A/N:I know, I know—I said Friday! But I just couldn't wait! So, here it is early… sue me!
(Also, all rights to C.S. Lewis!)

Chapter 4 - The Gathering
Edmund's POV

The air had shifted.

Narnia had always been a place of wonder, but this was different.

As we walked back toward the smaller tent Erasmus had given us, I could still hear the voices of the soldiers echoing in my mind. The war, the battles, the people fighting for survival.

But more than that, I heard Peter's words.

"Maybe they weren't meant to call us at all."

I had laughed it off when he said it. But now, as I pulled back the canvas door and stepped inside the dimly lit tent, the thought unsettled me.

The war existed before we arrived.

Narnia had a king before we arrived.

And Eleanor and James Stoll? They had been here first.

"We weren't supposed to come back."

I clenched my jaw, pushing the thought aside as Susan ran a hand over the pile of clothes folded on a wooden bench.

Peter grabbed a worn tunic and trousers, inspecting them. "At least they had something for us."

Susan, however, frowned at the selection. "These are all men's clothes."

Lucy pulled out a belt and boots, her eyes lighting up. "Yes, finally something practical!"

Susan raised an eyebrow at her.

"What?" Lucy grinned. "You know how awful it is to run through a battlefield in skirts?"

Susan hesitated, but she couldn't argue.

I pulled my own tunic over my head. The fabric was rougher than I remembered—sturdy, made for war. It was a far cry from the elegant cloaks and regal attire we had once worn as Narnian royalty.

But things were different now.

A war had been raging without us.

And I wasn't sure if we had returned to help or simply to watch a kingdom crumble.

The armory tent smelled of metal, sweat, and worn leather. Blades glinted in the firelight, hanging from racks, piled on tables, waiting to be wielded.

I ran a hand over the hilt of a sword, testing the grip, feeling the weight. It had been too long since I held one.

Peter was on the other side of the tent, inspecting a silver-plated shield.

His brows furrowed, and I could tell he wasn't just thinking about weapons.

"Something on your mind?" I asked, fitting the dagger into my belt.

Peter hesitated. Then he spoke.

"It still doesn't make sense," he said, running his fingers over the lion engraving on the shield.

"What doesn't?"

He exhaled, setting the shield down. "If Eleanor and James came a year ago… why didn't they send for us sooner?"

That had been bothering me too. "Maybe they tried," I said, strapping my sword into place. "Maybe something stopped them."

Peter shook his head, unconvinced.

Then he met my eyes.

"Or maybe they weren't supposed to call us at all."

The words hit like a stone dropping into my stomach.

I forced a smirk, trying to push past the unease creeping into my chest. "Well, if that's the case, then we've just ruined someone's plan."

Peter didn't laugh.

He just stared at the weapons in front of him, as if they might have the answer.

I didn't say anything else.

Because the truth was?

I didn't want to think about it.

The camp was alive.

Hundreds of soldiers—fauns, minotaurs, dwarves, centaurs, and humans—gathered under the stars, their armor glinting in the firelight.

But what caught Susan's eye were the women.

Among the warriors stood female centaurs, battle-scarred and strong. There were human women, too, adjusting their armor, sharpening their weapons.

It was different from the Narnia we had once ruled.

Susan watched as a female centaur exchanged words with a faun, their conversation serious, strategic. The battle plans were not just for men anymore.

She frowned.

I exhaled through my nose, already anticipating whatever she was about to say.

"You disapprove?" I muttered under my breath.

Susan turned to me, startled. "What?"

"You're staring," I pointed out, crossing my arms.

She blinked, then shook her head. "No—well, I don't know. I just…" she trailed off, glancing back at the female warriors. "I wasn't expecting it."

Her voice wasn't harsh. Just… thoughtful.

"That makes two of us," I admitted.

Lucy, who had been fastening her belt, finally noticed where we were looking. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but she didn't seem surprised.

Susan crossed her arms. "It wasn't like this before. We had women in the army, yes, but mostly as archers. Scouts. Even healers. This is…" She hesitated, watching as one of the female warriors adjusted the grip of her sword with practiced ease.

"Different," I finished for her.

Susan nodded.

I studied the warriors more carefully. She was right.

In our time, Susan had commanded the archers in battle—had led them, had been one of the best herself. I'd fought beside her. She had never missed a target.

But these women?

They weren't standing at the back of the battlefield, loosing arrows from a distance.

They carried blades and spears and stood among the front-line fighters.

"Maybe the world changed while we were gone," Lucy said softly.

Susan didn't reply.

But as she watched a female centaur stride past—a warrior's braid swinging down her back, her silver armor dented and worn— I saw something shift in Susan's expression.

She wasn't disapproving.

She was thinking.

And that unsettled me more.

The music slowed, the energy of the camp beginning to wane.

Then, the horn sounded.

Erasmus stood, his voice steady but commanding. "Rest. We march at dawn."

The camp slowly settled, warriors finding whatever sleep they could.

I barely got comfortable in my hammock before Lucy's voice, half-muffled by sleep, reached me.

"Ed?"

I sighed. "What?"

"Nothing." A pause. Then, softer: "I'm glad we're all here."

I stared at the canvas above me, listening to the quiet of the camp.

And for a moment, I wasn't sure if I was glad too.

But I wanted to be.

The horn sounded before the sun had fully risen.

We mounted our horses, the sky still painted with streaks of pink and gold.

I had traveled these roads before.

Once, as a king returning to a throne.
Another, as a warrior answering a call.

But this time?

This time, I wasn't sure why we were here.

Peter's voice echoed in my mind.

"Maybe they weren't supposed to call us at all."

Aslan had told us we wouldn't come back. That our time in Narnia was over.

And yet—

Here we were.