remembered. With a title like that, surely he must be virtuous and honorable indeed.
Of course, history often proved to give rulers undeserved titles, not to mention that some rulers took those titles themselves in an effort to get history to portray them well. But again, something told him that wasn't the case here. He had watched the boy during the challenge negotiations, as his duty demanded – and he had been very impressed by how the Just King had handled himself. He had taken control of the negotiations, and addressed the situation with a calm poise that Glozelle would not have expected to see in someone his age. He had glanced at the boy once or twice before the respite, and the boy had had a serene expression on his face – but his dark eyes had been full of worry. And if Glozelle recalled correctly, the two Kings were brothers. So the younger King had an excuse for his concern.
He watched as the High King stepped out into the middle of the ruins again and saluted Miraz with his sword before they began circling again. It was an honorable gesture, especially to the man who might very well kill him – and Miraz did not reciprocate it.
I'm serving the wrong King – now I must serve my people and do what is best for them. No matter what it costs me.
Behind Telmarine lines…
Corin watched intently as the last of the Mice slipped back to their hiding place among the trees. They had successfully managed to disable the ballistae all down the enemy lines, but the catapults were still functioning and could do a great deal of damage if they were used. He had to find a way to take out those siege engines!
Aslan, what am I missing? This cannot be an impossible mission! Corin thought to himself, frustrated by his inability to come up with a strategy for taking out the catapults that wouldn't get all of his men killed. The Narnian Kings and his own brother were counting on him to accomplish this.
The only bit of luck they had thus far in dealing with the rock throwers was that a Robin on its way to the How had spotted them from the air and flown down to see what was going on. At Corin's request, it had flown out to perch on one of the catapults, unnoticed, and returned with information about how the device was put together. The good news was that if they could find a way to get to the siege engines undetected, the Mice would be able to sabotage the weapons easily. The bad news? They couldn't get to the weapons undetected.
"Your Highness?" One of his scouts had slipped up beside him and was waiting for the Prince to acknowledge him.
Corin nodded, not taking his eyes off of the closest catapult. "What is it Captain?" he asked softly.
"I had a thought about those catapults, sir," the scout continued. "There are so many soldiers walking around finalizing preparations…if we ambushed a few of them, quietly, we could take their places and be ready to sabotage the engines when the battle starts."
"Swap armor, you mean?" Corin asked, to clarify. When the Captain nodded, Corin considered it. "We'd need to take eight men out, from different areas along the line to avoid suspicion…but it might just work. Perhaps the Mice would even consent to be carried over to the catapults to begin sabotaging them while the men stand guard."
Peepiceek overheard Corin's muttered thought, and scrambled over from the far side of the tree Corin was standing beside. "My Mice and I are yours to command, Your Highness. We fight for Narnia and we will do whatever it takes."
Corin nodded. "All right Captain. We'll try it. Start making the arrangements and dividing your scouts. The ambushes must be quick, clean, and silent. You have permission to shoot to kill."
The scout saluted. "Yes, sir."
Clang!
Peter caught Miraz's sword on his shield, feeling the impact all down his arm, but he held firm despite the dull pain that radiated from his shoulder. If he survived this fight, his arm would probably be in agony, but for the moment he had to push it aside and not allow the pain to distract him. The duel was going on too long, and Peter was tired of playing games with Miraz. He had bought Lucy and Aislynn as much time as he safely could without putting his own life at risk.
Shoving hard, he forced Miraz back. The man's injured leg was doing him no favors, and Peter – despite his smaller stature and lighter weight – was able to force the usurper to take an awkward, off-balance step backward. Miraz's leg started to buckle, Peter was pleased to note, and he was forced to pull back further to keep from falling.
Peter continued to press forward, forcing Miraz further and further back. He had the advantage now, and he intended to keep it and end this fight for good. He soon had Miraz pressed back towards the edge of the ruins. Hefting Rhindon, he swung, cutting towards chest. As the murderer brought his shield around to block, Peter allowed Rhindon to bounce harmlessly off, even as he shifted his grip. Using the momentum he'd built up, he swung an overhand blow towards Miraz's head. The air actually whistled at the speed with which Rhindon descended, but Miraz caught the blade with his own. Peter didn't even hesitate as he turned the recoil into a backhanded slice that cut low on Miraz's torso.
But again, Miraz countered the strike, forcing Rhindon wide, away from his body and leaving himself an opening, which he took. But instead of stabbing or cutting with his own blade, he swung his shield viciously at Peter's sword arm with the edge leading. Peter was caught in an awkward position – Miraz was inside his guard and he couldn't prevent the edge of Miraz's shield from digging into the inside of his wrist. Reflexively, as his hand went suddenly numb as Miraz connected with a pressure point, his grip on Rhindon's hilt loosened.
Rhindon clattered to the stone at his feet, but Peter couldn't take the opportunity to pick it up as Miraz suddenly drove forward, using his greater weight like a battering ram. Peter stumbled backward several steps, before he managed to get his shield between them again.
Edmund bit his lip hard as he watched Miraz disarm his brother and force Peter back with his weight alone. For a moment there, he'd thought that Peter had had Miraz in a position where he could end it, but yet again Miraz had regained the upper hand.
Miraz drove Peter back until it was Peter, unarmed, who had his back pressed to the stone. Peter still had his shield, but against both a sword and another shield it would be of precious little use. But Edmund saw that Peter was not about to give in – as Miraz rained blow after blow down upon him, Peter countered each one, using his free arm to brace the shield from behind so that his injured arm wasn't taking the brunt of each blow.
