Borik cracked his knuckles as Edmund climbed down the rocky formation where they had set camp. Most of the group was already there, and the others were following behind him. It was early in the afternoon, and they were ready to set out to the meeting with the rebels. One of the centaurs held an olive branch to demonstrate that they came in peace, though his expression was distinctly war-like.

"Ready, Borik?" said Edmund as he hung his sword on his belt.

"Yes, Sire," said the Dwarf, looking around at the rest of them. "I only hope this isn't a trap."

"If it is, we shall know soon enough," said Edmund grimly.

They set out in silence, leaving the horses behind with two soldiers to watch them. Edmund went at the head of the group beside the centaurs and Borik, feeling distinctly uneasy in his stomach. What they were doing was risky, but it needed to be done. He comforted himself by remembering that the rebels weren't particularly skilled in battle, judging from their clumsy shots the day before in the forest, and that they had probably killed most of the skilled ones in the Festival when they had come to murder him and Peter.

They reached the place within the next hour, their mood tense, their stances alert. As soon as they neared the end of the wood, Edmund sent Witrow to investigate. The large feline seemed to blend in perfectly with the foliage, crouching into the bushes without making so much as a slight rustle. He returned after a few minutes.

"All goes according to plan, Sire," he said. "They do have a cave. A rather large one, too, by the smell of it. There's a Minotaur and two Black Dwarves visibly standing guard, but I'm fairly sure there are many more waiting just inside."

Edmund took a deep breath and turned to the others. "Very well," he said, keeping his voice as low as possible. "Do not draw your weapons unless it becomes clear that they mean to kill us. If they suspect treachery on our part we lose all hope of negotiation."

Slowly, Edmund emerged from the shadow of the trees, followed closely by Borik, Witrow, and the centaurs. He instantly heard the Minotaur draw his blade, and saw the two Dwarf sentries point at them with arrows to the string. Above them, a mountain rose into the clouds, its vast rocky wall extending on either side until it was swallowed by the shadows of the trees. The rocky floor they stood on seemed to fall rather steeply into the large, gaping cave behind the rebel sentries. Edmund set his jaw, his gaze hard as he faced the enemy, not moving from where he stood at the edge of the wood.

"We had a deal," he shouted to those whom he knew hid inside the cave.

"Yes, little King, we do."

The voice was an old, gravelly one, laced with mocking courtesy. A Dwarf emerged from the cave, his long hair and beard grey and matted, his eyes beady and full of dislike as he looked at them. He was dressed in what must have been elegant clothes some decades ago, but were now worn and torn in many places. His gnarled hands were folded in front of him as he slowly approached. Behind him, the sentries followed somewhat menacingly.

"Who are you?" Edmund asked warily.

"My name is Nirthic," said the Dwarf.

"And you are the highest authority in this group?" Edmund kept his expression unreadable, his voice firm but formal.

The Dwarf smiled sardonically. "Not precisely. I am here to lead you inside, where a more… thorough… conversation might be had."

Edmund hesitated. Going into the unknown cave would be an immense risk to take.

"Don't worry, little King," said Nirthic. "There will be no danger if you do not try anything."

"I tend to suspect treachery from people who resort to poison and assassinations in my sleep."

Nirthic's expression darkened. He scowled. "You may bring four with you. The rest must remain outside."

"Why can we not speak here?"

"Lord Teucer prefers to remain inside," he said. "If you truly wish to negotiate, then you must follow me."

He turned and began to walk towards the entrance of the cave. Edmund glanced at Borik, whose expression was grim.

"With the centaurs behind us there should be considerable safety," Borik said under his breath.

"Not if we are surrounded by hundreds," said Edmund. "We do not even know how many they are."

Borik said nothing, and Edmund saw Nirthic disappear into the cave. With a sharp intake of breath, Edmund called two of the centaurs and Witrow the leopard, ordering them to follow and watch for any sign of treachery. The rest were to remain near the entrance of the cave, and if anything went wrong they were to charge inside.

With a hand on the hilt of his sword, and a silent prayer on his lips, Edmund entered the darkness of the cave, followed by the other Narnians.

