Hey guys, first off, I'm so incredibly sorry it took me a whole year to get this chapter up (and what a short chapter, too). Life has been crazy and, unfortunately, it doesn't look as though it'll be lightening up anytime soon. This series is such a delight to write and I'll do what I can to occasionally post (especially since I'm fleshing out more of the over-arching plot in the next few planned but unwritten chapters). Thank you so very, very, very, VERY much for being so supportive and amazing!

Thanks to all reviewers! You make me so happy! WilliowDryad, WWD, doggirllyn, CountryPixie, rosebudmelissa, Roletti, rainpaint, peanutmeg, Petiib, Autumnia, Eregnar, LunaNigra, audrey, where the wind blows, Eavis, FelipeMarcusThomas, and anyone else I've probably forgotten, you are wonderful!

Also, we've crossed the 200 review mark everybody! Round of applause for yourselves and your awesome reviews! I'd give out something fabulous but I haven't anything fabulous to give...sorry.

All that said, enjoy!

Chapter 16: Lady

She supposed they looked as any Sons of Adams did. She'd seen such 'men' in Calomene before and they hadn't impressed her then either.

So very small and fragile with their tender little limbs and tiny hands. Why their swords, if one could call such pins that, could serve as a toothpick for her husband.

Lady Ameorla, indeed, was not impressed.

The Narnians had arrived in the capitol city of Ettin in a most bedraggled state, supplies half-destroyed, and uniforms sodden and torn. If the journey to Ettin could reduce the famed Narnians to so low a state then what would a fully armed and blood-thirsty horde of her countrymen to do such rabble?

Ameorla was one her more educated counterparts. She knew as much from the first time she entered the high circles of Ettin society after her marriage to Lord Brotus. She also knew, from those same studies, that this pitiful group of Narnian soldiers with their Kings and Queens had been widely renowned for their defeat of the White Witch.

The general public of Ettin did not trust them all the more for that and held the Narnians at a suspicious distance. The White Witch had visited only once and the children of Ettin still shuddered at the mention of her name. Such cold eyes…some said the mere look of them could turn one to stone.

Ameorla had read the reports of the battle with some skepticism. Books were rare, exceedingly so, but her husband's position afforded a few. More common were the transactions of tales for coin or good strong ale. As she quickly found, conflicts rarely had the numbers drunken egos boasted them to have. She was, however, intrigued. Little was there for her to do in her new home other than gossip and gorge oneself on wild boar and red apples. Such consistent awe over the naïve Narnian forces and their victory that Ameorla could not help her wonder what exactly had happened at the Battle of Beruna.

Another advantage to having a Lord for a husband was the access to formal events such as negotiations. Her husband had been summoned from their modest village at the base of the mountains nearly three days prior to join in open negotiations with the other lords of Ettin and the sovereigns of Narnia.

Lord Brotus was not the most intelligent of giants but he was kind and loathed being from her side longer than absolutely necessary. So, she had been allowed to accompany him and was present in the wide dirt courtyard when the two Kings of Narnia had ridden through the wooden and bronze stockade.

As she remembered them now, near faint with weariness and hunger, she knew that some piece of the puzzle was missing. They could only be withholding their full clout. They must have had a powerful weapon of some sort hidden away.

The blond haired child with his brother at his elbow, both stumbling with fatigue, could not have faced the White Witch on an open battlefield and won.

A slight winter storm, as their tale was told, had nearly defeated them singlehandedly and the White Witch was so much more powerful…Ameolra brushed off the chill raking down her limbs.

She stood now behind an enormous wooden table, her husband, the other lords, and the two Kings seated before her. Terse silence reigned supreme as the Lords ran their thick fingers over their beards and the two Kings kept a white-knuckled grip on the pommel of their swords.

At long last, King Edmund, the younger of the Kings, cleared his throat uneasily and spoke in a surprisingly deep voice for a person so small, "As a King of Narnia, I propose we begin discussions on the cessation of conflict between our two sovereign states."