Caspian still stood by his side and his face was white as he watched the barrage that his uncle was laying on Narnia's High King. "Your Majesty, you've seen more of these combats than I. Is there any chance now?"
Without his sword, pinned between his opponent and a wall…"Precious little," Edmund ground out, wishing he could deny it, even though it seemed to be the truth. "I suppose he might just do it. With luck."
"Why did I suggest this?" Caspian whispered.
Edmund shook his head. "If it was not this duel, we would already be in battle. Peter knew the risks, Caspian. He – ah!"
Miraz had finally gotten past Peter's shield and landed a blow on Peter's side, knocking Peter off-balance and sending him stumbling to one knee. This time, Peter was not faking, Edmund knew.
"Aslan, no!" Edmund cried, unable to help it as the words burst from his lips.
Miraz was already making his next attack. His blade sliced down, aiming to separate Peter's head from his shoulders.
"Peter!" Edmund screamed, sure he was about to watch his brother die.
But then, miraculously, Peter lunged forward with his shield, driving it into Miraz's gut and knocking him off-balance just enough so that instead of connecting with his head or neck, the blade glanced off his right shoulder, the Dwarf-plate again proving its worth as it did not break. Even as Miraz's arm came down, Pete was ready. He seized his opponent's arm at the exact moment that Miraz's sword clanged off his pauldron, yanking him forward and further off-balance and literally using Miraz as a ladder to pull himself back to his feet.
Edmund couldn't believe what he had just witnessed – and he knew how resourceful his brother could be in battle, especially when his life and the lives of those he cared about were on the line. "Go Peter!" Now if he could only convince his heart that his brother knew what he was doing…
Miraz was angry now – more so than he had been. Peter was more agile than he had expected, and he was growing frustrated by Peter's ability to slip out of situations where Miraz could have scored the winning blow. Edmund knew that it was just further evidence that Aslan was protecting Peter. Yes, Peter was a brilliant swordsman, but he couldn't do all of this on his own. Aslan was guarding his chosen High King by giving him the skills and the reactions he needed – and Edmund had never been more thankful for that fact than he was at this moment.
Peter was back on his feet, but he hadn't had a chance to release Miraz's arm before the usurper was moving. Using the grip that Peter had on his arm, he whipped around and flung Peter into the wall, face first. Peter crashed into the wall before he stumbled back, looking dazed. A small cut had opened on his cheek where he had connected with the rough stone and was oozing blood. He shook his head, but Miraz was still on the offensive. Grabbing the back of Peter's head by his blonde hair, Miraz forced Peter's head down, bringing his knee up to impact with Peter's face at the same time.
There was a crunch and for a moment Edmund wondered if the blow had broken Peter's nose. He couldn't see Peter's face at the moment, and he was very concerned about his brother. How much more punishment could Peter take?
Before Peter could recover from the double blow, Miraz – who seemed determined to not only defeat Peter, but to completely destroy him – spun, still holding the back of Peter's head, and flung him forward, towards a pile of tumbled down rubble that littered the edge of the fighting arena. Dazed, Peter couldn't stop his forward momentum, and landed sprawled on top of the stones on his stomach. After a moment, he slowly rolled off and tumbled to the ground.
He lay there for a moment before he slowly pushed himself up to his hands and knees, even as Miraz stalked closer to him. Just before the usurper would have been on top of him, he forced himself back to his feet. He faced his opponent, even though he still did not have his sword, which was lying on the ground a few feet away. He raised his shield again and began blocking the blows Miraz sent at him, slowly edging to the right to try to put himself in a position where he could seize Rhindon. Edmund could tell that Peter was allowing Miraz to drive him in the direction he wanted to go until his sword was just inches from his right foot.
Then Peter struck back. As Miraz swung at him again, he ducked beneath the blade, pressing forward until he was inside Miraz's guard. Rising sharply, his right hand came up fisted and his armored gauntlet crashed into Miraz's chin, staggering him. As Miraz stumbled back a pace, Peter turned, dove for his sword and seized it, and rolled back to his feet in one smooth motion.
But Miraz had recovered, even though it was his lip that was now bleeding where Peter's gauntlet had split it. He lunged forward, leading with his shield, and literally grabbed Peter around the waist, lifting him off his feet. He flipped Peter over his back to land on the pile of rubble again, this time on his back. Peter grunted, and Edmund resisted the urge to curse, praying that his brother's armor had protected him from a broken back.
With an effort, Peter shoved Miraz back, hooking one of his feet around Miraz's uninjured leg and tripping Miraz. As Miraz went down, Peter rolled off the debris, landing face down again, where he lay for a moment, obviously trying to catch his breath while Miraz regained his feet.
"Peter! Get up!" a voice with a light Archenland accent suddenly called from behind Edmund.
Edmund whipped his head around and stared. "Krisalyn?"
Oh, bloody hell, he thought as he took in the sight of Peter's wife. Peter is not going to like this at all.
He could sense that it was almost time. His Valiant dear one was riding towards him urgently. Her cries for help tore at him, but he had to wait, for everything had to happen in its own time.
His Steadfast Queen was beginning to find her faith again, while his Magnificent, Just, and Gentle children fought in their own ways to defend Narnia. He was so proud of all of them. They had done more for Narnia than he could have possibly hoped – and it was their love that made it all possible.
But most importantly, his Merciful child would find the strength to endure, thrive, and love, and thus lead Narnia into another age of peace when all was said and done.
Yes, things were about to work out just as they should.
