AN: Well! You’re all awesome, once again. Thank you for being so generous with your comments!

I had a really long, really trying day dealing with lots of really dumb, really difficult people. As I hauled myself into the house I thought, “You know what would make me feel better? Posting.” So even though it’s midnight and I’m exhausted, here ya go!

Many meetings and the plot thickens. (Doesn’t it always?) Somebody kick Beaver, okay?

Oh and I mess with the time continuum. To be fair, we never really got one in the movie, and I explain my reasoning in what I think is a perfectly suitable fashion. So no whining :D

If you don’t pick out what I’m talking about, never mind.

The Winter Prince:

Chapter Three

The entire camp watched them in awe and reverence. It made Susan and Peter uncomfortable, but Lucy just smiled.

To her, it felt a little like coming home.

A Centaur guarded a pavilion nestled at the camp’s heart. Knowing whose tent this had to be, Peter drew his sword in salute. “We’ve come to see Aslan.”

As though this were a sign, the whole encampment knelt. Moments later an enormous golden Lion emerged, and the Pevensies dropped to their knees before him. Wind whispered excitedly through the trees while he examined them, until at last he said, “Welcome Peter, Son of Adam. Welcome Susan and Lucy, Daughters of Eve. Welcome Beavers, you have my thanks. But where is the fourth?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Peter admitted, climbing to his feet with his sisters.

Susan shrugged helplessly. “We had a little trouble along the way.”

“It’s more than trouble,” Beaver snarled. Lucy frowned at him, but he didn’t notice. “It’s their brother who’s been tormenting us this whole year! He’s the Winter Prince!”

His words had the effect of a bomb dropping in London. The whole camp cried out in shock and fury.

Before Aslan could call for quiet, Lucy’s small voice rose above the rest. “There are untold depths to that story!” she exclaimed. Stunned silence fell around her. “I’m more sure of it now than ever! Edmund isn’t what you think he is, it’s not possible! Please, Aslan,” she begged, throwing her arms around his neck with the simple faith of a child. “Please, it isn’t like they say it is.”

“There was a Fox by the Beavers’ dam,” Peter recalled, wanting Lucy to be right. He met Aslan’s golden eyes evenly. “He said he was working under your orders, and he was angry when Beaver called Edmund a traitor.”

“It has to mean something,” Susan agreed with a fragile surge of hope. “Doesn’t it?”

“Those who fell under his sword mean something too,” the Centaur general countered, stamping the ground with one hoof.

“He has too many crimes to forgive!” cried a Dwarf in the crowd. Unhappy muttering agreed with him.

“Peace,” Aslan said calmly, flicking one ear in the Dwarf’s direction. “Much can be forgiven, if forgiveness is asked. But it is as Lucy says. Edmund’s story is not fully known.” He gently guided Lucy back to her siblings with a nudge of his great golden head. Once she was safely wrapped in Susan’s arms, he turned to his pavilion, calling, “Come and share your story, good doctor.”

An old Faun stepped out, carefully making his way to the Lion’s side. Glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was slightly stooped with age, but he met everyone’s gazes squarely.

“This Faun faced many perils to reach me,” Aslan told his followers. “Everything he says is true.”

“My name Deolith,” he said, voice stronger than his body. “Many years ago, the White Witch took me from my family to keep in her castle. I was forced to care for her ill and injured, so I was there the day Edmund came to Narnia. I have been with him ever since.”

Another gasp of astonishment swept through those gathered. Lucy trembled in Susan’s arms, and Peter closed the gap between him and his sisters to hold them close and protected.

Deolith ignored all of them, lost in bittersweet memories. “He was already sick with the Witch’s fever when she sent me to him, and I thought he would die. For nearly a week, he was trapped in nightmares. He never told me all of what he saw, but most of it concerned death and fear and loss.” The Faun looked at Aslan. “His last dream was of you.”

Aslan inclined his head, accepting that as fact. He didn’t seem surprised at all, though the encampment stirred.

