Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't... I also don't own the Narnian Calendar. It belongs to Elecktrum who was kind enough to let me borrow it for my story. Her own stories are awesome and you should go read them too.

Summary: There's danger in the north. Giants hunt for Narnia's Kings and General. Who will survive when hope is eclipsed?

A/N: If you have not read the first nine stories in the A Light in the Darkness main story arc (Awakened, Shadowed, Revealed, Concealed, Rekindled, Refracted, Reflected, Veiled, and Unveiled), I highly recommend you do so for the full experience. However, I have included a quick summary of the previous stories so if you want to give this one a whirl on its own, you can.

Chapter Five: A Rock and a Hard Place

"Put more pressure on that wound. He's still bleeding."

Peter grimaced as he tried to press harder on the deep wound. Oreius groaned but did not wake. Peter glanced over his shoulder at Edmund who was still digging through the General's travel packs. "I can't press much harder. If I do, I might send a rib into a lung. Did you find the healing kit?"

"Not yet." His brother scowled. "I think Charis was the one with it. And Oreius isn't like Kat. He may not have bothered to bring anything extra since we weren't supposed to have any difficulties on this trip. Not that that mattered to the bloody Giants."

He didn't answer his brother's grumbling; instead, he focused on Oreius. The Centaur's blood had already stained through the makeshift bandages they had made out of the cloak they'd found stuffed in Oreius' pack. He wasn't even sure how many bones had been broken in the fall and it had taken them an hour before they had managed to get down to where he had fallen. It was a miracle that the spear hadn't killed him right away and that he'd survived the fall. "Needle and thread?"

"No." Edmund swore under his breath.

Peter glanced at him. His brother looked worn and there were dark circles under his eyes. The scruffy beard that had sprouted on Ed's jaw reminded Peter of his own scratchy addition. He idly rubbed at his beard as he tried to think of a plan. "Maybe we should build a litter."

"With what?" Edmund swept his arm wide at the barren Ettinsmoor ravine. "And even if we could build a litter, we wouldn't be able to move him by ourselves."

He was right but Peter still shook his head. "We cannot just let him stay here. That will kill him."

"Right now, trying to move him will kill him faster." His brother stood up suddenly, something clenched in his hand, and he paled a little beneath the dirt and scruff as he stared at it. He abruptly set it back on the pack and then stalked off, calling over his shoulder, "I'm going to collect more water."

Peter watched him go and then walked over to the pack. Resting on top was a small painting of Kat, smiling one of those special smiles she only ever gave Oreius.

Swiping his brow, Peter started to put the painting into the pack but then he stopped. Motivation. He had seen the healers give wounded soldiers their personal effects. It reminded them of why they fought to live. Swiftly crossing to where Oreius lay, Peter crouched beside him and carefully placed the painting in the Centaur's hand. The General's fingers curled over the painting and then he grasped Peter's wrist with his other hand. "My wife- Peter, my wife."

Peter placed a hand over Oreius' as the Centaur struggled to draw breath. "Stay still, don't try to move. You're badly injured, General. Kat's in Cair Paravel where you left her."

"No." Oreius closed his eyes for a moment, pain carving the angular planes of his face into sharp relief. "No. Peter, my wife- She must be . . . she must be protected. Her and the foal. Give me- Your word. Protect her. Protect them. Too many . . . too many would try to harm her and she would not ask- for help. If I- If I am not there. Your word."

Foal. Peter swallowed hard and then nodded. "Don't worry, we'll keep her safe. Kat and your foal won't be a target, I'll make sure of it. And so will you once you've recovered from your injuries."

Oreius did not respond. Instead, he went limp again, still clutching the painting of Kat. Peter sat beside him, feeling helpless and more than guilty. It was bad enough if he had to go back to Cair Paravel and tell Kat that her husband died, but a baby too . . . Oh Aslan, why hadn't he even considered the possibility? What was he going to tell Kat?

"Peter?"

He looked up abruptly and swiped his eyes with his sleeve. Edmund was holding a dripping water bag. The almost defiant exasperation was gone now. The Edmund who looked at him now was not so far removed from the little boy Oreius had rescued thirteen years ago. His dark gaze went from him to the Centaur. "Is he?"

"No." Peter cleared his throat as he scrambled to his feet and then crossed the short distance to his brother. "But, Eddie, he said Kat's pregnant and-" He broke off, shaking his head. "What am I going to tell her?"

"Are you sure she is?"