Krisalyn had spent most of her married life waiting for Peter. Countless battles where he left her at Cair Paravel to wait for him, days of Court where Peter would sit in judgment while she tended to other duties, and of course the twenty-five long years while she had waited for him to return to Narnia were all fresh in her mind. Yet somehow none of those times had made her as anxious as she was now, with Peter just outside the How, fighting for his life and Narnia's freedom.
She couldn't bring herself to watch, but at the same time she craved news of how the duel was going. Had Peter been hurt? Or was he winning? Were the Telmarines going to try to cheat in order to guarantee themselves a victory, or did they actually have some degree of honor?
She found herself fidgeting anxiously, torn between staying with the healers and going up to the level above the entrance to see what was going on and wait with Susan. She needed to know that Peter was still alive – but could she actually stand there and watch him die?
It didn't really matter, she realized. It couldn't be as hard as standing here not knowing.
"Your Majesty?" A warm hand came to rest on her shoulder and she looked up to see Tati looking at her.
"Yes?"
"You need to go to the High King. It is apparent that you are more worried about him than you claim. If the battle begins, there will still be time for you to make it back here before the wounded begin arriving."
Krisalyn's eyes widened. "I cannot. I would only distract him."
"Or your presence might strengthen his resolve," the healer replied. "Go to him, Your Majesty."
Aslan's words from her vision earlier came back to her as Tati spoke. "Give him a reason to fight if you fear his death in battle…if Peter's story is meant to end here, let him go with love, not anger or bitterness, and know that you will be together again one day." Krisalyn hesitated, but slowly nodded. It would be hard to watch – but other than the tournaments and training sessions she'd watched, she'd never seen Peter fight before. She imagined that it would be very different fighting in a duel than fighting in a tournament – and Peter had confided in her once, after a tournament, that having her there in the royal box with his brother and sisters had indeed strengthened his resolve and made him more determined to win.
Turning, she left the side room where the healers had made their preparations and crossed through the main chamber where half of the Narnian army waited under Oreius' command for the orders to charge. The tall Centaur saluted her as he spotted her approaching. "Your Majesty? Is there aught that you need?"
"I need to see Peter and stand in support of him, General," Krisalyn said calmly. "I am going out there."
"Majesty, there is a duel going on, and the battle could start at any moment. It is too dangerous. His Majesty will not allow you to put yourself in harm's way."
"I am going out, General," Krisalyn said firmly. "My mistakes up to now have been numbered just as high as Peter's – and that is a trend I intend to break right now."
She looked up into the tall Centaur's eyes. "Please stand aside."
Oreius' tail lashed against his flanks viciously, showing his agitation with her decision before he finally nodded. "Very well, but I shall escort you, Your Majesty."
Krisalyn was about to protest, but the look in Oreius' eyes stopped her. It was obvious that Oreius was not going to back down on this, and she nodded rather than fight him over it. He had guarded her for over thirty years – she knew better than to expect him to pass that charge off now.
To her surprise, the General knelt on his front legs. "General?"
"I insist you ride on my back, Majesty. If the battle begins suddenly, I will bring you safely back to the How."
Krisalyn was stunned by Oreius' offer. Despite their half-equine form, it was considered crass to even consider riding a Centaur – or a Talking Horse for that matter – since they were proud and fierce, as well as stubbornly independent. He clearly knew what he was offering, but she would never have thought that he would consider it. "Oreius, I cannot."
"I insist, Your Majesty. It is not considered rude if the need is dire or I offer. Please."
Krisalyn hesitated for a moment longer before she picked up her skirts and slipped astride Oreius' back. She grabbed his shoulders as he stood, but immediately released him as soon as he was back on all four feet. She trusted him not to drop her, so there was no need to hold on as he turned and trotted out of the How toward the ruins.
As they emerged, Krisalyn blinked until her eyes focused, before her gaze fastened on the ruins. Caspian and Edmund stood side by side on the near side, but even from the height she had on Oreius' back she couldn't see Peter. Her heart leapt into her throat. Where is he? Am I too late?
Then she spotted him rising to his hands and knees from the ground. His helm was gone and she could see purplish bruises beginning to erupt all over his face.
"Peter! Get up!" she called, seeing Miraz approaching him from behind. Were her fears about to become reality?
"Krisalyn?"
She heard her name called, but didn't answer, all of her attention on her husband. Peter had looked up, startled, at her cry. He met her gaze for a long moment, a look of shock on his face. She held his gaze, trying to will strength into him, to let him know that she was going to support him, no matter what. She tried to convey that to him with her eyes and her expression.
She didn't know if he understood or not, but a moment later he was back on his feet. His sword was in his hand and he raised it, fending off several of Miraz's blows as he backpedaled towards his own lines.
"Respite!" Peter called as he stepped back several more paces. Miraz paused, hesitated, and then nodded. It was the right of either combatant to request a respite any time he wished, and the honorable action was to honor the request. If Miraz refused now and he asked for one later, Peter would be well within his rights to refuse.
Miraz turned and stalked back to his own side where his men were waiting with a cup. The Narnians, as the challengers, had provided both combatants with spiced cider and water before the fight began. Miraz sat down in the chair that he had brought with him, taking the offered cup as he glared across the ruins at Peter.
Krisalyn let out a slow breath before she swung her leg over Oreius' back and dropped to the ground before the Centaur could stop her. She knew that he had expected her to stay on his back the whole time so that he could make a fast retreat with her if necessary, but she had things to say to Peter, and she was not going to do so looming overtop of him, let alone do it where Oreius could hear her. She hurried up to stand next to Edmund and Caspian as Peter approached.