“Not long after that,” Deolith continued, facing the crowd again, “he woke. And he was changed. He had been frightened before his dreams, a young boy far from home and looking for comfort. When he woke, all he wanted was Aslan, though he didn’t know the Lion’s name. I told him stories,” the old doctor admitted with a rueful smile. “All the ones I knew, leading up to the Prophesy. He understood better the second time the Witch courted him exactly what it was she wanted. So when she asked him to be her Prince, he knew what he was doing when he said yes.”

“Traitor!” a Bear bellowed.

“Peace!” Aslan commanded, a roar underlying the word. The seething army settled. “Deolith is not finished.”

“Just so,” Deolith agreed, adjusting his glasses. “We made a plan. He would become her Winter Prince in name only. By doing so, it allowed him access to prisoners and the ability to ride free to warn the families that angered her.”

“But all those families are gone,” pointed out carefully, soothing her husband with a gentle paw.

“They are hidden,” the Faun corrected. “Those who would or could not fight wait in the north for word of Aslan’s victory. Those ready to take on the Witch’s army are part of the forces gathered in the west. Fox Alastar runs to call on those forces even now.”

“All we have is your word then,” Beaver grumbled. “Those forces ain’t here. Those families are still hidden. And the Winter Prince still has a mean reputation.”

“Peace,” Aslan said for a third time. He lifted his head to address his people. “Fox Alastar is on his way to the forces in the west. If they were gathered there by Edmund Pevensie, they will be able to speak to it. For that matter, Edmund is on his way as well. We will hear his tale in its entirely when he arrives.”

Peter sucked in a sharp breath. “Ed’s coming?” he asked softly, voice trembling. He looked more a child than a king when Aslan turned to him. “He’s coming here?”

Aslan turned his head slightly down and away. He didn’t look directly at the Pevensies when he replied, “Yes. But it will be a hard journey, and he may need help by the end.” He caught Lucy in his golden eyes. “Continue to have faith, dear one. He will need your thoughts to strengthen him.” Finally he addressed Peter. “Your brother is much changed from the boy you knew. Evil has touched him, and he will not quickly heal from it. Be patient with him.” Aslan smiled at Susan. “Treat him gently. He is still your brother.”

All three Pevensies bowed their heads.

Aslan lifted his voice to his army. “There is much work to be done before the western forces arrive. Be prepared for them by midday tomorrow.”

The warriors shouted their agreement and quickly dispersed.

While the Pevensie children went to arm themselves with fresh clothing and food, Deolith stood close by Aslan’s side and turned to face the setting sun.

“If the Witch wakes the curse she laid on him,” the Faun said quietly, “he will die before the troops arrive.”

Aslan turned to breathe gently on him. “Peace, good doctor,” he rumbled. “You have taught him well. All will be as it should.”

“Do not die, Edmund,” Deolith begged, leaning heavily on Aslan. “Please. Do not die.”

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Fox Alastar presented the self-styled Western Army with the verbose pride typical of his people. To the quiet disappointment of many in Edmund’s Guard, it wasn’t large enough to truly qualify as an army by even the most generous of estimates.

But Edmund knew every dimension of this army, had built it himself in secret, and understood what its warriors were capable of. He stood to welcome them, smiling as any good prince should, and spoke with the leaders to map the swiftest rout to Aslan’s camp at the Stone Table. Rumor had it that the river was finally melted, and while that was good news in one capacity, it meant trouble for their march. They would have to take a longer trail, one that skirted the heart of the Witch’s territory.

“We will make it,” Edmund promised his warriors. “Aslan did not gather us so we could be killed on his doorstep. He would not call on us to be superfluous. We have a part to play in this war yet. For tonight,” he called, “rest in preparation. Tomorrow, we fly!”

The troops roared their approval, filled with love and loyalty for the small Human.

At sunset, Edmund’s condition took a turn for the worst, the Witch’s spell tearing through his veins with greedy frozen fingers. By moonrise, none of his companions thought he would survive to greet the dawn.

Edmund had never expected to live that long anyway.