"Oreius is sure." Peter glanced over his shoulder at the Centaur. "She must have told him when they took that holiday right before we left and, given what happened the last time, I can see why they wouldn't have told anyone else just yet." He took a shaky breath and turned back to his brother. "What am I going to tell her, Eddie? That she's going to have to raise their baby by herself? That this happened because I decided we didn't need a full patrol to escort us on this tour? Because I insisted we needed to personally tour the villages? All three of us?"

Fragile. Even after thirteen years, it wasn't a word Peter would use to describe Oreius. But as the Centaur lay with his lifeblood slowly, indelibly staining the stony ground of Ettinsmoor, he could think of no other way to describe his condition. Aslan help them if another Giant blundered across their hideaway. Peter exchanged a grim look with his brother. "He needs help."

"I know."

Peter was certain that the only reason Oreius still clung to life was for Kat's sake. The shelf would be just enough protection. Oreius' current fragility hammered home the need to find help and soon.

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Edmund stared at his brother. Poor, tenderhearted Peter. Of course, he was blaming himself. Even Edmund didn't know how he would face Kat if Oreius died. He cleared his throat, his expression hardening again. "You're right. Oreius needs help, professional help from healers who can at least keep him alive until he receives the cordial, but we still can't move him on our own."

Peter scrubbed both hands through his hair. "I know, I know. But-"

"Which is why I'll go for help."

"You can't go on your own. You don't even have a sword."

"Neither do you," Edmund pointed out. Then he nodded to where they had placed Oreius' weapons. "But I can borrow one." Striding over, he picked up one of the swords and slipped it into the empty sheath still hanging from his belt. He turned back to his brother. "You stay with Oreius. Try to keep the bleeding under control. I'll be back as soon as I can. Hopefully we're only a day or two away from the nearest border outpost and the patrols and help will come back faster than I can on foot."

"Edmund, the Giants-"

"Have probably lost us. Otherwise, they would be trying to get us already. They're certainly determined enough."

Peter stared at him bleakly and then abruptly pulled him into a crushing hug. "Lion keep you, brother mine."

"And you, brother mine." Edmund patted him on the shoulder and then wriggled free. "But I can't go for help if you're busy being all sentimental, Pevensie."

His brother gave a little huff of laughter. "Hurry."

Edmund nodded. "I will." Then he jogged away from the shelf sheltering his brother and the dying Centaur who had done so much to be a father to them both . . . and who might not get the chance to be a father to his own child. No, he wouldn't think like that.

Keeping his steps light, Edmund hurried through the twists and turns of the ravine. Sweat trickled down his back despite the cold temperatures of Ettinsmoor as the sun beat down on his head. Edmund took another turn and groaned as he ran into a broken cliff rising above him. The rough stone cut into his hands as he climbed. His boot slipped and Edmund grunted as he slammed into the cliff face. Tightening his grip, he pulled himself up and found another toehold. Finally, he reached the top and allowed a little sigh of relief.

Then he looked up and groaned. The sun was in the wrong position. Somehow he had gone north instead of south. Edmund swore under his breath as he rose to his feet and glared at the ravine. Blasted place.

But being out of the ravine meant he could make his way south easier. Edmund muttered under his breath, "Peter never learns of this."

Then the sunlight was blotted out. Edmund frowned then his eyes widened and his hand went to the borrowed sword as the shadow turned into shadows. Whirling, he stared up into the wicked grins of three Giants.

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"Alambiel . . . Alambiel . . ." Oreius' dark eyes stared through him as he whispered between labored breaths. Peter found the cup and poured more water into it, spilling as his hand shook. The Centaur's murmurings were hardly audible as he watched without seeing. All Peter knew was that Oreius was either calling for his wife or talking to her. And he no longer responded when Peter tried to talk to him.

Peter touched the Centaur's hand and felt his fingers tighten on the painting. "Oreius?"

The General didn't even look at him. Peter touched the cup to his lips. "Oreius, drink this. It's not much but it should help a little."

Oreius' raspy breathing didn't change but he raised his good arm and supported the cup as he drank. Peter tried not to worry too much about how Oreius' arm shook and then dropped as soon as he finished drinking. It had been a full day since Edmund left for help. Ed probably wouldn't be in Narnia yet but still he couldn't shake the sense that he should go look for his brother. That something had happened.

Peter startled when Oreius suddenly grabbed his wrist. His dark gaze was still unfocused but there was a fierceness about him now. The Centaur clenched his jaw and then gasped, "I lost a son already. I won't- I won't lose the two colts Aslan gave me. I will not!"

"Be at ease." Peter touched Oreius on the shoulder. "Oreius, we're- The colts won't be harmed. You've saved them." He paused then added, "I'm sorry about your son."