"Krisalyn, what are you doing here?" Peter asked, his chest heaving and his blue eyes filled with concern and a hint of panic. He looked past her at Oreius. "Take her back inside, General. Immediately."
"I'm not going anywhere, Peter," she said firmly. "I'm standing with you until this is over."
"A battlefield is no place for you," Peter replied. "Please, Kris, go with Oreius."
"No."
He was about retort, his eyes growing frustrated at her refusal, when she took his hand and pulled him with her, away from the ruins and towards the How. He resisted at first, but she reached out and touched his cheek. "Just a moment, Peter. I only want a moment."
He stared at her, but then nodded and followed her onto the grass between the ruins and the How, away from Edmund, Caspian, Glenstorm, and Oreius. As soon as they were out of earshot, she turned to face him. He looked up at her expectantly. She still wasn't used to the fact that she was now taller than he was, since when she had met him he had been taller than she was. She reached up a hand and gently caressed his sweaty, bruised, and bleeding cheek.
"What is she doing?" Cor murmured to himself as he watched his cousin pull the High King aside. "She shouldn't be out there, putting herself at risk!"
One of his commanders peered out at the scene. "Perhaps they've heard from Queen Lucy?"
"Krisalyn wouldn't have kept that news from King Edmund, and we would have been informed too," Cor corrected him. "Something else is going on."
"Your Majesty! A message!" one of his men slipped up beside him, quietly, holding a scroll that had been hastily rolled, but not sealed. "One of the Squirrels delivered it."
Cor took the missive and unrolled it, skimming the scrawled message within.
Cor, Edmund managed to get a message to me a few minutes ago. "Danger. True threat not from Miraz. Beware betrayal from Lord Sopespian. Must eliminate at all costs." I don't know who Lord Sopespian is, but we must get word to your brother. If this Lord Sopespian is behind enemy lines, Corin may be able to do something about it. – Susan
"Lord Sopespian?" Cor murmured. "Who is Lord Sopespian?"
"And why does King Edmund feel the need to warn us about him?" the commander wondered.
Cor turned to look at the commander. "Why is not important. Trying to figure out who this man is and stopping him is. If King Edmund believes it necessary to ensure peace in Narnia, that is all that matters, because that is why we're here." He glanced back at the note. "We need to get word to Corin. Lord Sopespian may be among the Telmarine army, and he may be the only person who can stop this man."
The soldier who'd brought the message spoke up. "Your Majesty, the Squirrel who delivered the note is still here. He had orders to carry word to Prince Corin as well, if you required it."
"Find him and send him to Corin," Cor replied, rolling up the scroll and handing it to the soldier. "Remind him to be cautious so he doesn't give away their position."
"Yes sir!"
In the woods…
Lucy knew she was in trouble. Destrier was exhausted, his strides and breath labored, but he was still running. The stallion had heart, but he would not be able to run much further. Lucy feared that if she couldn't find Aslan soon, the poor horse would literally run until he dropped dead, just because she asked it of him – and she couldn't bear to do that, knowing how much Caspian prized him.
And still the Telmarine pursued her through the woods, trying to catch her and gaining ground each time she dared to look back.
She had expected to find Aslan by now. Her brother was fighting Miraz – for all she knew, all three of her siblings might be fighting now, Aislynn might be dead…and Aslan might not be out here.
Her thoughts froze. Was she seriously starting to doubt Aslan? Had she actually seen him, or had she only imagined it when they had been at the gorge? Had her own personal feelings about what had happened to Narnia caused her to wish Aslan was there when he really wasn't? Had Peter and her siblings pinned their hopes for freeing Narnia on a pipe dream?
Aslan…where are you? she wondered desperately.
She glanced back again and saw that her pursuer had gained even more ground on her. He was raising his crossbow again. She turned back and crouched as low as she could, hoping that his aim wasn't good. Aslan!
Don't be afraid, dear one. I am always with you.
The voice was warm, comforting, and strong in her mind. There was sound from her left, followed by a flash of gold. She glanced over and spotted a golden streak racing through the trees alongside her, angling to cut them off.
She glanced ahead again and saw the burst of speed the gold streak put on, coming to an abrupt halt on a small knoll next to the game trail Destrier was following, and watched as it resolved into a magnificent golden lion.
The lion roared, startling Destrier, who reared. Lucy felt herself slipping, but couldn't stop her fall and she landed with a grunt on her back. The lion stared down at her before gathering himself and leaping over Destrier, just as the Telmarine came into range. He plowed straight into the rider without touching the horse, which bolted as soon as his rider was taken to the ground.
Lucy scrambled to her feet, glancing over at Destrier, who stood with his head hanging low, his sides heaving and coated with sweat. His eyes were half-lidded, and every inch of him spoke of his exhaustion. She went over to him, reaching to stroke his wet neck. "Thank you, boy. You saved my life." She wished she could do something more for him, after he had nearly run himself to death, but she was here for a purpose and she had nothing with her to care for him.
Turning away reluctantly, she scurried up the small hill on the opposite side of the trail until she could see the lion. He was standing in a place that was relatively free of undergrowth, watching the Telmarine flee in terror. Then he turned and looked at her, the fierce expression on his face softening.
"Aslan!" Lucy cried, racing over to him. She didn't stop when she reached him, instead throwing her arms around his neck and crashing into him. He fell to the ground under her weight, chuckling as she fell on top of him and buried her face in his mane. "I knew it was you, I just knew it!" she exclaimed when she sat up and he had rolled upright to lie next to her. "It was so hard to convince the others to let me come."
