A/N: This is where the AU really begins! Prepare yourselves!
"I'm sorry, but we've got to get home," Susan says in a guilty, disbelieving voice. She cannot stand leaving people in need, but these are Beavers—Talking Beavers, no less! They are only kids, besides! There is nothing they can do, never mind some nonsense about a prophecy!
She is just happy when Peter agrees with her.
"Edmund, come on. We're leaving." Looking around, though, the younger boy is nowhere to be found, and panic seizes Peter. "Ed?" The others grow worried now, and though he knows there is nowhere to hide in the small dam, he tries one more time. "Edmund?"
He turns, annoyed and startled at once, to face the two Beavers. Mr. Beaver's visage takes on a peculiar mix of wisdom and pain.
"Has your brother been to Narnia before? Without you, or perhaps there was a time you were separated from him?"
The elder siblings turn to Lucy, who blanches as her eyes widen. Bursting with renewed fire, she rushes for the door, throws it open, and makes to sprint across the ice.
Strong, slender arms wrap around the waist before she can get too far, however, and she struggles against them wildly, squirming and kicking every which way until her withholder has no choice but to fall to his knees.
There are tears running down her face, and she is almost crazed with fear for her brother.
"Let me go, Peter!" she cries, still writhing desperately in his iron grip. "He's gone to Her! We have to get to him!"
"What has he done, Lu?" her brother demands, entirely thrown and flailing for some semblance of control. "Who is She?"
Quite abruptly, Lucy calms and shifts in his arms until she is facing him, watery eyes boring into his.
"She says she's the Queen of Narnia, but she isn't. She's really the White Witch, the same who made it always winter here and never Christmas. This is the 'evil time' from the prophecy, Peter," her eyes have taken on a very adult, almost queenly light during this, and Peter feels his breath stop in wonder, "and She is the one Aslan says we'll end." She takes a deep breath, and when she speaks again her quiet voice is darker than he's ever heard it. "She's taken Edmund in, Peter. We have to stay, for Edmund's sake."
In the background, the Beavers simply stare at the little girl, their faces alight with grim admiration.
Susan, on the other hand, is outright worried. Could her sister have gone insane in their little time here, or perhaps the two other times she's come?
But no. This is about Edmund, and no matter how horrid he is to her, Lucy always loves him. She would never play with the unsaid, itching word—betrayal—with him.
Then, a ripping howl stabs the frosty air, and all present stiffen. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver's ears perk up, and the children's faces lose nearly all traces of color.
Peter stands, taking tight hold of both Lucy and Susan's hands. "It's the Secret Police, isn't it? The same that took Mr. Tumnus?"
Multiple howls start up, much closer this time and in want of blood, and Mr. Beaver answers Peter anxiously,
"Yes, Son of Adam, it is, which is why we have to get a move on straight away!" Looking to his wife, he says knowingly, patting her hand, "Don't worry anything now, dear. We'll figure it out later."
The She-Beaver takes another look at their house, unsettled at the thought of it being destroyed in the Wolves' wake, but relaxes at the loving, strengthening paw encompassing hers. Glancing at her husband, she quickly nods and turns to close the door.
"All right! Let's hurry!"
The children follow as the Beavers scamper away to the East, the two making plans amongst themselves to turn South toward Aslan's Camp once they're past the rumored location of the Witch's Encampment.
Suddenly, the howls are vibrating the company's ears almost painfully, the sounds' owners practically on top of them, and the Humans and Beavers quicken their pace while swerving to the North. They hear the patter of dog-like paws behind them.
They'll never make it if they keep going on like this, and they are no help to anyone dead.
Peter takes a deep breath.
He knows what he has to do.
He lets go of his sisters' hands…and falls.
"Peter!" the girls' frantic voices call out, and he panics himself when they begin to rush back to him.
Blue eyes wide and face as white as the snow beneath him, he shouts, "Go on! I'll try to draw them off!" They stare at him like he's gone plumb loony, but he glares at them, desperate to have them safe as tears blind him and cause a tremor in his voice. "Go, Susan!"
Heartbroken with tears streaming, Susan backs up, grabs Lucy's hand—the tiny eight-year-old appears about to be having a nervous breakdown at the very notion of leaving him—and turns away, dragging a screaming Lucy behind as the Beavers, though horror-struck and feeling they are intensely waning in their responsibility, lead them forward.
To safety, Peter prays.
Scrambling to his knees, he is only too aware of the sniffing and hard panting that comes from all around him not ten seconds later. Unsurprised to see the pack of Wolves flanking him on all sides when he looks up, he cannot see why they don't just kill him here and now. After all, that is their mission, is it not?