Oreius looked at him for a moment and Peter saw the raw pain there. The Centaur nodded. "The colts are safe." Then he closed his eyes.

"Oreius?"

There was no response. Peter placed his fingers against his throat, not relaxing until he felt a pulse. Rising, he began pacing again. Edmund was taking too long. He could feel that something was wrong. What if Edmund had gotten lost or fallen or something? He had to know. He had to do something.

He looked again at Oreius, feeling torn between his brother and his duty to help Oreius. But what good was he? He wasn't a healer and he didn't even have anything to help tend the Centaur's wounds. He was dying and staying with him only meant he would be watching his friend, his teacher, his father die slowly and painfully. Peter clenched his fists and pounded them against his legs, wishing he had one of those blasted Giants to unleash his wrath upon. He looked from Oreius to the path Edmund had taken yesterday then back to Oreius. If he did nothing, something terrible would happen to Edmund. He could feel it. And Oreius would die for want of a healer. If he left, he risked leaving Oreius to die alone.

Peter picked up the other sword, mate to the one Edmund took, and then slipped it into his belt. He grabbed the packs and moved them closer to where the Centaur lay. Then he carefully changed the strips of cloak for the last fresh ones. "I'm going to find Edmund and then we'll bring help, Oreius. Hang on for Kat's sake." He paused, hoping that the Centaur would wake and give him advice or just a blessing that he was making the right decision, but Oreius didn't stir. "Hang on, Oreius. We're going to get you help. Hang on for your wife and your little foal."

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It was almost night when Oreius opened his eyes. His colts were gone, safe. He hoped they were safe. He hadn't been able to save his son but he could save the colts. Every breath was agony and his thoughts kept drifting back to Alambiel, how she had looked when they parted. She would mourn him.

He looked down at his hand and noticed the painting. Alambiel smiled at him. With a groan, he moved his good arm so he could touch her painted likeness. "I'm- sorry, so sorry. I wanted- to come back to you."

"Then maybe you should fight to live."

Oreius raised his eyes and saw her sitting on a nearby rock. "Alambiel."

She smiled but her blue eyes remained somber. She pushed back the strands of gold and white that had fallen in front of her face. "You're dying, Kentauri."

He nodded. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Fight."

He tried to sit up, to reach for her so he could explain why he couldn't go home this time. But his body refused to obey and every movement sent hot lances of pain arcing through him. He could feel his ribs scraping against his lungs. It would not take much for them to be punctured by a broken rib. "I can't."

"Yes, you can."

Oreius looked at her and almost smiled. "Beautiful healer."

She was closer now although he did not remember her moving. She leaned down toward him. "Will you not fight for my sake? Live."

"I am trying."

"You were thinking about giving up."

"No."

She nodded. "You were. Now fight."

He groaned. The pain made it difficult to concentrate but he still saw Alambiel. She was looking away from him now. He extended a hand toward her. "Stay- Stay with me."

She looked at him and wind stirred her hair, lending her more of an ethereal air. She nodded and knelt next to him. "Don't worry. I'm staying with you until the end, Kentauri."

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Night fell, covering Ettinsmoor in a shadowed cloak that defied Peter's quest to continue tracking his brother, but still he pressed on. The sky was cloudy, concealing the stars from view, and the northern wind sank its icy fangs into him, biting through his clothing with laughable ease. He hoped Edmund had found a more sheltered area to walk. Chafing his hands together and blowing on them, he walked on.

He wasn't even sure if Edmund had come this way but he hadn't stumbled across any paths that split off from the ravine. He was half-tempted to call out for Ed but Oreius would have smacked him upside the head for doing something so stupid when there were Fell Giants in the area. And while the Northern Giants weren't the sharpest tacks, their hearing worked just fine when it came to shouts.

Peter stumbled on a loose stone and then slid off a slight embankment, grunting as he landed hard on his knees. "Should have brought a torch, Pevensie."

He imagined he could hear Edmund's snort. We don't have any of those with us, nitwit. Peter smiled to himself and shook his head. No, they hadn't brought any. At least, he hadn't remembered to take any from Oreius' pack. But Edmund probably had. Cautiously brushing off the dirt, he could feel the rips in his leggings and he'd probably bloodied his knees. He wished the moon would come out from behind the clouds and provide him light.

"Peter!"

He jerked around to the right. "Edmund?" He didn't dare raise his voice and he wondered at his brother doing so but then the call came again, more urgent this time. "Edmund!" Drawing his borrowed sword, Peter raced into the darkness. Flickering torchlight suddenly cast the ravine into sharp detail. Peter winced, instinctively raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden change. "Edmund?"

