Chapter 7

Shortly after than unpleasant revelation, I realized that I should think of ways to prevent that from happening for as long as possible.

Walking back to the camp, Peter was at the moment trying to convince Edmund that the dryad was most likely correct, I over heard their words.

"I don't know, Ed! That was what the tree spirit said!" Peter exclaimed impatiently.

"Yes, well….trees are shifty. They can't be trusted." He insisted.

"Boys! Stop arguing. I thought you two had learned your lesson, obviously I was wrong."

By that time, we had reached the camp.

Turning to Peter I said, "Aslan is dead. It's up to you to lead this battle."

Oreius had come up to us and had stated his approval of my comment.

"I can't do that!" Peter protested.

"If you keep telling yourself that, you're right. You can't." I said irritated.

We had a slight glaring contest that was broken by Oreius clearing his throat.

"Aslan believed you could and so do I" Edmund said.

Peter nodded, and then bent over the map to make a battle plan.

Edmund went off and did… whatever it was he did.

I helped Peter with the battle plan, then went off and thought.

Admit it. You're scared. You're a coward.

I heard the rustle of grass and knew someone was behind me.

"Clara!! There you are. Come, we need to head to the battle field." Peter told me.

Allowing myself to be led, I looked around. Edmund appeared from somewhere, silently he handed me a mail chain dress and a shield.

With a heavy heart I put them on, I knew right from the start many would die. I also knew I would die before any one killed any of the Pevensies. It was my duty as their Guardian.

Aslan's words drifted to my head. "Never be afraid of failure, be afraid of not trying again."

"I won't…" I whispered.

Walking out of the tent, I strapped on my swords.

"Are you ready?" I asked Peter.

"No."

"Let's go then."

Mounting a black horse named Flisha, I looked at Edmund. He looked nervous, Peter looked scared, and I hoped I didn't look what I was feeling inside. Petrified.


This is all my fault. I watched as the Pevensie's gathered around Edmund, who was gasping and barely conscious. I could have…I should have done something…anything…

The events flashed back in my mind's eye.

Flash back

There was a maniacal gleam in ogre's eye. With one swift motion I slashed his throat. The corner of my eye caught Peter and a wolf fighting. Running over I cut the wolf's back, with the backlash of my stroke I struck a hag that was leering at Peter and I.

My thoughts were "Slash, stab, duck, parry, dodge, kill. Repeat." It was truly 'Kill or be killed'. By then I had accumulated several paltry wounds, such as a slight gash in the epidermis of my skin. I looked up, and saw Lucy and Susan and…Aslan? He was alive? Impossible. Working my way over to them I occupied my time killing some of the White Witch's army.

I was really close to them when I spotted an arrow heading right at Lucy, whose back was turned to the weapon. Hesitating then dodging forward, the missile pierced my stomach. I pulled it out, trying to asphyxiate a scream of pain. Blood. Dark red drops of it seeped onto the ground contaminating the white, pure snow. Quickly hiding my bloody wound with my hand, I called "Susan! Lucy!"

"Clara! Thank goodness you're safe." Susan said. She opened her mouth to say more but then shut it.

I nodded, then ran back to the battle field.

I was in the middle of killing another wolf, when I heard Peter's loud cry, "NOO!" Stabbing the wolf, I whirled around only to see Edmund lying on the ground, with a dark spot on his armor. The next few moments were a blur, Peter fighting the Witch like a mad man, Aslan jumping on Jadis. I had a raging headache from the loss of blood. I felt like vomiting.

End Flashback

I now gaze at them with sorrow, regret and guilt.

I shouldn't have been selfish. Going up to them was selfish; I needed to know someone was worried about me. If I had been on the battlefield like I was supposed to be, I could have stopped Edmund.

Lucy poured a drop of her fire-flower juice in his mouth.

Coughing and sputtering, he sat up. I could not make out what was being said, but I assumed it was words of endearment.

Aslan came over to me.

'Clara, you cannot undo the past."

"No, but I should've been there. It's my fault." I said sadly.

"It is not your fault." said a firm voice behind me. Flinching, I recognized the voice as Peter's.

"Yes, it is." I muttered, then walked away.

By then I had a migraine and was nauseas. I took my hand away from my wound, only to find dried blood caked on the center point where the arrow made its mark. I defiantly felt like vomiting then. I glanced at my daggers, to make sure they were there. To my horror, I saw that one was missing.

This is not my day.

I heard a rustle in the grass, before I gave way to the calming darkness. And for the second time in two days I fainted.

When I woke, I realized I was not on the ground but on a bed, in a very well-furnished room.

Peter and Susan were just coming in.

"Clara, what happened to Ed is not your fault." Peter restated.

"I should've done something, after I got shot by the arrow I should have been paying more attention to you two." I said looking at Peter.

"Arrow? What arrow?" Lucy demanded, walking into the room.

Oh dear… I thought they knew…

With a sigh I replied, "There was an arrow heading toward you. I stopped it."

"You did that? For me?" Lucy asked in awe.

"Yes." I answered softly.

"Well…we'd better leave. Clara needs her rest." Susan said standing up. "The doctor says you'll be healed in about six to eight weeks even after Lucy put her Fire-flower juice on it, although you will always have a scar." She included.

"Six to eight weeks?!" I nearly shouted.

"Yes. And after you're rested, we will talk." With those words, Peter followed his siblings out.

I attended the coronation, and thought the titles Aslan gave were very appropriate. High King Peter the Magnificent, Queen Susan the Gentle, King Edmund the Just and Queen Lucy the Valiant.

I know what I would name myself: Clara, Guardian of the throne, the failure.