Sorry about the slightly late chapter guys, I was dealing with a small personal emergency for the past few days so I was hung up. But I think it's resolved now so we're back in schedule!

Thank you to liz-04 for reviewing, and to all you quiet favoriters/followers/readers out there!

**Forewarning about this chapter: it gets into what happened to Miranda in considerable depth, and may be triggering. Read with caution. And if you don't want to read this chapter, you can skip it and send me a PM and I'll tell you anything you need to know for future chapters.

On a happier note, please do leave me your thoughts! I love hearing from you guys :)

Chapter 5

"Wake up, Miranda!"

She starts awake at the harsh jostling of her shoulder. The sight of the male face so close to hers almost makes her scramble away in fear. But it's only Suncloud, and she's about to be late to the meeting, or so he's telling her.

"It starts any second, get up!"

"How important is this thing?" she grumbles, somehow quite annoyed at being woken, even though it was just a nap and she wasn't too exhausted and she isn't too tired now, because her visit with her mom is still swirling in her head.

"Quite, as I've told you before." With one final tug, Suncloud has her on her feet and stumbling after him.

The first thing she knows is that she was just telling herself how few flashbacks she has in Narnia.

The second thing she knows is that she's yanking away from the kind centaur and trying not to scream, because for a moment the hand wasn't his and she wasn't in Narnia.

Suncloud looks back at her, concerned, as she tries to control her breathing, but she's losing the battle and she thinks she's going to throw up because his face is constantly there, and the pain between her legs and her cheeks is like fire and she can't take it.

"Go on, I'll catch up," she manages to say amid the blinding, paralyzing terror.

"No, something's the matter, and-"

"Go!"

Miranda didn't mean to yell, but yell she did. She's not entirely sorry, if only because it works and Suncloud leaves her so she can calm down and convince herself that he's not here to hurt her, he's not trying to win her trust so he can crush her later.

Right?

She isn't sure what's real right now; the flashes and the memories of pain and cruel pounding keep coming faster and faster, as if they've been waiting for this forever and they're at last free to run amuck.

Something is telling her that going to the gathering in the immediate aftermath of this isn't the best idea in the world. But if she doesn't show, they're sure to ask questions, and what chance does she really have of surviving on her own in the wild? Or worse, with the soldiers on the loose and chasing after the prince she's been seen with?

Except those soldiers did die, so no one else knows.

But if the Narnians start looking for her? They know the woods like the backs of their hands or better; she stands less of a chance with them than the soldiers, and they'll think she's a spy or traitor if she leaves.

Miranda hauls herself to her feet with more difficulty than she'll ever admit. The flashes are still coming fast and heavy, but she has to grit her teeth and force herself to go to this blasted meeting, and then she can run off into the woods and take care of herself and stuff the memories back into the steel box they belong in.

It feels like he is behind her every step she takes. Waiting like a spider for her to turn around so he can take her mouth. Her jaw aches just at the suggestion her mind puts forth.

But here she is, almost to the clearing; she's managed to stumble across the now-deserted camp to the gathering area, and now the angry shouts of the Narnians threaten to drown her. It takes her a few moments to realize they're not shouting at her, but at Prince Caspian, there in the middle, surrounded on all sides.

Miranda wants to reach out to him, because he looks so sad and lost and unsure of himself, but she knows that her mind will convert the prince to him and she can't have a meltdown here. Not in front of so many.

Still, she can't help but cringe as the Narnians raise their fists in anger and call Prince Caspian terrible things: liar, murderer, thief. It makes her sorry for him that he has to stand here and take it. He can't fight back, not really, not without stirring them up further.

"Kill him!" comes an angry shout, from one of Suncloud's brothers.

Miranda looks to find her new friend, but can't place him in the sea of faces, all contorted with anger.

"All this horn proves is that they've stolen yet another thing from us!"

Miranda looks down to see Nikabrik looking furious, pointing an accusing finger at the prince who's standing in the middle, silently taking all this. She decides right then that she wants to try to be a friend to him, even though she didn't have the best of first impressions. He looks like he could use a friend.

"I didn't steal anything," Prince Caspian replies, his voice significantly quieter than the voices around him. She's not sure if he's trying to seem non-threatening, but she's very sure that if he is, it's a bit late for that.