"But you succeeded, dear one," Aslan rumbled, leaning forward to nuzzle her cheek with his soft nose. "I am very proud of you, Lucy."
"Aslan, we need help," Lucy said. "We're outnumbered, and Peter is fighting Miraz. Why did it take you so long? Why couldn't you come roaring in like last time?"
Aslan's amber eyes dimmed slightly with sorrow. "Things never happen the same way twice, dear one."
"But you'll help?" she asked.
Aslan chuckled again. "Of course. Come, we have much that we must do, and you'll need to ride on my back." He waited until she was seated on his back before he rose to his feet. He padded over to where Destrier stood and gently breathed on the exhausted horse. "Return to the How, my child. You have served valiantly."
A little life came back into Destrier, and he raised a head a little higher, breath evening out as he suddenly seemed to not be so weary. Lucy looked at the stallion. "He'll be safe, Aslan? I know how much Caspian values him."
"He'll make it back safely, Lucy," Aslan assured her.
"I'm glad. I never would have made it this far without him and Aislynn…oh! Aislynn!" Lucy cried, remembering her brave niece. "Aslan, we have to find her and save her. If she doesn't survive, Peter and Krisalyn will be devastated."
"We will, Lucy. Aislynn is in no immediate danger, though she is a prisoner of the Telmarine army at the moment." Aslan turned and began to run through the trees, back towards the How. "Trust me, dear one. All will work out as it was meant to."
Lucy nodded and buried her hands in Aslan's mane as she leaned down to hug him. "I do trust you, Aslan."
Peter stared at his wife. He couldn't believe what she had just told him, and for a moment he wondered if he was dreaming. But no, surely not. He wouldn't be as exhausted, dirty, and hurt in a dream as he was now, no matter how vivid the dream. He literally didn't know what to say to her to acknowledge what she had told him – but now wasn't the time to think about it. Right now all he wanted was for her to be safe. He would finish the duel, defend Narnia, and then find her and take the time to really think about what she had said.
"Kris, please go back inside with Orieus," Peter asked her again. "I would feel so much better if you were out of harm's way."
"If a full battle starts, I will," she said softly. "But I am staying out here until the duel is over." Her violet eyes were bright with resolve, Peter noticed, before he realized it would be hopeless to argue with her.
He turned to head back to the duel, but then paused and looked back before turning to face her again. He hesitated, and then reached out to take her hand. She had completely surprised him with her earlier kiss, given how reticent she'd been about accepting his touch until that moment. He couldn't help but wonder if she would continue to resist him. Perhaps she would only be comfortable if she initiated the contact?
But she did allow him to take her hand and draw her close this time, with none of the hesitancy she had previously shown. That convinced him that she was sincere in what she had told him just a few moments ago when she had pulled him aside. He didn't hug her, much as he wanted to, because he didn't want to contaminate her when she might shortly be working with injured Narnians, but he couldn't help himself as he leaned up to kiss her gently on the cheek.
Or started to, anyway. As soon as she realized his intentions, she pulled back slightly, just so that she could redirect his lips to meet her own. The kiss was soft and sweet, even though it stung his split lip fiercely. It was just like the kisses that they had shared in the early days after they had been betrothed, but before they married – soft, sweet, and chaste, but holding the promise of a deeper passion that she was reserving only for him, and only after they had wed. He did miss the passion, but he knew that they would have difficulty reclaiming it, simply because of the physical differences in their ages.
He pulled back and gazed into her violet eyes. "Be safe, Peter," she whispered. "Come back to me."
Peter nodded. "I will – but please, do me one favor?" When she nodded, he continued. "Either ask Oreius to let you ride him again, or ride with Caspian so one of them can get you back to the How if the Telmarines break their word?"
"I will, Peter. I promise."
Peter nodded again and turned back to the arena, sensing her fall into step behind him. Together, they headed over to where Edmund, Caspian, Oreius, and Glenstorm were waiting.
"All right, Pete?" Edmund asked quietly, glancing between them, his dark eyes curious.
Peter glanced at his wife again, memorizing her features. He intended to win, but if for some reason he didn't, he wanted her face to be fresh in his mind as he took his final breath. He watched as she went over to Caspian's horse and mounted easily, despite her skirts, before he answered his brother's question. "Yes, Edmund. I think everything is all right." He looked at Caspian. "I am charging you with Queen Krisalyn's safety, Caspian. "If they don't keep their word, get her back inside the How."
"You have my word, Your Majesty," Caspian swore. "The High Queen will be safe."
Peter nodded and took a deep breath as he tightened his grip on Rhindon's hilt. He stepped back into the dueling arena to the cheers of the Narnians. Across the way, Miraz rose to his feet as well, joining him in the center of the ruins.
With a yell, Miraz attacked with renewed energy and fury. He crashed into Peter, slamming his shield into Peter's face. His sword was heavy as it sliced through the air, clanging off of Peter's shield. Over and over, Miraz threw his weight into Peter, keeping him moving, giving him no chance to do more than block the flurry of blows.
Peter was forced to give ground – it was the only way he could gain enough time and space to read his opponent and figure out where the next attack was going to come from. As a result, he had no control over where he was going as Miraz herded him around the ring. He caught a glimpse of one of the half-walls that surrounded the ruins out of the corner of his eye before Miraz flung his weight into him and he crashed into the wall, catching it to keep from falling to the ground.
