Caged Nightingale

By: Rhuben

Full Summary: [REWRITE] Readjusting to his "old life", Edmund finds himself drawn back into a Narnia he doesn't recognize. A Narnia filled with ruin and loss. Much like himself. Feeling like he betrayed his beloved lands for a second time, and haunted by memories of the White Witch, Edmund will do everything he can to extinguish his lingering doubts of his royal title. Witnessing the effects of war on her father, Issi has dreamt of a life of healing. Following the honeyed voice only she hears - the spirit that leads her straight into becoming a Telmarine prisoner of war – Issi promises to nurture Narnia (whatever that was) the best way she knew how, but found herself rebuilding a King desperate for some sanctuary, all the while fighting off the growing urge to do him and his family harm.

Chapter One
Present

"They are ready for her now. Do not keep him waiting."

"I'll fetch her right away."

The whispers of strength, morsels of advice, and mutters of worry all ceased when the sound of the lock being turned clacked loudly. She sucked in her breath, becoming as still as the room suddenly felt with the quiet words of comfort now gone, and pulled her gaze away from the sliver of blue-gray sky she could see from the window of the fortified tower.

It wasn't booms on the door or urgent fists that would startle her out of her thoughts. With the air sirens, shouts from the street at all hours relaying information about the war, the high-pitched wails of loss, Issi had gotten used to just how noisy noise was. No, it was the quieter moments that put her on edge. The soft knocks on the front door that weren't expected. The knocks that would lead to the reveal of the telegram:

REPORT JUST RECEIVED THROUGH THE INTERNATIONAL RED CROSS STATES YOUR HUSBAND JAMES T WINTERS IS A PRISONER OF WAR OF THE GERMAN GOVERNMENT IN BERTH LETTER OF INFORMATION FOLLOWS FROM GENERAL NICHOLLS

Or the arrival of the little child that needed a safe place to stay. They never had much; one pair of shoes, worn socks, clothes and bits of bread shoved haphazardly into the suitcase they could barely lift. Photographs: glass cracked, and frames splintered littered over the little clothing they managed to pack in what little time they had to do so. Keepsakes of the family the child did not understand they were now separated from. Possibly forever.

The wooden door to the curved room pulled outwards with a loud, sustained creak. Two guards rushed into the room, snapping shackles around her wrists before she could make a move. The taller of the two guards roughly pulled her to her feet with a harsh tug on the chains. "Did you not hear?" the guards brushed past the woman who strode into the room, ignoring her inquiry. The hem of her dress clutched tightly between her thin fingers. "I said I would fetch her. She trusts me. Unhand her this instant."

"Lord Miraz has summoned for her, Carma. He must not be kept waiting." Carma exhaled sharply through her nose, watching as the guards half-carried, half-dragged the young girl out of the room.

Issi had learned that her first instinct to buck, writhe, whatever she could to try and escape her restraints, only meant punishment, so she stumbled to a walk between the two guards. Craning her neck as they rounded the corner, she took one last look at the room she had sort of started to see as home. It wasn't the most comfortable place she had been housed since arriving in Narnia, but she still found herself wondering if this was it. Would she make it back to what she was starting to refer to as her space.

Trumpkin still had yet to return. He had been called upon hours ago.

Carma hurried after them, walking briskly to keep up with the long-legged pace of two men. She stopped briefly to gather another handful of her hem, before continuing her quick pace. "I will be the one to give Lord Miraz the medical report," she declared around quick bursts of breath. "Do you hear?"

"Are you not supposed to be looking after Prunaprismia at this hour? She has had a difficult birth as you very well know." The accusatory tone hung in the air. The shorter of the two guards gave a mirthless chuckle.

"I have tended to her," Carma said curtly. "She and the child are resting. That does not mean you can just take my ward and—Are you ok, Issi?"

A muffled groan of pain held back behind Issi's tight lips still managed to be heard when the guards suddenly came to a stop. Her feet scraped against the ground as she was roughly pulled around to face Carma, who had nearly collided with them due to their sudden stop. Issi locked eyes with Carma and for a moment, she had seen a flicker of concern in the nurse's eyes. Much like she had been seeing more and more as her time held captive in Lord Miraz's castle extended.

