Underland. The Dark City.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Eirwyn.
The Dark City of the Emerald Witch stretched beneath the vast cavern, its towers of black stone glistening under the cruel brilliance of the false sun. Suspended high above, the great crystal pulsed with a cold, unnatural light, casting sharp-edged shadows along the streets below. There was no warmth to it, no life – only a hollow radiance, as if the city existed in perpetual twilight, neither day nor night.
The frost fae and her kin walked in silence through the stone-paved avenues, their steps echoing against the obsidian walls. The air was stagnant, thick with the weight of enchantments laid long ago, spells woven into the very bones of the city.
The denizens of this place – pale-skinned earthmen, silent and watchful – parted before them, their strange, slitted eyes flickering with recognition, with unease. They knew the frost fae were not of Underland, nor of any realm that bent knee to the Emerald Witch. The cold that clung to them was different from the damp chill of the deep caverns; it was the frost of a world above, a breath of winter untouched by time.
At the heart of the city, the great palace loomed – a fortress carved from the living rock, its spires reaching toward the crystal sun as if in supplication. Green fire burned in iron braziers along the entrance, casting shifting, serpentine patterns across the stone. The doors stood open, awaiting them.
A figure emerged from within, draped in flowing emerald silk, her hair a cascade of dark auburn waves, her eyes gleaming with a cunning light.
The Lady of the Green Kirtle.
The Emerald Witch.
The name was quite apt though, Eirwyn thought, looking upon the woman. She was beautiful in the way that Jadis and Arianna of Charn had been, a beauty that was not quite human, nor Narnian.
Her cheekbones were high, her eyes luminous and tilted at the edge like a cat, an emerald so bright and true it was as if the jewels themselves had made a home within her face.
Something quite other.
Though she knew that the cream-skinned woman was not one of Charn. She was long and willowy, but she did not look as if she could be descended from the giants. Eirwyn was quite sure she'd never seen anyone like her in her thousands of years.
From what world had she come?
And why?
"You bring the cold with you," she said, her voice smooth as a river cutting through stone. "Even here, in the depths of my city, winter follows in your wake."
Eirwyn met her gaze, unblinking. "Winter comes where it wills. It does not answer to queens."
A slow smile curved the woman's lips as she stood, her deep jade dress pooling around her like a waterfall, the silk slipping off her shoulders, peppering her body with soft, sensual kisses. Like a lover it hugged her body, it seduced the senses. "Then perhaps we have more in common than you think."
The frost fae stood unmoving, her eyes fixed upon the Emerald. Beneath the cold, false light of the great crystal, she studied the sorceress – not just with her sight, but with something deeper, something older.
She knew.
She had known the moment she set foot in the city, the moment the air shifted around her, tasting of something not born of this world. The magic that clung to the Emerald Witch was wrong, in the way that all magical creatures of Narnia could sense when something did not belong. It was not the wild, living magic of Narnia, nor even the deep and solemn enchantments of Underland's ancient places. It was something other – a force that had been shaped elsewhere, in a world where magic had taken a different form, where it had been twisted into something different and hungry.
The magic felt dark, like shadowy hands touching upon her very being.
"You do not belong to this world," the frost fae matriarch said at last, her voice as steady as the ice that lay at the heart of mountains.
The Emerald Witch's expression did not falter, but something in her eyes sharpened, her poise becoming ever so slightly more rigid, as if the frost fae's words had struck a note she had not expected.
"And yet," the woman said, voice as smooth as dark silk, "I am here. And here I remain."
The frost fae tilted her head, considering. Yes. The woman was a foreign thing, a traveller who had come to their world, who had chosen to carve out a place in its depths.
"You shape the world to your liking," the frost fae murmured, glancing up at the towering crystal sun, at the city built of darkness and false light. "But it will never be yours."
The Emerald Witch's smile did not fade, but the frost fae saw the flicker of something in her gaze—amusement, perhaps, or the glimmer of a challenge.
"Perhaps," the Lady conceded. "And yet, frost queen, we are not so different, you and I. We are forces beyond the little kings and queens of this land. We endure."
Eirwyn did not answer immediately. Instead, she let the silence stretch, feeling the weight of the cold around her, the unyielding truth of the earth beneath her feet. Then, very softly, she said, "I do not endure. I remain."
It was not the same thing.
The Emerald Witch existed in defiance of the world, reshaping it to suit her will. The frost fae did not need to fight, nor scheme, nor rule. Winter came, winter left, and winter always returned.