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw large steps leading downwards as the rocky floor gave way and fell many feet lower. The roof of the cave sunk as well, making it impossible to see how deep into the mountain the cave went. He slowly climbed down the steps, grasping his sword tightly and following the golden light of torches that he could see shining ahead.

He met Nirthic at the foot of the steps, and they made way as the centaurs trotted down behind them, the noise of their hooves against stone echoing loudly. The grey-haired Red Dwarf said nothing as he turned and continued through the passage. Around them, the walls of the cave widened and gave way to a large room. Edmund kept his eyes trained on either side to ensure that no one could jump out at them, but besides the large crevices on the walls, there didn't seem to be any other hollow spaces in the stone other than the one they were in.

The room suddenly widened and torches were lit all around them, giving light to the area they were in, though Edmund could see that the cave did go deep into the mountain, for beyond the circle of light all he could see was darkness. It was obvious that people had been living in that cave for some time; old empty barrels, crates and sacks were thrown about, and chairs and blankets were ordered haphazardly all about. Some creatures stood at the edges of the room: dwarves, panthers, ravens, satyrs and even a Faun or two. None of them seemed ready to attack, though Edmund could see spears, swords and bows here and there. Their enemy was armed, but the situation did not seem to be a treacherous one.

They followed Nirthic until they reached a place where the floor seemed to rise up in a sort of dais. On it stood a centaur.

"Lord Teucer," said Nirthic solemnly.

Out of all the creatures Edmund had suspected might have been behind this rebellion against the Narnian Thrones, a centaur had seemed the least possible. Even during the time of the White Witch, not a single centaur had joined her side or supported her in any way. Most of them had retreated to the mountains and lived there in hiding, occasionally leading an attempt to overthrow her government, which was the reason behind the abundance of centaur statues in her palace when Aslan had gone to reawaken them.

Lord Teucer was old, even by centaur standards. Both the fur that covered the horse half of his body and the hair on his head was pale grey, seeming to be falling off in places. His body, once strong and muscular, was now wrinkled and thin with age, and his bright, glazed eyes gleaming with an intensity that betrayed madness.

"King Edmund," Teucer cried, his hooves making noise as they crushed the small rocks on the top of the dais. "It is quite a pleasure to see you with my own eyes after having heard so much about you."

"I would say likewise," Edmund replied. "But I wish our meeting was not under these circumstances."

"Your coming here is a quite a noble act," said Teucer, his lip curling, an ugly grimace forming on his face. "But I do not know what you wish to achieve."

"I am here to give you a chance before we decide to make justice," said Edmund coldly. "You stand accused of the blackmail, raid and destruction of the village of Pebble and surrounding farms, and violent action against the dryads and villagers. Also, you stand accused of the twice attempted murder of the Kings and Queens of the nation of Narnia, exposing you and your followers as traitors to the country and to its people." He paused for effect and then continued. "By Narnian law, the systematic harassment, robbery and brutal mistreatment of the villagers of Pebble force you to stand trial before its people and face imprisonment or exile. The attempted murder of the Kings and Queens is punishable by death, but those directly responsible for the attack have already received their sentence, partly absolving you from this punishment if you repent and willingly submit to the consequences for your other crimes."

There was complete silence in the cave, broken only by Teucer's laughter. "Oh, please," he said scornfully, his voice cracking slightly, as if it was worn with age. "You speak as if you had the right to impart justice upon this land. My people and I have long toiled in this country and with our blood we have earned the right of ownership. We will not bow before false Kings."

"Their Majesties' places in the Thrones were given by Aslan Himself, as do all true Narnians testify," Borik said, fiercely.

"So Aslan believes Narnia a country fit to be ruled by humans, traitors and children?" Teucer spat. "You speak of true Narnians, Dwarf, while you yourself have abandoned your own in favor of a King who would have sold us all to the Witch for the sake of power."

Borik's hand moved and it took all of Edmund's strength to push the Dwarf's hand away from his sword. Borik's eyes were blazing with hatred. "Those who ignored the Lion's Call and forgot the Prophecy for their own commodity are not of my kin, nor are any of the Black Dwarves who joined the Witch's side."

Edmund spoke quickly before Borik got any angrier. "By Aslan's decree, my Brother, my Sisters and I are Kings and Queens of Narnia. It is our duty to protect Narnia from any that may wish to harm her; at this moment in time, you are our greatest threat."