"Didn't steal anything? Shall we list the things the Telmarines have taken?" comes the angry reply of a Minotaur waving his axe in the air.

"Our homes!" answers a female centaur.

"Our freedom," says a faun.

"Our lives!" This is the collective accusation that all of the Narnians, save a few silent and stoic ones, make, a deafening roar of anger and hurt.

That's the realization that hits her. They're hurting, and she somehow forgot that because their anger seemed so strong. They are sad and broken beneath it all, but still so strong. And so is he, the prince they stand here and accuse as if he's a common criminal. And so is she, though she hasn't trusted any of them with her secrets yet. This changes her view of this whole thing entirely.

The shouts don't make her want to shrink away in fear, or run off into the forest away from all this madness, not now that she understands. She feels like they're all the same, deep down.

"You would hold me accountable for all the crimes of my people?"

Miranda can hear the pain in Prince Caspian's question, that he's suffered at the hands of his people too. And here he is, being blamed for all of it.

"Accountable, and punishable," snarls Nikabrik as he stalks toward him.

She wants nothing more than to run down and stand next to him, Prince Caspian. But she's still afraid, and she doesn't want to be but she is. Her feet won't obey her.

"Ha! That is rich coming from you, dwarf." Now Reepicheep has joined the fray, toothpick sword drawn as he bounds toward the dwarf. "Or have you forgotten that it was your people who fought alongside the White Witch?" The mouse punctuates the last two words with little waves of his sword, which Nikabrik rudely bats away.

"And we'd gladly do it again, if it would rid us of these…barbarians!"

The blame game is one the Narnians are playing well tonight. She hates watching it.

"Then it is lucky that it is not in your power to bring her back," Trufflehunter cuts in.

She remembers Suncloud telling her about that, the Great Winter and the White Witch and how the Pevensies defeated her and brought about Narnia's Golden Age. That was them, right?

"Or are you suggesting we ask this boy to go against Aslan now?" Trufflehunter finishes.

This prompts a roar of disapproval from the Narnians. So they have enough sense not to want a witch back; that's a good sign.

Trufflehunter then does the thing Miranda wishes she was brave enough to do. He speaks for Prince Caspian, in his favor.

"Some of you may have forgotten, but we badgers remember well that Narnia was never right unless a Son of Adam was king."

"He's a Telmarine! Why would we want him as our king?!" Nikabrik's holler gets another roar from the crowd. Until Prince Caspian silences them by saying something no one was expecting him to say.

"Because I can help you." Quiet descends, and for the first time all night, the Narnians listen to him. "Beyond these woods, I am a prince. The Telmarine throne is rightfully mine! Help me claim it, and I can bring peace between us."

She believes him. Miranda believes him even though she doesn't even know him.

Silence descends as the Narnians digest this. Then the tallest centaur, Glenstorm, as she's learned his name is, comes forward, saying, "It is true. The time is right."

His gaze inclines upward as he continues, "I watch the skies, for it is mine to watch, as it is yours to remember, badger. Tarva, the Lord of Victory, and Alambil, the Lady of Peace, have come together in the high heavens."

Miranda finds her gaze is drawn upward to look for the constellations, even though she doesn't know what they look like.

"And now here, a Son of Adam has come forth to offer us back our freedom."

Glenstorm's tone, one that marries determination and somberness, draws her attention back to the middle of the clearing, where Prince Caspian is looking awestruck that someone's actually taking his side.

"Is it possible? Do you really think there could be peace? Do you? I mean, I mean really?"

Miranda looks for the source of the tiny, hyper voice, but she can't quite find it. When Prince Caspian addresses a rotund squirrel perched on a branch near him, she can't help but wish that the real world had talking squirrels.

"Two days ago, I didn't believe in the existence of talking animals! Or dwarves, or-or centaurs. And here you are." She's yet to see the prince this passionate, and it warms her. "In strength and numbers that we Telmarines could never have imagined! Whether this horn is magic or not," he says as he holds up the carved reason for the gathering, "it brought us together. And together, we have a chance to take back what it ours."

She'd follow him. And Glenstorm agrees.

"If you will lead us," the centaur says, "then my sons and I offer you our swords."