Miraz roared again, and Peter rolled along the wall to avoid the sword coming down at him. It rang off the stone and Peter fell to the ground as Miraz's foot tangled with his legs. He started to push himself back to his feet, but paused as he felt his shield sag on his arm. Desperately he rolled onto his back and kicked out, tripping Miraz, who couldn't compensate due to his injured leg. With a yell, Miraz collapsed, falling to his feet and giving Peter time to regain his.
As soon as he was on his feet, Peter glanced down at his shield. The shield itself was still intact, but the leather straps were partially severed – no doubt they had become brittle over the last twenty-five years and no one had thought to check them and see if they needed to be replaced. With the pounding the shield had been taking, it wasn't a surprise that they had started to snap.
Without a second thought, Peter tossed his shield aside. With the broken straps, it would be more of a hindrance than a help. He regretted it, since he had always been more comfortable with a shield and a sword. But he was more than capable of not using a shield, and had many times. He was determined not to give in. Oreius had trained him well, and he was not going to let Miraz win. Krisalyn's face flashed in front of his eyes, followed by Aislynn, his siblings, and all of their friends who here waiting and cheering him on. Aslan had entrusted Narnia's safety to him. Up until now, he had failed in that trust. He would not fail here.
Miraz had regained his feet and was smirking at the sight of Peter without his shield. But Peter didn't react.
He was tired.
He had been beat on, had his shoulder dislocated, endured far too many blows to his face and head…and he was done. Oreius had told him that Narnia's Sword would need to be unleashed to deal with this threat, and Peter had agreed. Well, Narnia's Sword was about to be unleashed against her enemies – and Aslan have mercy on anyone who got in his way, because he wouldn't.
"Peter, be careful," Edmund murmured when he saw his brother toss his shield aside. The shield landed face down, leaving the straps visible, and Edmund could see how loose the straps were. He knew his brother was perfectly capable of fighting without a shield, but things had become much more difficult.
The two combatants clashed again, swords crashing together full force. Peter countered a low blow before he twisted Rhindon around Miraz's sword, locking the hilts together. He shoved, twisting at the same time, and freed Rhindon as Miraz's sword clattered to the ground. Spinning in a tight pirouette, he used his momentum to bring Rhindon crashing down on Miraz's shield over and over again.
But something had changed. There was a grace and purity to Peter's movements that hadn't been there before. The rage that Edmund had seen him fighting with at different points earlier in the fight was gone. As Peter spun and Edmund got a good look on his face, a chill went down his spine. There was a fierce passion in his brother's face, but there was also a light; a calm serenity.
Narnia's Sword – the pure, honed blade of Aslan's power, channeled through the Great Lion's chosen High King – had been unleashed.
Peter was gone.
Only Narnia's Sword remained.
Glozelle watched in awe as a change came over the boy with the golden hair after the second respite. His movements became more fluid, as if something more powerful was acting through him. His blue eyes seemed to crystallize and glitter with a serene calm, backed by a deeply hidden fire.
He had been around skilled warriors his whole life, and never had he seen anything like this. It was as if Narnia's High King had been replaced by a pure weapon of power.
His hand tightened on the crossbow he held, although he kept his finger well away from the trigger. The blows raining down on Miraz were furious, but the Telmarine King blocked each one. It was an interesting reversal from earlier when it had been the High King who had been without a sword – but Miraz's attacks then had never been so crisp or pure as the High King's were now.
Miraz struck back, using his shield to force the High King back, giving him room to switch his shield from his left arm to his right. He slammed his shield into the High King's arm, knocking the gleaming sword aside. Now the golden-haired King was completely unarmed. As Miraz thrust the shield forward again, the High King caught it in both hands, twisting to try to wrench it out of Miraz's grip, but Miraz held on. Instead, the younger King twisted his whole body, ducked, and used the shield to force Miraz's arm behind his back.
Miraz tossed his elbow back, connecting with King Peter's nose. There was no longer anything remotely resembling honor or dignity in this fight. Now both combatants were being driven by instinct, a desire to win, and the urge to survive.
The High King stumbled back, but recovered quickly. Given that his allegiance was supposed to be towards Miraz, Glozelle should have been pleased at the way Miraz had regained the upper hand, but instead he found that he was hoping the High King would triumph. His hands tightened again on the crossbow, before he forced himself to loosen his grip. He would not act so dishonorably and assassinate the young King. Miraz would have to win this fight on his own merit – Glozelle would not help him.
The High King – unarmed and seemingly vulnerable – suddenly dropped to one knee, his right hand balled into a fist, before he slammed his armored gauntlet into the gash on Miraz's leg.
Miraz roared with pain and dropped to his knees, grabbing for the wound, even as his opponent rose. The boy stood above Miraz' raising his fist to slam it into Miraz's face, but Miraz raised a hand in defense. "Respite!" he bellowed. "Respite!"
Glozelle couldn't see the High King's face, since the boy's back was to him, so he had no idea what thoughts might be racing through his mind, but he did stay the blow.
"This is no time for chivalry, Peter!" the Just King called from the opposite side.
But the High King only lowered his hand and nodded, stepping back before he headed for his own side. Glozelle glanced over, seeing the Just King, the two half-horse beasts, Prince Caspian, and the older woman with the kind expression. He wondered who the woman was – he had seen the High King kiss her earlier – and it had not been a kiss between strangers or friends. It was true the royalty often married young, but that age difference was extraordinary.