Suddenly, Teucer had stepped off the dais and was facing Edmund, standing a nearly a head over the King, his breath racing from the effort of movement. It was evident that the centaur was sickly and decrepit; as he glanced at Nirthic, who stood nearby, it became clear to him that it was probable that many of Teucer's followers were merely using his authority as a ladder to power. He wondered how many of them had been the Witch's followers until the Pevensies had arrived.

"Let me explain something to you, human child," said Teucer, his rancid breath blowing in Edmund's face as he looked down at him. "You and your siblings stand on a land of Talking Beasts, centaurs, Fauns, satyrs, dwarves, and all other manners of creatures. But Narnia has never been a land of humans. A human child understands nothing of our culture, of our knowledge, of our suffering. A human child cannot represent the people of Narnia. Perhaps in the times before the Long Winter, a human might live among us and call himself our King, but it was a rank brought with respect, with trust given by Narnia's people because they had proved themselves worthy. Humans did not rule like you do so now. You have appeared from another country we know nothing of; you swept in and replaced our ruler through the power of the Lion, not through your own. Narnia does not need usurpers! Narnia does not need humans! Narnia is herself, and now that the Long Winter is over, she must be reclaimed by her own, not by strangers, not by children, and not by traitors!"

His voice had risen to a shout, his face contorted in spasms of anger. "We, the Knights of Stone, have fought for this country all our lives! We have given Narnia our blood, our children, our every breath until there was no more to give! We have seen everything we love fall before the Witch, and it was by our efforts that the Narnians stayed together." Around him, a murmur of approval rose from the Talking Beasts, the satyrs, the Fauns and some of the dwarves. "Through our hands our villages were saved from being turned to stone; we were the warriors who protected our people, strong, unwavering, like stone itself! We fought battles we knew we would not win, for the honor of our people, for the glory of knowing that we never gave up our freedom." He inhaled sharply, his tail lashing to the sides in anger as he stomped the ground beneath him with one hoof. "But what did we get when the Winter was over? Nothing. Those of us who suffered for Narnia had to stay where we were while others took the power and pretended they had the authority to wield it." He snorted, his mad eyes fixed on Edmund's. "What have you to say to that, King?"

Edmund held his gaze, unwavering. When he spoke, his voice was calm and steady. "This: your pain is understood, your heroism admirable, your losses lamentable. Any Narnian will testify that what you did during the Long Winter kept hope in the hearts of our people. But your actions in the past months have dishonored you and the cause you have fought for. Since when is Narnia a place where villages must live in fear of their own people? Where houses are burnt to the ground and children are threatened? Since when is Narnia a place where objections are spoken through poison and a sword to one's throat while one is asleep? If you have fought for a free Narnia, a Narnia of peace, why do you so actively work to bring her to her ruin?

"I know the pain of war. I have lived through one. And cruel actions are not justifiable by past cruel actions; I know this, because as you have said, I was once a traitor. But I have repented, and I have suffered the consequences of my actions. This opportunity I give to you: leave this cave and endure trial for your crimes, and the worst will be forgiven. Refuse it, and we shall meet again, but it will be in battle."

Teucer's face remained contorted in anger as he looked at Edmund with pure hatred. "As I said… we will not bow before false justice from false Kings. I have done what must be done for this country, I have taken what must be taken from its people, and I will not shy away from killing usurpers to ensure that Narnia survives. I will not take orders from traitors." He turned and walked away, seeming to limp slightly, his decrepit form disappearing into the shadows of the depths of the cave.

"So be it," said Edmund grimly.

...

"Sire!"

Peter turned almost reluctantly in his tracks. "What is it? I am leaving for the dance; I am late already."

His meeting with Oreius had gone on longer than he had expected, and he did not wish to be late to the dancing in the clearing that happened every night. Especially since he had heard word that Lucy was to sing that evening.

Aurelius bowed. "Forgive me Sire, but we have caught two thieves." Behind him, four guards were dragging two men from Galma, their hands tied behind their backs. "What shall we do with them?"

Peter held back a sigh. He walked towards them and faced the two thieves. They remained with their faces downcast, and he initially thought it was out of shame, but soon realized by the smell that they were too drunk to hold their heads up properly. "What did they steal?" he asked, though he knew the answer already.