The dull ring of many other swords being drawn and held in the air echoes throughout the clearing, and Miranda is left wishing she had a weapon of her own to lift in loyalty.

"And we offer you our lives," finishes Reepicheep, though she can barely hear him from where she's standing, "unreservedly."

"Miraz's army will not be far behind us, Sire," Trufflehunter interjects.

Miranda's stomach churns at the thought of facing more soldiers, and an army of them at that.

"If we are to be ready for them, we'll need to hurry to find soldiers and weapons," orders Prince Caspian, with a newfound confidence that makes her smile. He says something else, but she can't hear what it is because she's too far away.

And then the clearing, well, clears. Some of the Narnians file out, and many flock to their new leader, a Telmarine prince who actually looks like he should be in charge. She supposes he's born for this, trained for this, but such confidence is something she can't help but admire.

She's also hopelessly unsure of what she should do now. What purpose does she serve here? None, that she's aware of. So much of her just wants to run off into the woods and leave this whole thing behind, to try to make a place for herself until she wakes up at home. But that doesn't sit well with her.

Even though the Narnians are all strangers to her, she feels an urge she can't put her finger on to try to help them in any way she can. But what can she offer? The only thing she's really good at is psychology and how people think, and what use is that in a war?

Wait. It could be quite helpful in a war.

'And just how do I use that?' she wonders, sitting down on the grass behind a boulder large enough to hide her from view. 'Yes, I should just waltz up and go, 'Hi, remember me? Well I'm good at dissecting the human mind, so what do you say you take me to go meet your dearly beloved uncle and I'll figure out what's going on in his brain?'' Somehow, she gets the feeling that approach would be extraordinarily unhelpful.

Not to mention how many people it would rub the wrong way.

But it is all just a dream; what does she have to lose? Very little, technically speaking.

And logic aside, she wants to do right here. She cares, even though she knows none of this is real.

She needs to talk to that doctor she keeps missing, and soon. And she always wakes up after she's fallen asleep here, so it's time to go back to the sleeping area and get some sleep.

But as soon as she's made her way over there, there are so many people that she's afraid to go to bed, surrounded by strangers that she isn't positive mean her no harm.

"I apologize about the meeting; we did not address your appearance here."

She jumps a little at the surprise of Suncloud sounding so close to her.

"It's alright," she says as she turns around, trying to mask her nerves.

"Are you ill at ease?"

"Is it that obvious?" Miranda can't help but be a little annoyed at how Suncloud seems to read her so well. Like a father, or a brother.

"Yes." A smile seems to be tugging at the centaur's mouth, as if he's amused by her discomfort. It makes her hackles spring up.

"I'm not used to so many creatures in one place," she says, hoping he'll buy the half-truth.

"Ah, I understand. There is a spot towards the edge I can show you. It is safe, and it is away from the crowd."

"Thank you." She's grateful beyond measure, though she isn't sure how to say it aloud. She hopes Suncloud understands how much she appreciates this. "That would be wonderful."

"Come." He beckons to her, and she forces back a memory that's threatening to surface.

Someone else has said those words to her.

"Suncloud? How would I know if this was real?"

Miranda wasn't expecting to ask that, but it slipped out before she could censor herself, and now she regrets it, just a little.

"I suppose you wouldn't."

The answer isn't the one she wanted, but it's honest, and oddly it comforts her more than she thought.

She thanks him, both for the answer and for the space he shows her in the shadows where no one will see her unless she makes a real ruckus.

It takes her the better part of the night to fall asleep, and it's only when the snores of the rest of them echo through the clearing that she finally relaxes enough to sleep.

Miranda wakes in the middle of the night, with crickets chirping and the moon shining on her face. The shadows she laid down in have moved just enough, and now she feels vulnerable without the protection. She's not invisible now.

So she gets up and tiptoes to the edge of the woods, where she feels safer. Even if everyone is asleep, she doesn't like the idea that one of them could wake up at any time, and she'd be out in the open and defenseless. She knows that feeling, and she never wants to be helpless again.

Speaking of which, now's as good a time as ever to try and sort out exactly what happened. She's all on her own, it's the middle of the night, and the distractions will be sparse to none.

