Chapter 13

What on earth? What's he doing? When did he learn to do that? Of course he knows how…I just didn't think he was that good .…Have I really been gone that long?

I watched as Peter practiced his sword play with more vigor than he had ever put forth.

"Maybe Edmund should make you upset more often if that's the kind of practice you're going to do." I called out.

Peter looked up, I saw right away that he had tears that threatened to spill from his eyes at any moment.

"Peter, he really didn't mean it. He was angry, and….. I didn't help either. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for this to get so out of hand."

"It's not exactly your fault…" Peter muttered.

"And I'm not exactly blameless either. If the people in your own castle can't respect your leadership, what does that say to other countries?" I said, speaking more to myself then to him.

We remained silent for a time.

"Well shall we continue practicing, Peter?" I said gesturing toward the swords.

"Prac- oh. I suppose."

With that we started, circling around each other-with swords out.

As we did our swordplay, I observed Peter.

He will make a great king. Strong, charismatic, excellent leadership qualities. If only he would stop being such an idiot.

Suddenly a stag came bounding up to us and bowed. Well, as best a stag can.

"Your Majesty, trouble has broken out in the Western Woods. You are needed immediately."

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?" Asked Peter, who instead of looking worried, looked excited.

"There have been violent uprisings of the remainder of the White Witches army. We have tried to hold them at bay, but our small army has quickly diminished."

"Why did you not come to the castle in need of assistance sooner? We surely could've helped, before it came to this." I said in worry.

"His Majesty told us to stop telling him such things, since he was sure we could handle it. As well as he informed us that his Majesty was very busy." The stag said without a hint of malice.

"Busy doing what? Staring at himself in the mirror all day?" I asked nearly yelling, more at Peter than at the stag.

"I had matters of importance!" He shouted back.

"Like what?" I shot back.

The stag cleared his throat.

"Of course, we'll call the reserve army immediately; hopefully it will take no more than an hour to be on our way." Peter said. He then turned and ran to the castle.

"What defense have you built?" I asked the stag.

"Unfortunately, we have had very little time to build a strong defense. We have a cave that provides ample protection."

I nodded my head slowly.

"But for how long?" I asked quietly.

"That's why I came. I hoped his Majesty would listen, and he did." The loyal stag replied.

Pfft. If he had it his way, all he would do around here would be eating. I thought resentfully.


Within half an hour, we were on our way. Peter and I were conversing on what to do when we got there; Lucy had wanted to come but Susan adamantly objected.

Peter had managed to get a good portion of the army in such short notice.

"What is your strategy, Sire?" Inquired Oreius, a centaur who had fought in the Battle; Peter had made him a general.

"I have no idea."

"It depends on how many are in the remains of the Witch's army." I pointed out.

"Indeed. Do you know how many, loyal stag?" Oreius asked.

"I believe, General, that the number is around six hundred to seven hundred. Our forces killed only two hundred at best. Needless to say, we lost more than they." The stag replied looking slightly ashamed.

"I'm sure we can do it. Now…" I gasped when I saw the mass chaos and inhaled the stench of dried blood.

"We need to do something. We have to do it now." Oreius said emphatically.

"I agree." Peter said after scanning the disheveled scene before him.

Obviously. I thought, though I kept it to myself.

We walked into the blood covered forest in silence, taking in the many bodies that no one had bothered to bury.

"Find someone to bury these brave creatures." Peter commanded.

"Yes, your highness." a fox scampered off to do his bidding.

We reached the cave they used for their protection; it was a rather small cave.

As soon as the animals and centaurs caught sight of Peter and the coveted army, they immediately raised a soft cheer.

"Good people of Narnia, you have my thanks for so courageously defending the Western forest. Rest assured we will do everything in our power to vanquish the enemy!" Peter said.

The onlookers were greatly encouraged from their King's speech.

"What is your plan of action, Majesty?" Oreius asked.

Peter looked around and surveyed the land. There was an abrupt drop which at the bottom was rushing lake; he walked over the edge, I could tell he and I were thinking the same thing.

"We could push them toward the cliff and hope they fall over…" Peter trailed off.

"That's a really good idea, Peter. That could wor-"I was cut off by a chorus of screams.

Dashing over, we saw the remnants of the White Witch's army wrecking havoc upon our small but determined army.

Peter immediately jumped on his horse.

"Draw them to the cliff! Draw them to the cliff" he yelled.

In the mass confusion, his words were lost.

A boggle had a leering grin as it jumped in front of me, I slashed its throat. I watched as it fell with a groan at my feet.

I truly hated killing, I found it revolting. Yet it had to be done, for Narnia's sake.

I was lost in my thoughts and missed the troll; it swung its club at me, I cringed and prepared myself for the blow. But it never came.


Peter was standing above me, with his hand outstretched.

"Stand up, Clara." He said.

Smiling, I reached out and took his hand.

"Thank you." I said softly.

The forest was covered in blood, and many creatures had perished.

The battle scene, although on a smaller scale, was just as horrifying as the Battle of Beruna. It seemed that what remained of the White Witch's army was quite diminished, and that those who survived surrendered.

I looked around and saw that the army we had brought with us had lost several of its troops. Sorrow filled my heart when I thought the soldiers' families and their loss.

Thoughts of my father penetrated my head and my heart; I hastily pushed those memories to the back of my head.

I busied myself in helping those who were fatally injured; I knelt down to a dog whose minutes on this earth were numbered.

"How are you?" I asked, feeling very helpless.

"Miss Clara… I have never been better. I will see Aslan which is enough for me." He replied gently. Then his eyes closed and he was still.

I would never grow accustomed to battle. I would never get used to watching people die before my eyes, knowing that I was the reason they were drawing their last breath. Never. There was just too much pain, too much loss. On the middle of the battlefield, I purposed to never give my heart away. There was simply too much heartache. Right?