"A barrel of beer," said Aurelius, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "We found them in their tent; they must have drunk nearly three thirds of it."

"They are King Reghorius' to punish, not mine," said Peter, and he looked at the criminals. "He shall be the one to decide. Please summon him for me."

The King of Galma arrived just as the vomit of one of the criminals was being cleaned off the edges of one of the carpets of Peter's tent. He grimaced with repulsion as he caught the scent, and immediately turned away to the opposite side of the tent, where Peter sat on a chair and the two drunks kneeled on a grassy patch nearby, flanked by guards.

"What is the meaning of this?" he exclaimed as he saw his men with their hands tied behind their backs.

"I am sorry for summoning you from the festivities, King Reghorius," said Peter courteously. "But this was a matter that required your attention."

"Why are my men bound, High King?" Reghorius exclaimed, affronted.

"They were caught getting drunk with a barrel of beer that they stole from our stores," said Peter.

The King froze, his eyes moving back to his men. He grit his teeth with anger. "And how do you know it was stolen?"

"There is a barrel missing from the group that was meant for tonight," said Peter. "And none of the tents were given such a large amount. Also, there are two witnesses that say they caught sight of your men transporting it to their tent."

Reghorius said nothing, seeming rather at loss as to how to proceed. Peter almost felt pity for him; he had acted so angrily, and had now realized what a shameful situation he was in.

"I am sorry to put you in this position," said Peter calmly. "But Narnian law states that thieves must be punished. So do Galman laws, I am sure, and since they are under your care it would not be my place to give out punishments."

"Quite right," said Reghorius, rather quietly. "I shall take them." He made a motion and the two guards that had followed him took hold of the drunks, beginning to half-lead, half-drag them out of the tent.

"There is, however, a small issue to address," said Peter, before Reghorius could leave as well. He felt rather uncomfortable, but forced himself to say the words that needed to be said. "It should not be that you should suffer shame on behalf of your men; Galma has always proved itself an honest and generous country. It is for this reason that I believe you will understand the reasoning behind my request that you reimburse us with the price of the beer that was drunk by the culprits."

Reghorius hesitated. It was clear that he was not sure how to proceed. Finally, he gave a small bow. "Of course, High King Peter. I apologize on behalf of my men. This will not happen again.'

As the King left, Peter could not help a triumphant smile from forming on his lips, despite the stench of vomit that was slowly permeating the tent despite the best efforts of the poor Fauns that were trying to clean the mess.

...

Lucy sang a song that night, in the center of the clearing where the Fauns and dryads danced. It was not accompanied with music from any instruments, and there was no dancing while she sang. She merely stood and intoned words in a language that Peter eventually recognized as Old Narnian, a tongue that was no longer spoken anywhere, and was known by very few.

Yet there was something moving about her words, though he could not understand more than a few, and the way she stood with her arms slightly outstretched, her face upturned towards the stars as her lips formed the beautiful melody that was mournful and joyful at the same time. It transmitted such happiness that Peter felt as if it pained him, and he suddenly realized that there were tears in his eyes. In that moment, he felt as if he was the only one in the clearing and there was nothing around him but the distant shores of the Eastern Sea, the crashing waves that almost sounded like a lion's roar, the golden moonlight making the horizon gleam as if he was seeing a bright land beyond the waters, and Lucy's enchanted melody surrounding him, enveloping him, changing him.

That night, as he pulled the sheets over himself, he hesitated. Around him, the murmur of people had died down and he could only hear the ordinary noises of the peaceful, windy night, and the echoes of Lucy's song in her mind.

Slowly, he pushed the sheets off his body and knelt on the ground, memories of his mother's words to him when he was a small child crossing his mind. He remembered her hands on his and the way he had laid his chin on the mattress because he was too small to lean his elbows on it.

"I've forgotten the words," he murmured softly as he closed his eyes, his voice, for the first time in a long time, sounding more English than Narnian. "And somehow, I don't think the words would be enough to say everything I have to say. But I need this, don't I? This is why I'm here. To finally understand."

And kneeling at the side of his bed, Peter prayed.

A bit short, I know, but we're nearing the end of the story! Only about two more chapters, I think. Thanks for reading :)