A harsh laugh boomed out above him. Peter stared in horror at the two-headed Ettin from before, Culhwch. "Look a fine prize runs home!"

Peter's horror turned to rage and he let out a yell as he lunged forward, blade flashing, and cut into the outstretched hand of one of Culhwch's cohorts. The Ettin bellowed in pain, large tears rolling down his face as he cradled his wounded hand to his chest, blubbering.

Culhwch sneered at the other Ettin and then caught Peter in one large fist. His two heads wore identical evil grins as their eyes studied him. He squeezed just hard enough that Peter lost his grip on Oreius' sword, which fell to the rocky ground with a painful clatter. Then he held him closer. "Let us see if Morfran will barter for you, little king."

"Why?" An Ettin with only one ear stepped closer, peering at Peter as he licked his lips. "Why trade with Harfang? He kilt Mork and Tor. Why not eat this 'un? Put him in a pie."

Culhwch backhanded the Ettin. "Fool! I want Morfran to beg. He wants the humans badly. I want to know why. What Harfang is planning."

The one-eared Ettin scowled, rubbing his face. "He's got one already. Let's eat this 'un. I'm starvin'."

Another Ettin let out a crude laugh and shoved him, not caring in the least that it caused him to stumble back into the pathetic fellow who was still blubbering about his wounded hand. "Still 'ungry, Gork? The horse-men and that big elk not enough for you? Look at 'im. 'E's not big enough to make a decent pie." He paused then looked at Peter with beady eyes filled with hungry contemplation. "Maybe we should turn 'im to jelly. Ain't never 'ad man-jelly afore."

Peter felt as though he might be sick, listening to the callous way these Ettins spoke of murdering and then eating the soldiers who had formed the small escort. They had no regard for life, no love for Aslan and His way, and he pitied them for it. He also hated them for it. He tried to squirm free of Culhwch's grip but the Giant was not careless with him. He only tightened his grip until Peter stopped fidgeting for fear that his bones would break.

More light filled the ravine and monstrously large shadows accompanied it. "Found the other one did you, Culhwch? Morfran will be pleased." Peter saw the undisguised hate in the two-headed Ettin's eyes as he turned to face the newcomers. Three heavily armed Harfangers. The spokesman of the group glared back. "Morfran will be more pleased if we take him from you."

Culhwch's grip on Peter tightened and Peter gasped, certain he could feel his bones grinding together before the grip slackened once more. Culhwch sneered. "I'll keep him. He's my prize now." He dropped Peter into his pouch among bones and rotting meat.

The journey was a bit of a blur as Peter was jostled about with the Ettin's every step. He tried not to think about what or whom he could be standing on but still he retched twice. He doubted Culhwch would care though. The Giants had to have Edmund. The disheartening thought was almost enough to make Peter retch again. But still he hoped and prayed that Edmund had escaped, that he had gotten into Narnia and found help for Oreius.

The jostling stopped abruptly. Peter clung to the sticky leather in an attempt not to fall into the mess lining the bottom of the pouch. He grimaced but then the top of the pouch was opened and he heard Culhwch shout, "I'll eat him first!"

Thick, clumsy fingers plucked him out of the pouch and Peter saw the Giants had rejoined the Harfangers. Morfran was glaring, a large spiked cudgel in one hand. "Give him to us!"

Culhwch sneered. "You are not my king, Morfran. You are not even Harfang's king. Borak is your king. The human is mine! And I say he goes into the cooking pot with the other one."

Then Peter found himself being tossed into a cooking pot resting next to a huge fire. The metal was uncomfortably warm to the point that Peter scrambled to get to his feet despite the way the pot seemed to sway before his eyes.

"You just had to follow me, didn't you?"

"Eddie?" Peter breathed and then he spun around to see Edmund standing on the far side of the pot. His brother was battered, bruised, and bloodier than when they had parted but he was alive and still whole. "Edmund, thank Aslan!"

He pulled his brother into a hug only to be shoved back. Edmund wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Ugh! Peter, what have you been sitting in? You smell worse than when Remus rolls in the compost."

Peter let out a little laugh. "Culhwch's pouch."

"Why not roast 'em? I likes 'em hot!"

"No! Make 'em a stew! They's already in the pot!"

Morfran's head and shoulders appeared above them as he shoved the one-eared Ettin, Gork, away from the pot and then pointed a finger at him. "They are not for eating."