"I second the motion." The older, High King Peter, spoke next.

A wry set of looks passed between the twelve Lords of Ettin. Lord Brotus breached their thoughts. "Then let the pleasantries commence."

King Edmund looked surprised for the briefest of moments, so brief in fact that Ameorla thought she might have imagined it, and was again composed. "Excellent."

"First, we should like a few wrongs to be righted."

Ameorla felt a blush of pride spread over her cheeks as her husband spoke. He had been listening to her reading at night after all.

High King Peter opened his mouth and, at a nudge from his brother, snapped it shut again.

"Go on." King Edmund encouraged. "We're listening."

"We have been unduly vilified, unjustly attacked, viciously misperceived."

Ameorla's good humor would not be dampened, even if her darling husband had repeated himself. Perhaps he had really managed to stay awake through "The Compendium of Governmental Affairs".

"How so?" High King Peter desperately looked as though he wanted to cross his arms across his chest but instead clenched his fist tighter around his sword.

Lord Clymeran pitched in now. "The patrols, the attacks, the slanderousings of our good names."

Here Ameorla couldn't help it. She winced. Maintaining a level of intelligence was not Clymeran's strong suit.

High King Peter, even with his brother's hand firmly clasped to his shoulder, rigidly pried his hand from his sword and extended it viciously towards the Lords of Ettin. "The attacks? The slandering of your good names? What you misperceive as attacks are the defensive actions of border towns under siege from plundering Ettins. The patrols were to further defend the defenseless. As for your names, you have done that yourself by tearing food and supplies from women and children."

"We were claiming what was ours! Those lands were grazing pastures for more years than you've been alive, infant of Adam!" Lord Ronfir threw back his chair, red-faced.

High King Peter flew to his feet only a beat later. "I have not come thirty leagues to debate the murder of children!"

A roar of anger tore through Ameorla's countrymen and the table shook under their pounding fists. Curiously, only King Edmund remained seated. One hand held his forehead and a strange half-pained and half-amused look covered his face.

In that moment, she thought she may found one of like mind—if he had not been a Narnian, that is.

And then perhaps the most curious thing of all happened. King Edmund's expression changed, his shoulders broadening and an inexplicable strength welled deep in his chest. "Excuse me."

The room drifted into silence, sentences dropping off into oblivion unfinished and suddenly forgotten.

"I believe what my brother means to say is this…" King Edmund rose slowly to his feet, hands spread wide across the table and dark eyes flinty as he stared deep into the Ettin faces. "We've come to hear your grievances and expect the same decency in return. If anything can be done to rectify those grievances, all effort should be so made. While we are guests in your land, we would like to hear what you would claim as complaints before we would speak." His left hand rose smoothly and clamped down hard on his brother's upper arm. "If you please, speak. We listen." And then he firmly yanked down, and then both Kings were suddenly sitting.

Shock reverberated around the room. Only High King Peter remained unaffected. He, instead, looked as though he had eaten something bitter, his jaw tight and fingers blanched white in tight fists.

"The…the…" Lord Brotus cleared his throat and fumbled with his wiry beard. "The trespassing on the land of our forebears is a chief concern. Also among our grievances, we require cessation," Ameorla would later ponder that her husband had always learned quickly if not often, "of violence upon our persons whilst traveling in Narnian lands due to archaic suspicions of our race."

King Edmund's hand tightened and King Peter's jaw did the same, his lips thinning.

Graciously, King Edmund inclined his head and said, "We shall address those matters the moment we return."

High King Peter leaned slightly in his chair, head inclining towards his brother and he spoke. The words were spoken so quietly that Ameorla was likely the only one besides King Edmund that heard them. She would later reflect that the low volume was likely for the best. "Ed, I swear, if you interrupt me one more time, not even Su will be able to keep you from bodily harm."

"Very well." Her husband blinked. "Excellent."

"What be your complaints, little Kings?" Lord Typhos looked at them shrewdly, staring down the wide, mottled expanse of his nose.