"You have come to care for the girl," the taller guard commented, eyebrows lifting

Carma blinked, and the bit of concern Issi had seen a moment before, disappeared. Carma haughtily sniffed. "Of course not," she declared. Issi grit her teeth both at the denial and for the stab of pain that suddenly pierced her chest. "She is simply in need of care. That falls on me. I give Lord Miraz the daily reports. If he is not pleased with her progress…" She didn't finish her sentence, as she didn't need to. Her life was at stake and everyone knew it. "Beruna waits for me."

"Lord Miraz has not been pleased," the smaller guard said with an air of annoyance. "The Narnian did not give the answers he sought." He gave a sharp tug of the chains, shifting them further down the hall. "Maybe the girl will do as he asks."

The soft Earth of the Narnian forest was like walking on pillows compared to the cold and unyielding stone of the castle floors. Every step on the hard surface sent a radiating pain through the bruises on the balls of her feet, her heels. Her knees nearly buckled with each step. She clenched her teeth, trying not to make even the tiniest whimper.

Carma sidled up to Issi, gripping her elbow in a tight, hot grip as they walked up rough stairs, and through the halls. The shorter of the two guards made a noise of annoyance, as he was effectively pushed out of his position, and moved to lead the way. Turn after turn, lower and lower downstairs they walked as they left the highest reaches of the Telmarine castle. Finally, they came upon a set of tall doors with intricate design carved out of the wood. The shorter guard rapped his knuckles on the door. A moment later, they creaked open, and the vast room with vaulted ceilings came into view.

Once again, Issi briefly caught Carma's eye before the woman cast her gaze downwards, affixing it to the stone floor. "You will be ok, Issi," Carma said in a low whisper. "Just answer the Lord's questions." She received no response.

"Enter."

The clinking, squeaking chains were the only sound heard as the group shuffled through the room and past the thrones that lined the walls of the room. Most were empty. Some were still filled by Telmarines that lined the walls of the room. Watching them. Silently. Lord Miraz, seated front and center at the head of the room, leaned forward just slightly. He did not speak. It was Sopespian that broke the silence:

"Is she medically sound, Carma?"

Carma gave a single, sharp nod of her head. "She is." Carma released her tight grip on Issi's elbow, then placed her palm in the center of her back and give her a hard shove forward. Issi stumbled at the sudden movement yet caught herself before she fell to her knees. Lifting her chin, she held Lord Miraz's gaze

They stared at each other.

Silence.

And then:

"What is your name?"

Issi didn't want to speak. She had to give the Narnians - everyone - enough time to escape. She remembered Nikabrik's words, his advice on what to do if caught. Most importantly, when captured, to hold out as long as you can in the face of whatever torture they were bound to face. What to say if anyone were to ask for names wasn't spoken of. It was more prudent that she learn how to not be detected.

Back home there was no point in lying. Everyone in her home-town knew who she was. Identification cards were to be carried at all times. But here? The Temarines knew she was not from here. She was clearly not a Narnian. Coming up with a fake name wasn't anything she had to worry about. To them, she was the invader. And they wanted answers.

The irony was almost funny.

Finally, she licked her dry, cracked lips, cleared her stinging throat and said to Lord Miraz, who was watching her intensely, "Issi." Her voice echoed around the vaulted ceilings, "Issi Winters."

"Issi Winters," Lord Miraz repeated, shifting in his high seat. He angled his head to the side. "You are not a Narnian. You are not from Beruna. You are most definitely not a Telmarine. How did you come upon my lands?"

"Just passing through."

"So pass through," Lord Miraz replied evenly. "Yet, you were found by General Glozelle defacing one of my wagons in the name of my nephew, Prince Caspian."

"Who?" She furrowed her brow. "I don't know who that is."

"If you do not know whom Prince Caspian is, why were you found carving his name upon my wagon?"

Issi opened her mouth, and then closed it. She knew better than to talk back to Lord Miraz. To any imposing presence. It's not what she was taught. Speak when you're spoken to, of course. Answer any question given to you, yes. But to outwardly call him a liar? She had seen the aftermath of Glozelle's brief moment of misunderstanding. To insist that she, in fact, had not been caught carving the wagon, was a death sentence.

"My lord, everyone across the lands knows your name, and those to whom you are related," Issi explained.

"Yet you just said you don't know who my nephew is."