"Why's that?" Culhwch stomped closer. "Why are they so special? You ate the others same as us. The man pies you serve at Harfang aren't small enough for these two to be filling. Why do you want them?"

"Because they brings greathood to Harfang! Morrigan-"

The Harfanger who had spoken cried out as Morfran punched him. The dark Harfanger was seething. "Be quiet, idiot!"

"Greathood?" Culhwch's eyes narrowed. "What's Morrigan plotting?"

Morfran's only reply was to swear. Then one of the Ettins jostled the cooking pot, tossing Peter and Edmund down. "They don't need their legs for greathood. Let's eat their legs."

Peter clambered on top of his brother, desperate to shield him as the Ettin reached for them. Then Morfran shouted in rage, "You want more meat? Then we can just eat you!"

The Ettin roared in pain and reeled away from the pot. Culhwch swore and then threw himself at Morfran. The Giants' yells and curses filled the night. Peter scrambled to his feet as the sound of fighting continued and then nodded to Edmund. They raced for the side of the pot that seemed furthest away from the battling Giants. Peter linked his hands together and then gave Edmund a boost. His brother glanced down once and nodded before slipping over the lip of the pot. Peter backed up, feeling the heat seep through the soles of his boots and making his socked feet sweat, and then he took a running leap. He caught the lip and hissed in pain as the hot metal burned his hands.

Pulling himself up, he caught a glimpse of the Giants brawling. Two of them had fallen and their fellows trod over them as they continued battling each other. Then Peter dropped to the ground as soundlessly as possible. Edmund nodded to the unguarded wilds to their right. Peter frowned but Morfran and Culhwch's battle would end sometime and, no matter the outcome, neither of them was going to be a kind captor. He looked up, hoping against hope that the stars had come out, but only clouds met his searching gaze. His hands hurt but he pushed the thought aside as he gave a curt nod. They ran.

Peter kept close to Edmund as a precaution against being separated again. They had nearly reached the edge of the light cast by the bonfire when a loud shout filled the air, "No!"

"Split up," Peter cried.

Edmund immediately began to veer to the left while Peter turned right but it was too late. A massive six-fingered hand materialized in front of Peter and he ran right into the sweaty palm. The fleshy cage closed around him and Morfran glared down at him. His dark beard didn't hide his rage as he picked up Edmund with his other hand. "I should bite your heads off. If you run again, little prizes, you will lose a leg or two." Then he shoved them into a bag hanging from his belt.

The coarse fabric reeked of sweat and Peter struggled not to let his face press into it even as he and Edmund were jostled about with every step the Giant took. He could hear the other Giants' odious laughter only somewhat muffled by the bag but they didn't seem to be arguing about how they were going to eat them anymore. He wished he knew what had happened to Culhwch but he had not seen the Ettin before Morfran stuffed them in the bag.

He lost all track of time. Edmund wasn't talking either. Both of them seemed to be at loss for any words that would be appropriate in their current situation. Peter's thoughts went to Thalia. His poor Flower. She would be heartbroken if they didn't return. And he didn't even have Oreius' assurance that his wife was carrying a child. Oh Aslan, Oreius. The Centaur would surely die before any patrol could track them. And it was all his fault. He shouldn't have left him. No one deserved to die alone.

Then the movement stopped and a shrill screech pulled Peter from his dark thoughts. He patted Edmund on the shoulder and his brother nudged him.

"Fine! Show them their prizes!"

Before Peter realized what that meant, the bag was jerked about and he went tumbling into the greasy folds of fabric. The smell was nauseating. Peter gagged but then light appeared directly beneath him and he let out a muffled yell. The fall was enough to daze him before Edmund landed on him with a muffled grunt.

"Idiots! They are nothing if you kill them with your clumsiness."

The voice was different from the others. A little softer and far more refined than all save Morfran. Peter opened his eyes and wished he hadn't. A Giantess with two heads stared down at him. Her larger head was cross-eyed and wore a stupid grin but the smaller head looked at him with keen intelligence and she smiled. "Nemain! Look!"

Another Giantess abruptly crouched down and grabbed him. She raised him to her face and he could see that one of her brown eyes was clouded. Her face split into a grin and fetid breath enveloped him as she laughed. "Prize. Purty prize be mine, Fea." Then she ran a rough and dirty thumb over his hair, pressing down to the point that Peter feared she would accidentally break his neck.

"Gently." The smaller head snapped before she smiled down at Edmund. "We must be careful with these prizes. They have a glorifying purpose to fulfill on behalf of Harfang."

Peter blanched.

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A/N: Please Read and Review! Oh dear, they are in trouble. :D Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.