A few minutes shy of midnight, the whole of Edmund’s camp fell asleep, save Edmund himself. If he’d had more energy, the Human might have been alarmed, since Bellus never closed his eyes unless he knew his boy was well guarded. Exhausted as he was, though, the unnatural slumber that immediately preceded the appearance of Father Christmas only seemed fitting.

The mythical figure sat by Edmund, not quite leaning against Philip, and for a long while they were silent.

Edmund tried vaguely to think of the proper Narnian greeting for Father Christmas only to realize he’d never learned one. “Lucy was the only one who still believed in you,” he said at last, keeping his attention on the dancing flames. He glanced sideways at the bearded old man. “It seems she will never stop being right. Is it Christmas at last, then?”

“It is here,” Father Christmas agreed, smiling down at him, “for now. Your siblings are at Aslan’s camp, and for them it is already spring. But the Witch’s spell is fading differently in different places. If you had stopped even a mile closer to her castle, Christmas would have missed you entirely. Next year will be better.”

Edmund’s pale face gentled with a smile. “I’m glad they made it.” He hesitated. “Were they terribly angry with me?”

“They’re confused,” Father Christmas corrected. “They don’t want to believe all the stories. Lucy believes almost none of them. She sent me to you.”

Edmund laughed softly, shifting closer to Philip. “If you’ve come to give me coal, we could definitely use it.”

“No,” the jolly man chuckled, drawing one last present from his pocket, “not coal. You worked hard for your wicked reputation, but there have been few as truly good as you this past year. So this is yours.” He pressed a small vial of silvery liquid into his hand. “It’s not much, but if you hurry it should just get you to Aslan. Do not delay,” he warned, “either in drinking it or in the trip. You cannot afford even a second of hesitation.”

In a show of agreement, Edmund pulled out the vial’s stopper and tipped back the contents. When he looked again, Father Christmas was gone. He felt the ice in his chest retreat to his heart, where it pounded ominously to the rhythm of his existence. It still hurt, but it wasn’t a killing hurt yet. So he sat up and twisted to shake Philip’s neck. “Wake up,” he called. The sound of his voice roused most of the Animals around him.

They had thought he would be dead when they next woke, so his orders to press on, even in the dark of night, were met with resounding joy.

Fox Alastar led the renewed charge to Aslan, followed by a host of feverishly determined Animals. Edmund neglected to mention Father Christmas’ warnings about his stay of execution, which would infuriate Bellus when he found out later. In the mean time, comforted by ignorance, they marched for war.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

The Witch abandoned her sled when the last snow melted.

“It’s so warm out,” Ginarrbrik observed, awed as he began to pull off his coat. A chilly glare from his Queen suggested that this was a bad idea, so he quickly shrugged it back on and scurried to release the reindeer.

Better to be hot than dead.

One of her Minotaur guards lumbered forward, dropping heavily to one knee in front of her. “What now, my Queen?”

She studied him coldly before looking away, dismissing his existence. “We will continue on in pursuit of Maugrim and his Wolves,” she said, more to herself than her followers. Such was her way, since no counsel in the world was as pleasing to the Witch as her own. “Maugrim has either taken care of those brats or he will soon. If they have made it to Aslan’s camp, we can follow his trail there. As for that other.” She sneered, her eyes cutting to the west for a brief moment. “I have already sent him a token of my love. Whatever remains of his pitiful crusade after that will be crushed by my hunters. Soon Aslan alone will remain, and he is no match for me. The Great Cat will fall and Narnia’s winter will be endless.”

The Minotaur bowed his head a little lower and prepared to stand in order to ready his troops.

But his Queen was not yet finished. “One more thing,” she murmured, still not looking at him. Her wand glinted in the sunlight as she spun it deftly, resting just the tip against his shoulder. It would have seemed as though she knighted him if he had not turned to stone. Finally her eyes flickered to him, and she lifted her chin in regal umbrage. “Do not question me, slave,” she rebuked him, turning away again. “I find it so tedious.”