"Not—not personally, I do not know him, no," Issi said, stumbling over her words. Her mouth suddenly dry. Lips starting to stick to each other. She had never before been at such a loss for words, grasping desperately at any cohesive thought. Trufflehunter had often warned her that her brazenness could be a detriment as much as it was a great addition to their resistance work. "I don't…I don't know him…"

"You are not from here," Lord Miraz replied, his eyes narrowing. He grasped the arms of his chair and slowly pulled himself to his feet. Never taking his eyes off Issi, he took one slow step after another, nearing her. "So, tell me," He inquired in a low, yet menacing tone, silently daring her to lie to him, "how did you come to learn about myself?"

In her silence, Issi took in the sight of the council in front of her. They watched her, waiting to hear what she was going to say next. One had a roll of parchment stretched out across their lap, the tip of their quill poised atop the document, ready to continue recording her words. The room was otherwise silent, yet her heart sounded like canon fire to her. Like the strike of the hammer that announced each new rule citizens had to follow. Like the boots of the men leaving their families behind to fight in an escalating war.

"Everyone knows…The Telmarines are the most powerful entity—"A shriek was pulled from Issi's mouth as her head snapped to the side at the force of the sudden back handed slap Lord Miraz struck across her face. A low "oof" sounded from her as she fell to the floor, her chin catching the floor at an odd angle.

Heat blossomed on her cheek, radiating with each pulse of pain that throbbed through her head. Through a tear gaze, Issi watched as Lord Miraz gazed at the blood that covered his ring with mild interest before he shook his hand, splatters of blood hitting the floor. She could feel a bead of blood slowly sliding down her cheek, leaving a sticky trail to her chin. Rotating her jaw, she settled back on her heels, clasping her shaking hands in her lap to stop herself from reaching up to wipe away the blood.

"All you have to do, Issi Winters, is answer my questions," Lord Miraz commented in a light voice, "no one has to get hurt." Issi pressed her lips together, spotting the entertainment burning in the depths of his dark eyes. "I think that's fair." His eyebrows lifted. "Yes?"

"Yes," Issi replied, her lips parting slightly.

"Where are the Narnians?" His words flew out of his mouth, cutting off the end of her response. Maybe if he startled her enough she'd slip up and give him the answers he was seeking. The scratching of the quill started up as the council member quickly wrote.

"I don't know." Backslap.

"How have they survived?"

"I don't know." Backslap

"How many Narnians are there?"

"I don't…I don't know." Issi spat a glob of blood-filled spittle to the floor.

"What were your orders? Who gave them to you?"

"No one." Issi spoke through cracked, swollen lips. "I did this on my own."

Lord Miraz let out a shout of frustration as he backslapped Issi again and again, question after question, in response to her answers. It was the sudden kick to the abdomen that pulled the tears to her eyes, droplets hitting the floor as she doubled over in pain. Attempting to suck in a deep breath of air, her abdomen burned and spasmed with pain. Still, she attempted to pull herself back up into her seated position.

Lord Miraz glared down at her before his gaze shifted past her, and he lifted his chin upwards in a single nod. Footsteps hurried towards her, and Carma grasped her elbow between both hands, attempting to pull Issi to her feet. He reached out a hand and grasped Issi's chin, squeezing tightly, his lips curling upwards in satisfaction at her violent flinch of pain.

"Maybe next time you'll be willing to have a conversation," he whispered. He released Issi with a shove that nearly knocked both her and Carma over. "Be sure she is ready for that, Carma. I want answers. She will not see freedom until I get it."

"Yes, my lord. I'll be sure of it." Accepting Issi's heavy weight on her side, she helped the injured young woman to her feet.

Issi grunted when Carma looped an arm around her waist, careful not to squeeze her bruised ribs too much, despite doing her best to hold her up. Slowly, very slowly, they moved across the vast room, to the entrance from which they had come. Her head, her jaw, her abdomen, and feet were all throbbing with pain, all working together to make her knees buckle, trying to knock her down.

She wouldn't give Lord Miraz the satisfaction, even with the growing, sickening realization that she had found herself with the same fate as that of her father: a prisoner of war.

A war that no one wanted to lose.

A/N: Hey everybody. I decided to re-write/start over with my Narnia fic "Nightingale" (old version was up before, but recently deleted), so here we are! I have found a more cohesive way to write this fic and/or I feel I can do it better than my previous attempt.

Thank you for taking the time to read this fic, and for giving it a chance.

Shout out to aliverse / purpleyearning on tumblr for the awesome fic cover!

-Rhuben