"Ah ha," roughly chuckles one Wolf, and as the others' faces morph to mirror his, Peter knows this must be Maugrim. "I admit I was expecting more of a fight from a Son of Adam," yellow eyes glint, and Peter doesn't know if he will like his next words, "but then, your fool of a brother was not so difficult either."
At the mention of Edmund, Peter feels a fiery urge to demand answers as to his condition, but remembers such information will be of no use to him if he dies here. With this in mind, he takes a step backward, only to feel sharp nips at his ankles. The Wolves are edging closer, locking him in their tight circle of certain death, and he wonders vaguely if this foolish plan could have been better thought through in the little time he'd had to formulate it.
He waits for the pounces, for the jaws to rip into him—
"Secret Police to the Queen of Narnia! Hail the Lady Jadis!" Peter opens his tightly closed eyes and dares to breathe again, if shortly, at the sight of a small Talking Fox padding over to them. Maugrim turns to the Animal, and the rest keep their eyes on Peter as the Fox barks, "I've spotted them, the Daughters of Eve!"
At this, Peter feels faint. His sisters… Please… Aslan help them!
"You're sure?" The Wolf appears skeptical, eyes searching the smaller Beast's. "Aren't you just a traitor?" On the last word, Maugrim growls, and the Fox lowers his head a little in submission as he narrows his eyes.
"You know well where my loyalties lay, Wolf. Must you always question me?"
The Captain lifts his head and exhales huffily through his nose in a superior gesture. "You can never tell with...your Kind."
"An unfortunate family resemblance," the Fox bites back, then proceeds to throw his head to the South to indicate their intended direction. "Now, are you after them or not?"
Maugrim continues to study him for a moment, but nods curtly.
Turning to his pack, he utters gruffly, "Most of you, with me. The rest—" his eyes roam maliciously over Peter's stock-still form, "—take care of the Human."
Raising a paw, the Wolf claws the Fox across the face, but Maugrim pays the alarmed yelp no mind. Rather, he howls to arrogantly warn the prey of their inevitable deaths before racing southward, the chosen of his pack following swiftly after him.
Though blood drips from the four deep scratches across the Fox's cheek to dye the white snow dark red, he does not seem to feel the pain. Instead, his one-brown-and-one-blue eyes gaze up into Peter's orbs, and the boy almost forgets himself.
The Fox had risked his life to—with luck—save Peter's; he had fooled them, as it would seem he had done many times before; he is on their side, on Aslan's side.
Willing his gratefulness to show in his eyes, Peter turns to assess his current position. The five Wolves left to him are growling, the hairs on their backs erect, and they have already begun to fall back on their haunches.
A shrill, long whistle interjects, and the Wolves whine as they fold their ears flat against their heads. The Fox looks to him meaningfully as his mouth exerts the saving sound, and Peter understands that this distraction is the Animal's way of giving him time to escape.
Pleading silently for the kind Fox's safety, Peter takes his chance and dashes away to the North. The Wolves are torn for a moment between traitor and Human, but they each tear into the small Beast's side with both forepaws prior to going after their assignment.
After they are gone, a tiny gray Rabbit hurriedly hops over to the fallen Fox, who bleeds heavily from his honorable wounds. She would take him inside, but knows it is unsafe to move one so injured so soon.
Kneeling beside him as only a Talking Rabbit can do, she ignores the gushing blood and gently dabs both bloodied cheek and side with a white cloth damp with medicine. Her face is as caringly sad as her voice as she speaks.
"Dear Tailin…" she whispers. "Still too pure for your own good."
She laughs softly, lovingly, and though it is not as joyful as her friend remembers, he appreciates the merry sound. Smiling through the sting the medicine brings, he addresses,
"You are not so undamaged yourself, Friend." He pauses, tracing with knowing eyes the back of her neck, where a long, jagged scar lingers under shorter, darker fur. Quieter now, his voice is rueful as he manages, "I have missed this, Avira."
The Rabbit's healing paw slows, and he does his best to catch her eye at this odd angle. She is tired, he realizes, has lived a hard and lonely life in his absence, and he wishes for the millionth time that he hadn't left all those years ago, that there might have been another way. He's missed her—her smile, her real laugh, her compassionate nature, everything.
"I've missed you, too. Very, very much."
Her eyes are bright with tears as her soft voice shakes with them, and his heart feels like it's been turned to stone by the Witch's very Wand. Though it hurts him dearly, he shifts so he can properly see her and reaches upward with a tender paw, laying it on her furry cheek as his two-toned eyes smolder.
"You know why I did it, Avira. It was the only chance given."
She smiles, adoring him all the more for the way he makes her so simultaneously forlorn and joyful, and places her free paw over the one of his that cups her cheek so sweetly.