Her warriors followed her silently, giving their dead captain a wide berth.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

When his sisters went to the river to wash and calm themselves, Peter stood with Aslan, looking over their encampment.

Aslan eventually tipped his great head, drawing Peter’s attention to turrets rising in the distance. “That is Cair Paravel of the Four Thrones, one of which you must sit as High King.”

Peter’s mouth thinned and his shoulders tensed slightly, but he didn’t respond.

Aslan didn’t need him to. “You doubt the Prophesy.”

The future king shook his head. “I’m not who you think I am,” he admitted at last, facing Aslan as bravely as he could.

“Peter Pevensie, formerly of Finchley,” the Lion said, startling Peter. “Beaver also said you wanted to turn him into a hat.” He laughed gently, knowing Beaver’s faults as well as he knew his strengths. When Peter’s expression filled with chagrin, Aslan turned, catching him in a weighty golden stare. “Peter, there is a Deep Magic that rules over Narnia. It defines right from wrong and helps us fulfill destinies, both yours and mine.”

The thought of that made Peter’s anger stir softly, and he looked back out over the encampment. His jaw clenched. “Is that why Ed isn’t here with us, where he should be?” he asked softly, left hand fisted around the hilt of his sword. “Is that why I was so terrible to him, even when he did nothing deserve it?” He motioned sharply at the army with his free hand. “Is that why all these people who think my brother’s a traitor would die to follow me? Because the Deep Magic has a plan? Because of our destinies?”

Aslan breathed on him, and Peter wavered with the abrupt loss of his anger. Suddenly all he had left was the guilt and fear, which was somehow worse. He swallowed hard, fighting tears.

So Aslan breathed on him again. “Peace, Peter,” he murmured. “All is as it should be. You have a part to play, as do I. As does your brother.” Peter jerked in surprise, swinging around to face Aslan, whose gentle smile was filled with compassion. “Edmund made choices that led him to be who he is and where he is. Sometimes there were small things I could do to help him along his way; most often there was nothing. It is hard to be the one left waiting.”

Peter swallowed again. “Is he really coming?”

The Lion chuckled softly. “As swiftly as he can, yes. Your brother is stubborn and will not rest until the task he built for himself is finished. When that is, I cannot say.”

At last Peter smiled, a fond expression as he thought of his impossible dark haired sibling. “Stubborn is a nice way to put it.”

Aslan rumbled again, pleased by Peter’s humor.

Then Susan’s horn cut across the camp, three calls in quick succession. Peter stared at Aslan in alarm for only a moment before racing down the hill.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

“Do you think he’s all right?”

Susan wondered if it would be better to pretend like she didn’t know who Lucy meant. But there was only one person she could mean, so instead of stalling she just sighed. She bent to trail her hand in the river. “I don’t know,” she admitted, struggling with the truth of it. More than anything, she hated to not know.

Lucy picked up a small stone, tossing it into the water with a muted plop. “Maybe he is,” she guessed hopefully. “Maybe he finally met someone nice, like Mr. Tumnus, and it’s only taking them so long because Fauns like to stop for tea.”

Oh Lucy, Susan thought, shaking her head. She straightened, flicking her fingers to free them of diamond water droplets. “Aslan said Edmund may have gathered an army,” she pointed out, and was angled in the wrong direction to see the hope in Lucy’s eyes whither under the creeping fear that lurked always in the back of her mind. “There certainly wasn’t time for tea during something like that. He’s fleeing the Witch, too, since she has to know he tricked her. And if he is with Mr. Tumnus, who was arrested, wouldn’t that mean he’s locked up somewhere?” When she turned she saw Lucy, both hands covering her face, shoulders shaking, and felt every inch the brute she sometimes called Edmund.

“Oh Lucy!” she cried apologetically, gathering her little sister close. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be this way,” she soothed, rocking Lucy gently. “There’s just so much in my head, and I can’t stop it all from coming out. Please don’t cry.”