And so, she met the woman's gaze, unafraid, unyielding. Whatever the witch's purpose, whatever she sought in their meeting, the frost fae would not be swayed.
The cold had no master.
It never had.
"I have seen the future, Matriarch of the Frost Fae," the witch stood with her arms akimbo, her eyes glittered with a strange light. "And I will rule. All those you are not with me are against me. It is your choice."
Still Eirwyn said nothing.
She watched her.
She saw the woman's true character. A serpent. An enchantress. She would do whatever it took to rule. Like Jadis, the White Witch.
Eiryn had followed only one queen in her life.
Known first as the Ice Queen, then as the Great Queen by the rest of Narnia.
She would not follow the Emerald Witch.
She would not subject her people to false promises and enchantments.
Long ago she had dispelled the notion that they were harbingers of ill news. She would not have that light cast upon her people once more.
"Be careful, Emerald Witch. Many have tried to take Narnia by force. I have seen what Aslan does to those who harm His children."
And she laughed, emerald eyes flashing with mirth. "I do not believe in fairy tales; no mere lion will stop me."
The doors to the throne room yawned open with a groan, the sound echoing through the vast chamber like the breath of a sleeping beast. A draft curled in from the hallway beyond, carrying the damp scent of stone and something metallic, something old, as the two figures entered.
The man strode forward with an air of easy confidence, his voice rich with amusement as he spoke, requiring only the occasional hum or glance from the woman at his side. The woman – the Sapphire Knight, for surely, she could be none other – was eerily similar to the Emerald Queen. They could have been reflections of one another, cast in different hues. The same elegant features, the same sharp cheekbones, the same unearthly grace.
And yet, they were not the same.
Where the Emerald Queen's presence was coiled, patient, a viper waiting to strike, the knight burned with barely contained energy, her every movement honed to precision, her body a blade held just at the moment before the killing stroke.
And the moment her eyes landed on Eirwyn, her bearing changed.
Tension snapped through the air like a bowstring pulled taut.
The Sapphire Knight stepped forward in an instant, pushing the dark lord behind her with a swift, practiced motion. It was instinct, a movement so immediate and unthinking that it spoke of years – perhaps lifetimes – of protecting others. Her stance shifted, shoulders squared, weight balanced, one hand subtly hovering near the hilt of her weapon.
Protective.
Defiant.
Eirwyn did not move.
Silver-blue eyes met deep sapphire ones, cold and unreadable.
She had seen countless warriors in her long existence – men and women who had lived and died by the sword, who had burned brightly and been snuffed out like fleeting embers. But this one… this one intrigued her.
Because for all the knight's poised strength, for all her battle-readiness, there was something beneath it – something raw.
And the frost fae had never ignored a storm on the horizon.
The Emerald Witch greeted them warmly.
It was not the false sweetness she so often laced her words with, nor the calculated charm she used to bend minds to her will. No, there was true warmth in her tone when she addressed the Sapphire Knight, a genuine ease that did not come from mere politeness or feigned civility.
Whatever the nature of their connection, it ran deep – too deep for simple alliances or political manoeuvring. The fae did not know their history, but she saw it in the way the Witch's lips curled in something almost resembling fondness.
Interesting.
The Witch, still draped in her emerald silks, turned her gaze to Eirwyn, tilting her head ever so slightly.
"You are welcome to stay in the Dark City," she said smoothly, her voice echoing through the chamber. "If not as an ally – yet – then as a guest."
The offer was honeyed, but there was no mistaking the weight beneath it. The Witch had plans, that much was certain. She wanted Eirwyn to see what lay beneath the surface, to understand what had been built in the shadows.
"Perhaps," the Witch continued, her lips curving ever so slightly, "our esteemed knights could put on a tournament of sorts. A demonstration, if you will."
The Sapphire Knight's brows furrowed slightly at that, the first flicker of displeasure marring her otherwise unreadable expression. But she did not speak.
Eirwyn studied her in silence.
So, the Witch was playing games, testing limits. She wanted Eirwyn to see the strength of her warriors, to witness firsthand what forces lurked beneath the surface of this sunless world.
A subtle move.
A calculated one.
Eirwyn exhaled softly, cold mist curling from her lips, her gaze flickering between the two women before finally settling on the Witch.
She would stay.
Not as an ally. Not yet.
But as a guest, as a witness.
Because there was something shifting in the depths of the world. And Eirwyn would see exactly where it led.