"I know, dear. I know."
The night wind swirls snow about them, and a far-off cry of a young boy makes the pair stiffen. The She-Rabbit grips the He-Fox's paw as his eyes narrow in grief. She knows what he is thinking.
"You will be well soon enough," she comforts, grinning, but it does not come close to reaching her eyes. Her friend has the dreaded feeling he knows where she's going with this. "Then, you may chase them down and do the boy justice, if that be your wish…" in her voice, there is a warmth he has desired to hear since seeing her beautiful face after so long, and his cheeks flush with care, "…as I believe has always been your drive, Tailin."
It has been his life's mission to work on both sides of the court, if only to stay alive to see the day when the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve Aslan prophesied come to relieve Narnia of the horror that is the White Witch.
And finally, today, he has done it.
This Rabbit, his best friend of so many, many years, knows him better than anyone, and this is made truer than ever with just those last nine words.
In this, then, it would seem they have not grown so far apart as all that.
"Thank Aslan…" he breathes, relaxing into contented sleep in the snow.
"My dear, silly Love…" Avira chuckles fondly, planting a kiss on his forehead.
Already, the medicine seems to be helping his wounds. He should be ready to trail his charges—the blond boy first, of course, as the others should be safe enough in the care of the Beavers—in half a day or so, at most.
She does not mind, not really. At least, that is what she tells herself. All the while, she cannot erase the hurt that plagues her heart each time she thinks on it. It is too painful…
So, instead, she keeps her eyes fixed on his face.
She loves him for a reason, and though the years without him have been dark and lonesome, that reason has never been lost to her.
He is righteous.
He is cunning.
He is loving.
He is beautiful.
He is hers.
And if this is all she can earn from it for now—a beaten, sorry imitation of the Fox she once knew—she will take it as it comes.
Besides…Aslan is on the move, the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve are finally here after one hundred harsh years…something Tailin has been fighting and tricking all his life to see…
Soon, Her Time will be over and done.
She can feel it.
Peter runs as fast as he can, the snow being tossed up in flurries behind his flying feet. He can hear the angry panting and dangerous growls of his hunters on his heels, and he pushes himself to go quicker.
His path is nothing more than trees and snow, and he is glad.
All the while, he prays fervently for his sisters and the kind Beaver pair so devoted to them. They cannot be found just yet. He wouldn't be able to live with it…
These thoughts grip his mind, his every thought, and it is for this reason that he is not prepared for the sharp cries of the Wolves behind him. Daring to turn back even as he never slows his pace, he is astonished to see a Tree moving, looking as if to crush the Wolves as the branches repeatedly smash the white ground between them and him.
They cannot get to him like this, nor can they go around the Tree, for there are Trees of His all around—just as many as Hers, if not more—and They will come to the boy's aid undoubtedly, now that They've been awoken to who Peter is.
It would not be until days later that he would meet the very Oak Hamadryad that had begun the charge to save his life, but he would recognize the young spirit as soon as he laid eyes on him.
Despite himself, he smiles in indebtedness, but does not watch his footing. Thus, he lets out a shriek as his next step fails to connect with anything solid, and he finds himself tumbling forward and down.
He sees a thick layer of snow several feet below him, the clean drop-off from which he is currently falling as he looks back, and it is all he knows before he closes his eyes in anticipation of the impact.
Yet, the landing is not as gentle as he expects, as he falls and falls only for his head and later body to connect with something so hard that he would later swear it was diamond. For now, he is knocked out cold almost immediately and therefore does not register the fact that he finds himself on Narnian ice.
As night descends, Peter's assailants are powerless to do as they have been told, and as of yet, the remainder of the Secret Police has accomplished nothing.
The self-appointed Queen of Narnia—the White Witch, Jadis of Charn—will not be pleased.
A/N: In the scheme of things, I want to know what you thought of the catharsis involving Tailin and Avira. While the names are my invention, as well as Avira entirely, you may remember that the character of the Fox was a made-up character who appeared in the Disney/Walden version of LWW. I merely borrowed him, elaborated on him for my own purposes, and gave him a long-lost lover of a species lower in the food chain.
For that, I have an explanation: Lewis gave the impression that things applied to the real world don't always take part in Narnia, so I figured I could slide by. XD
So, what did you think?
(Oh, and for those who have watched Syfy's Alice, you may recognize the allusion to Hatter's choice to fight alongside the Resistance for Wonderland's freedom, the whole 'I've lived my life working for both sides of the court... It was the only way I could survive' deal-I thought it fit Tailing quite nicely, seeing as he and Hatter share the same theme.)
Thanks for reading, as always!