“Aslan and the Fox,” Lucy wept, clinging to Susan, “and Father Christmas, they all told me to believe, to have faith in Edmund, but it’s so hard! He could be hurt and he doesn’t have Peter or anyone with him. We’re all together and he’s alone again, and what if he never gets to meet Aslan? What if we never see him again?”

“Shh,” Susan murmured into her soft hair. She stroked the younger girl’s back, placing a soothing kiss against her temple. “Shh, Lucy, it’s alright. Aslan would know if Edmund was hurt. He’d send help. Everyone told you to believe because that’s what you’re best at. Edmund will know you’re thinking of him, I’m sure of it, and it will give him strength.”

After a few more minutes of comfort, Lucy sniffled, pulling away slightly. She offered Susan a wobbly smile. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Susan kissed her again. “You’re my sister,” she said, as though that explained everything. Lucy’s breath continued to shiver from her lungs, so Susan went to fetch a towel with the intent of dipping it in the river so she could cool her little red face with it.

But there were Wolves behind the towel, and it was all she could do to shove Lucy up a tree, scrambling after her before pressing her white horn to her lips. She let it scream enough for the both of them.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

By mid-morning, Edmund’s combined forces were exhausted. Even though his Guard wanted to press on, the small army needed its rest. The soldiers were trained for combat, not endurance. The Guard had once spent the better part of three days running, but they knew they’d never be able to talk Edmund into splitting the groups just so he could reach Aslan a few hours earlier.

Another difference between the two was that the army thought their little king cured. The Guard knew he’d only delayed the Witch’s revenge, though they still were unaware of Father Christmas’ warning for haste, or they would have put an end to the idea of stopping for any reason before it could be formed. If they had known, they would have sprinted with him to Aslan’s camp, happy to die of exhaustion in the dirt at the Lion’s paws so long as Edmund lived.

Which was, of course, the main reason Edmund hadn’t told them.

The army settled for breakfast, breaking out rations and scouring the surrounding forest for any potential unexpected additions to the meager offerings. The Guard quickly grew frustrated with the meal, skirting the edge of their makeshift camp in the hopes of finding an enemy agent upon which to unleash their rapidly blackening moods.

Edmund took his meal with Philip, Alastar, and Tumnus, working hard to maintain the façade that he was tired only due to the pace and not because the ice in his chest was spreading again.

Philip was not fooled. Alastar offered some of his own food, hoping even a little bit more nourishment might help.

“What would help,” Bellus snarled, stalking up to the trio on shadow-silent paws, “is Aslan, who is still nearly half a day from here if we maintain this ridiculous crawl!”

“Peace, Bellus,” Edmund ordered softly, beckoning the Wolf closer just by lifting one hand. Bellus trotted sullenly over to the tree where his little lord sat, reclining among the roots. The Human soothed his companion by gently scratching behind his ear. When Bellus appeared unmoved by this normally comforting gesture, Edmund tugged his ear lightly, pulling him even closer.

Once Bellus was tucked against Edmund’s side, he sat, petulantly shaking his head to straighten the fur. Usually the warmth between the two would be a comfort of its own, since Bellus always remembered that first night in Narnia when Edmund had nearly frozen. Now, though, Edmund seemed cooler than usual, despite the growing heat of spring. Bellus flattened his ears, letting out a low whine.

Edmund leaned a little more of his weight against the Wolf, shutting his eyes. “Look up, Bellus,” he murmured, softly enough for just the two of them. “The trees are green. Soon they’ll have flowers, the ones that bloom. Spring is in Narnia at last. Aslan will not let it return to the endless winter. Have faith in his plan.”

“I do,” Bellus admitted after a pause. “I just don’t know if that plan includes saving you. What of your fate, Edmund? You, who has done so much for us? You, who has suffered more than any Narnian under the Witch? You,” he whined, nuzzling under the boy’s chin, “who even now dies because of the part you played? Please, Edmund,” he begged, prevented from reading more of Edmund’s expression because his eyes were still closed. “Please, let us rouse the army. We need to hurry. This isn’t the time to delay!”