So she sits down on the nearest log, still in sight of the clearing but hidden in the shadows, where she can see all but none can see her.

She doesn't want to know.

Miranda is keenly aware of this fact, but she's of the mind that she has to know, or how can she cope with it? How can she stave off memories if she can't even make sense of them? She can't, and she can't afford to be vulnerable here in Narnia. She needs a clear head to figure out what her purpose here is. Flashbacks do nothing to help, obviously; they hinder at every turn.

She begins with the patches she remembers, the things that come to her in flashes. An oily voice whispering things like, "There's a good girl," and "Come here," and "It'll feel so good," and "Let me take care of you." Then come the shouts, the profanities hurled at her that pair with the suffocating feeling of running forever and never being able to stop because he'll win if she does. The smell of asphalt after the rain comes to her, a hand yanking her hair, the echoing thud of her skull hitting the ground.

She remembers how it started too. How she kept noticing him around, always looking at her, studying her like a specimen in his own personal lab. How he came up and introduced himself one day when she was in class, because of course he was a classmate of hers. How his handshake was too firm and far too long, how he constantly smelled of tobacco and unwashed clothes. Stale, like he'd been rotting for a long time. She remembers how sometimes when she'd look back while she was walking from her friend's house to her own, he'd be there, walking a ways behind, but always watching. Always studying, always waiting.

And the night, that night where she knows something awful happened, but she can't remember anything other than snapshots of pain and screaming, so much screaming and begging. The taste of blood in her mouth, how hot and bitter it was as she spat it out. She can still see the red spattering onto the pavement, painting it with her panic and disgust.

Miranda remembers all these things, but she can't remember sights, not aside from a leering face with a smile that's too pinched and eyes that are too small and hair that curls every which way, hair the color of a sick sun; an ugly, deformed gold that could have been beautiful, if only he thought to wash it.

Her heart rate is already far beyond her control, but she's getting there and if she doesn't know now, she'll never have the courage to go to this place again, she's sure. But all that comes to her is a pale shaft, the gag reflex that was triggered mercilessly as it forced its way into her mouth and throat, making her vomit but blocking the vile stuff from escaping, so it sat in the back of her throat and burned through what felt like a thousand different nerves. She remembers how her teeth sank down as her last resort, her final desperate attempt to buy some time to get away. The image of the spattered blood comes to her again, the dark red illuminated by the flickering streetlight on the curb.

She doesn't want to know, still. But she has to, so she forces it.

She forces herself to remember every detail of the face, of the house where he took her, how the front door was one of screen and then one of wood, both splintering and cracking from age or overuse. The dust that sat unattended on the kitchen counter that they passed on the way to the room. His room, the room where he…she knows he did something, but she doesn't know. She knows it hurt, she can feel her lower half clamping in protest just to the memory.

Then it comes back. All of it, like a flood she's staring at and can't stop.

It hurts now as badly as it did when he first took her. It burns now, like a sin seared into her skin for all to see. She wouldn't be a bit surprised if something did show up, because it feels like all of her is on fire, burning in hell for her stupidity. She didn't resist as he led her into the house, she remembers now. She felt happy for the attention, innocently sure that they'd just be watching a movie. A movie in the living room, right?

The bed was unmade. She remembers wondering why they were in his room, because there wasn't a TV and she couldn't see a computer. And the sheets were a hideous greenish-yellow, a color both faded and too vibrant to stomach.

She first understood then that something was wrong. When she asked him what was going on, and he said to just lay down and relax, because she was in for the ride of her life. He used another word, actually, but she doesn't want to even think it, because it makes it feel even more real than it already does.

Then nothing. She must have blacked out, or her mind won't let her access whatever happened, but her next memory is of searing pain, pain that feels like it's tearing her open from the inside. The pain of being stretched where she never should be stretched, and his whisper in her ear that she's so tight and such a good, good girl that he could just take her all night. She remembers trying to scream, only to find his hand on her throat, blocking the sound from ever escaping. And it makes it hard to breathe, hard to think, and everything is going fuzzy.

He whispered to her all about her ass and how much he loved it before the pressure on her throat made her black out again.

She can't take much more of this, she knows. Her heart is ready to beat itself clean out of her chest, and her breathing is so erratic that her vision is going fuzzy and her hearing is warbled. It's like she's being choked all over again.