Prince Caspian met his gaze as the High King approached his own side, and Glozelle nodded respectfully. After the way he had been wronged, he had found honorable allies to stand with him to reclaim what had been wrongfully stolen. It was good to know that his former student had learned some measure of honor, even though his teacher had lost his own.
Glozelle lowered his gaze and met Miraz's smoldering one. The usurper looked at the crossbow, clearly expecting Glozelle to shoot the High King while his back was turned. But Glozelle would not. He was done serving a greedy tyrant.
Miraz apparently realized that Glozelle was not going to act, so he took the matter into his own hands. Reaching to his right, he seized his sword, even as he lurched to his feet and spun, raising the blade to plunge it into the High King's back.
Aislynn sighed. She was desperately worried over how her father was doing. Was the duel over? She was beginning to suspect that this camp was not part of the main Telmarine forces – the soldiers she could see moving outside the tent were all much too calm for them to be anywhere near the front lines. She didn't care how disciplined the Telmarine army was. Any army grew excited or nervous prior to a battle, and these men were showing no signs of it.
She hoped that her father was still alive, that he had triumphed over Miraz. He had promised to be careful, and how would they ever get to know each other if he lost the duel? She already knew so little about him – she didn't want to have to wait for the rest of her life to learn more. Well, assuming of course, that she wasn't summarily executed for being a Narnian sympathizer the way the Lord had threatened. Then – or so she supposed – she would get to find out all about her father when she met him in Aslan's Country.
Aslan…please. I don't know why you are silent and you are not answering my prayers, but please. Don't let this day end in such tragedy. The Narnians believe in you so much – don't let them down. It would be understandable if you loved them enough to call them all home to you – but surely that cannot be part of your plan. If it was, why would my father and his siblings have returned? If they are not intended to save Narnia, then why are they here?
Shouts from outside the tent made her look up. Her face was throbbing, and the cuts had forced her to have to squint, as her cheek and the skin above her right eye had swollen. She listened for a moment and realized how excited the soldiers seemed to be, and sighed again. They must have received orders to join the rest of the army for the battle. Either Father is dead, or the Telmarines are breaking the agreement that Uncle Edmund negotiated with them.
The shouts grew louder, but Aislynn couldn't bring herself to care. There was nothing she could do at the moment, imprisoned as she was. They had taken her mother's dagger and her bow and quiver, and whoever had tied her had been careful not to leave anything close enough for her to use to cut her bonds. Although it had been a bit of a wasted effort, given the way she had been tied. She couldn't even get enough slack in her bonds to be able to sit. Her legs and feet had gone numb from the way she was forced to kneel, and her back was beginning to ache from the way her arms had been tethered so tightly to the bonds around her ankles.
I wonder if they'll just leave me here and come back for me once the battle is over, or if they plan to take me with them? If Father is alive and they show him that I'm their prisoner, he might very well give into their demands to keep me safe.
No, she wouldn't let that happen. It didn't matter that the Lord who was her captor didn't know that she was the daughter of King Peter and the heir to the Narnian throne. If she was displayed as a prisoner of war, they might assume that Peter would give in anyway. If he refused and they killed her, it wouldn't matter if the Narnians won the battle. She had claimed to be important to Cor, and under the "laws" of diplomacy as they no doubt understood them, they would assume that Cor would break off their alliance with Narnia over the insult of the death of their ambassador, and might even go to war against Narnia to avenge her death.
Of course, she knew Cor and Corin well enough to know they would never break the long-standing alliance with Narnia…but it didn't matter. She was not going to let that happen! If that seemed to be the plan, she would rather die by her own hand and be welcomed into Aslan's Country than be used against her father and her people – both of them – in that fashion. If that was their plan, she would fight to get free and steal a dagger from them, and plunge it into her own heart before she would become a tool for the Telmarines.
The shouting outside wasn't dying down…if anything, it was becoming louder and more panicked. Aislynn frowned deeply and looked up. What in the world was going on that would have an entire regiment of trained soldiers yelling like that? What could be alarming them so much?
Maybe…maybe it is the Narnian army! Maybe they routed the Telmarine army and learned that I was here and are coming to save me!
Of course, that only opened a similar possibility of her being used as a hostage against her father, possibly to ensure the safety or safe passage of the Lord who was holding her prisoner. She firmed her resolve. If that was the case, well…the situation was the same. She would die before she let herself be used in that way.
A roar – loud, magnificent, and deep – shattered the air, drowning out the noise outside. Any semblance of order in the encampment vanished with the sound of that roar. The Telmarines – trained soldiers all – dropped their weapons, turned, and fled. She could see them racing past the tent, but not one of them was making any move to come near her. One of the soldiers tripped over one of the tent pegs, slamming into the tent and making it sway dangerously. One side of the flap, loosened by the impact, fell over the entrance, making it harder for her to see what was going on outside.
"Aislynn?" a voice called. It was a young voice, high pitched and full of worry.
That…that can't possibly be…
"Aislynn? Where are you?" the voice called again. "Aislynn, if you can hear me, please answer me!"
"Lucy?" Aislynn called out, coughing a little bit as she tried to shout around her dry throat. She forcibly cleared her throat and tried again. "Aunt Lucy, is that you?"
"Aislynn?"
"I'm here! In the tent!"
A moment later, the tent flap was shoved aside and Aislynn squinted in the light. After a moment, her vision in her good eye cleared and she made out the form of her Aunt standing in the entrance. "Aunt Lucy?"