"Our complaints are these." High King Peter firmly detached his brother's hand and regained his feet. "That you cease claiming Narnian property as your own. That you cease attacking peaceful villages without provocation. And that you recognize Narnia as a sovereign nation."

"What peaceful villages? None of our people have attacked you without right good cause!"

"Eldoris, Iilba, I could name a dozen other towns that were plundered by a band of giants along our Northern Border."

Ameorla's eyes came to rest on Lord Pelios, the southernmost leader and therefore the ruler of the disputed territory. He looked puzzled. "My boys have not attacked anyone there. Haven't attacked anything short of three months' time."

"There, you see! The Narnians lie!" Lord Clymeran's voice was grating and nervous. "They wish a fight!"

"We do not wish a fight." King Edmund assured them emphatically.

And just as emphatically High King Peter added, "though we wouldn't run from one either."

Thankfully, the lords ignored this last comment and instead murmured quietly to each other, shaking their heads and raking at their beards.

Lord Brotus cleared his throat loudly. "We must speak on these things. I suggest the Narnians adjourn for refreshment whilst we discuss the matters at hand."

For the first time, King Edmund looked as displeased as his brother but he held his tongue considerably better than his elder. He stood, bowed stiffly, and pulled his furious brother as graciously as possible from the room.

Lord Brotus turned to Ameorla. "My beautiful one, would you see that food is brought to them?"

"Of course." She kissed his hand, as was custom, and, as custom, he kissed her forehead in return.

She swept from the room in all her finery, the wildflowers threaded through her hair still clinging proudly to their shape and color even after the hours shut away in the warm council chambers.

At the onset of her marriage, she would have been irritated to miss the discussion but she knew better by now. Her husband had a better mind for strategy than his peers. Tongues moved more freely when food and wine were set before them. They desperately needed to know if these Narnians were sincere and a few fully bellies might just give them the answer they required.

Maids would escort the two Kings to the Great Hall and Ameorla, under the pretense of fetching food, would listen and, later, report what secrets had been unveiled in the faux privacy. Settling into a dark corner, she waited as the sons of Adam were seated and food was brought.

At long last, the room grew silent as the echo of the maids' steps retreated and the brothers spoke.

"Perhaps I should attend the next negotiation alone, Pete." The younger King sounded old, older than the worn wood under her feet.

King Peter, paradoxically, sounded as young and insulted as a filly proudly tramping around the spring fields. "And have them see you alone? I don't think so. I'll not have us look weak. We're already despised enough."

"Then learn to keep your tongue behind your teeth. You're making our job bloody difficult with all your masked insults and I, for one, want to return to Cair Paravel without becoming a giant's appetizer."

Ameorla couldn't help the inborn reflex to protect her people's insulted pride from surging through her blood. Why, they hadn't eaten the flesh of a Calmorene for at least sixty years.

"Fine." King Peter slouched back and then with a wicked gleam to his eye said, "I'll endeavor to discontinue the slanderousings of our good name."

A snort, from King Edmund, flickered 'round the hall. "You've only proven my point. Negotiation is more like chess than a match at the lists. You've got to use finesse."

"Finesse? I've got bloody finesse."

"Clearly not."

"Well, it's not like they've got finesse."

"Perhaps not, but a few of them…they're clever, Pete, and they care for their people as much as you or I. A meeting point will be found, but only if you stop being so bull-headed."

Silence reigned and for a moment Ameorla thought there would be no more discussion and then King Peter added, "I'll not have our people slighted."

"They won't be. But neither will the people of Ettin."

"But-"

King Edmund's voice was surprisingly soft as he cut his brother off. "Just trust me, Pete. I've got this."

At that, Ameorla stood, stretching her stiff limbs indulgently, and strode down the hallway. A smile curled at her lips. Her duty was complete.

Although, the two young Kings might be the size of kittens, if the High King trusted his younger brother, well, perhaps they could trust him, too. After all, she of all people would understand the utter indispensability of a dependable advisor.