She needs to calm down, and she knows it has to be now. So she lets her mind bury the memories back in the part of her she can't access. She needs the break, she needs to pretend, just for a few minutes, that none of it ever happened and she's just a normal girl in a world called Narnia in the middle of the night, sitting on a log in the woods because it's a nice night and the moon is winking at her through the trees.

A crunch behind her has her bolting to her feet with her fists in front of her face before she can even blink. She just about curses aloud when she sees the startled face of Prince Caspian staring back at her.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" she says, hoping he can't hear how her voice shakes just the tiniest bit.

"Shouldn't you?" he returns.

He has a point, but she's not about to say so.

"No one gave me a curfew, and it's a nice night."

"It is. The moon is quite bright."

Miranda nods and forces herself to lower her fists and return her unballed hands to her sides.

"Sorry by the way, you startled me."

"This would be the second time I've startled you badly enough that you were ready to fight me. I believe I must be the one to apologize."

Is a prince about to apologize to her just for startling her? Well this'll be a first.

And he does, with a bow and a flourish, and the absurdity of the whole thing makes her smile. Smiling feels foreign to her after her recent memories, but it feels good too.

"It's fine, I'm just a little jumpy. Waking up in a new world can be disorienting."

"I imagine so," says the prince with a chuckle.

"Well Your Highness, I think I'll leave you to admire the moon while I get back to sleep." Miranda moves to walk back to camp to keep up the pretense, but the prince stops her.

"You really are a terrible liar, Miranda."

"Is that the first time you've actually said my name?" Anything at all to distract him and keep him from guessing what's really the matter.

"Changing the subject will not work. I know it's not my place to ask what troubles you, but may I ask anyway?"

Miranda rolls her eyes and keeps herself angled away from him, even though she's a little bit touched by his respect.

"You can ask all you like."

"Then what troubles you?"

She puts on her most winning smirk and tries not to relish in her reply. "I never said I would answer you."

Prince Caspian furrows his brow in what she guesses to be annoyance.

"And why do you want to know anyway?" she continues. "I'm a stranger to you."

"Well you did advise me against leaving last night." He takes a step toward her; she mirrors him by stepping backwards. "And you are afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you," she says, not caring that she sounds indignant. "I'm just cautious."

"Why?"

"New world thing, remember?"

Prince Caspian shakes his head, and she marvels at his audacity.

"It's more than that. I will stop asking what it is, but please know you have nothing to fear from me."

"Liar."

The word falls from her lips before she even realizes she was thinking it, leaving her with nothing to do but square her jaw and try to look strong.

Prince Caspian, on the other hand, looks a little hurt and a lot confused as he looks between her and the ferns that come all the way to his knees.

It's not his fault, and she does want to tell him so; it's just that she's heard those words before, panted into her ear as her demon took something from her, and she hates hearing the same words from Prince Caspian's lips. She saw someone good earlier tonight in the meeting, and she wants to think of him like that, not as someone who's waiting for the right moment to break her.

"I'm sorry," she finally manages to say. "I just don't like it when people say that. It sets my teeth on edge."

He nods, forehead still wrinkled in confusion, but the hurt is gone.

"I will avoid such words in future." With that, he turns away from her and starts to walk back in the direction of the camp.

"Wait," she says, almost against her will but not quite. He turns around, cautiously expectant. "What you did at the meeting earlier? That was pretty cool."

He dips his head in what she assumes to be a 'thank you' and smiles just a little.

"It was the right thing to do. We all have lost things dear to us."

The way he's looking at her makes her wonder if he doesn't mean her too.

"Well good job. The Narnians have a good leader."

Prince Caspian smiles at that, really smiles, though he doesn't show his teeth.

"Thank you."

Never have two words sounded so good to her. They sound…safe, like he means them without any malice or twisted purpose. She's been thanked before too, after it was over that night, but this thanks is different; it's sweet and true and pure.

She almost thanks him too, but she understands this would only confuse him more, and so she settles for a hesitant smile, the best she can conjure, and a quiet "You're welcome" before letting him walk away.

Somehow, that fact that he does just that, walks away, sticks with her the most, and it puts a smile on her face that lasts well into sunrise.

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