"Aislynn!" Lucy ran into the tent and dropped to her knees beside her niece. She took in the sight of Aislynn, tied to the center tent post, her face bruised and swollen, and immediately unsheathed her dagger from her waist. She reached behind Aislynn and began sawing through the bindings. "Are you all right? They didn't hurt you?"
"One of the Lords hit me a few times when I wouldn't answer his questions," Aislynn replied, still staring in shock at her aunt through her one good eye. "But he didn't do anything worse than just backhand me." As she spoke her hands came free and she toppled forward without the post to support her, her legs had gone so numb.
"Aislynn!" Lucy reached out and caught her as she fell forward.
"I'm all right," Aislynn reassured her aunt. A moment later Lucy had her ankles free and Aislynn – somewhat painfully – twisted around into a more proper sitting position so he could rub the circulation back into her legs and feet. Her hands were clumsy, but slowly she felt them beginning to tingle with the renewed blood flow. "My feet and legs fell asleep."
"What about your face?" Lucy reached out and gently brushed her hand across Aislynn's brow, just above the cut above her eye. Aislynn hissed and pulled back sharply.
"It's just cut and swollen. It'll heal," Aislynn said. "When he – the Lord who questioned me – when he hit me, he was wearing a ring."
"Well, I'll just put a drop of my cordial on it…" Lucy began, reaching for her belt, only to pause. "Oh. I forgot that I gave my cordial to Caspian to give to Edmund."
"It will heal on its own, Aunt Lucy. There's no need to waste a drop of your cordial on it." Aislynn flexed her feet, wincing a bit at the painful tingling, before she began massaging her wrists. "What are you doing here? You were supposed to find Aslan."
"And so she did, young one," a deep voice rumbled from outside the tent.
Aislynn started. "Is…is He here?" When Lucy nodded, her eyes shining, Aislynn looked towards the tent flap. "But…he needs to help Father!"
"He will," Lucy said. "He's promised that everything is going to work out exactly as it should now."
Aislynn wasn't as sure. After all, it was her father who was fighting right now, either in a duel or a full battle. "You're not worried?"
Lucy shook her head. "No." The Valiant Queen stood and pulled Aislynn to her feet, supporting her as Aislynn grimaced, before she took a few steps forward, allowing her niece to lean on her as she walked and regained her balance. "I really wish you'll let me put some cordial on your face when we get back to the How. It looks horrible, and you don't want it to get infected. Besides, Peter and Krisalyn will panic if they see you like this."
"I really am all right," Aislynn assured her. "It's not the first time. When I used to train with Oreius, I'd occasionally get a little banged up. I've received a black eye be…fore…"
Her voice trailed off at the sight in front of her. Standing in a beam of sunlight, which lanced down through the trees and turned his coat into golden fire, was a large, magnificent lion. And not just any lion. Aislynn knew immediately that she was looking at her namesake, Aslan, the Great Lion.
She stepped towards him, slowly. As she approached, she could sense the power radiating from him. It was so strong it was almost palpable. He was so terrible and magnificent all at the same time. Slowly, she sank to her knees in front of him. What had she been thinking, all those years ago when she had childishly told her mother that she wanted to meet him?
A warm, sweetly scented breath ghosted across her face. "Rise, daughter," the deep voice rumbled, sounding at once as fierce as a thunderstorm, but as gentle as a summer breeze.
Aislynn looked up and saw that great, royal, solemn face only inches away from her. The deep amber eyes gleamed with love and compassion. Slowly, she rose to her feet. It seemed so wrong to be standing in front of Aslan. There was so much power and majesty in his very being.
"Do not fear. I am well pleased." Aslan's voice softened. "You took a great risk in order to give Queen Lucy the chance to reach me. What you did was born out of love." He nodded, his golden mane rippling with the movement. "Yes. I am well pleased indeed, my child." He looked over at Lucy, and smiled. "Now, however, there is much still to be done. I think your friends have slept quite long enough, don't you?"
He suddenly flung his head back. Lucy seemed to realize what was about to happen and stuffed her fingers into her ears. Aislynn followed suit not a moment to soon as Aslan opened his mouth and roared. If anything, it was louder than the one that had chased the Telmarines away had been. Aislynn felt the power of it go right through her, making her shiver with a combination of fear and delight.
As Aslan lowered his head, Aislynn removed her fingers, but it didn't matter, for her ears were still ringing from the strength and volume of that roar. She looked over at her Aunt and could see that she felt the same way, but nevertheless her face was still beaming and radiant. It was obvious how much she enjoyed being in Aslan's presence, and Aislynn knew in that moment that she had made the right decision by sacrificing herself.
"Aislynn, here. One of the men dropped this as he was leaving," Lucy said, handing her back her mother's dagger in its blue-dyed sheath. Aislynn took it gratefully. She had hoped that she hadn't lost it permanently. Even though it was hers now, as a gift from her mother, she really hadn't wanted to lose it the same day it was given to her, since it obviously had special meaning to her mother.
"Come, children. Narnia still has need of us, and she will need you before all is finished this day." Aslan lay down, and Lucy immediately clambered onto his back. Aislynn was slower to move, appalled at the casually disrespectful gesture. This was the Great Lion, who had sung the world into being, and Lucy was riding him as if he was a horse?
"Come, daughter. Your father has need of you."
She hesitated again, then nodded and stepped closer. She moved slower than her Aunt had, but eventually she too was seated astride Aslan's back, her hands wrapped around Lucy's slender waist, holding onto his mane, just as Lucy was doing.
With another roar, Aslan sprang forward, into the trees, heading east, back to the How.
Don't forget to review and encourage me to continue! *runs from rabid readers*