Edmund smiled faintly, finally opening his dark eyes to study the leaves dancing on their branches. “This isn’t a delay,” he responded softly. “If we don’t rest now, the army won’t be able to maintain a good speed. Eventually they’ll collapse, and we’ll have to wait for them to recover, which would take hours compared to this small break for breakfast. It’s alright, Bellus,” he promised, running one hand down the Wolf’s shoulder. “Everything will be fine.”

“It won’t!” Bellus cried, jumping to his paws. The fur along his spine lifted in his fury, and the sound of his desperation drew the attention of many Animals eating around them. “It won’t be fine! Edmund, you’re dying! How can you say that’s fine? You need to get to Aslan! We need to hurry!”

The Human gathered his strength quietly for a moment, so when he finally sat up to study Bellus it seemed as though the act were completely effortless. Philip still wasn’t fooled, but it made Bellus adjust his internal estimate on how much time Edmund had left.

Edmund smiled at the Wolf, though he included everyone in the reassurance he offered. “Calm down,” he instructed. “Breathe deeply. We will make our own way to Aslan on our own time, and it will be enough because it has to be enough. Everything is as it should be. We have to believe that.”

“And if we can’t?” asked Fox Alastar, voice hushed with a combination of fear and trust and fierce love for this small Son of Adam. The potent cocktail of emotions was enough to leave him breathless and shaking. “If it isn’t enough? Will you really die?”

Dozens of Animals from a hodgepodge of species were united at that moment in one agonized prayer: Please don’t take him from us.

Edmund couldn’t hear the words, but he understood their silent plea in all the faces turned to him. He smiled again to buy himself a moment, then stood with the smooth grace that they expected of him. Philip moved closer to nibble at dark hair, and Edmund used the excuse of patting the Horse’s neck to lean against his shoulder. “Don’t waste energy on fear,” he called to them, voice ringing with authority through the woods. “We will need it to reach Aslan. All of us,” he said, passing his eyes over them, “together.”

They stirred, relief moving through the ranks like sunlight in clear water.

“We are not alone out here,” he continued, leaning a little more heavily on Philip. “Aslan knows of us. Deolith will have told him everything by now. And surely,” he pledged, “surely they are looking for us. Help is on the way.” He caught Bellus’ doubtful gaze with his own, trying to will the solace of belief onto the anxious Wolf. “If we work together just a little longer, soon we’ll be with Aslan. Everything is as it should be.”

The company cheered, exploding into a frenzy of busywork as they prepared to march again.

Edmund helped Tumnus get settled on Philip before tucking his own foot into one of the stirrups. Before he could haul himself up through sheer force of will, he felt a gentle tug on the leg of his breeches. When he glanced back, Bellus was looking up at him intently, ears flat against his skull again. So Edmund smiled, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around the Wolf’s neck. “Calm down,” he murmured into the fur, taking a deep lungful of Bellus’ unique musk.

“Don’t die, Edmund,” Bellus begged, sounding desperate and helpless. “We worked too hard. You mean too much to us. Aslan, Edmund, please… Please don’t die!”

“I’m doing everything I can think of that might help,” the Son of Adam promised, strained and a little desperate himself. “You have to hold your own on this, Bellus, at least until we get there. I’m trying, but… Everything will be fine,” he said, echoing himself, and in that echo Bellus could finally hear the faint glimmer of Edmund’s terrified need to believe his own words. “Everything…”

“In no time at all,” Bellus interrupted, nuzzling his Human comfortingly, “everything will be fine. Stay strong, my king. Help is on the way. Now climb onto Philip,” he ordered, nudging Edmund in the correct direction, “before he leaves without you. Quickly, your Western Army is ready to march!”

Edmund smiled at him, forcing the expression to show his pride rather than the weakness humming under his skin. He wanted Peter and Aslan and Deolith. He wanted Lucy and Susan and to finally, finally be warm.

More than that, though, he wanted his warriors to meet Aslan’s army and face the Witch side-by-side with their fellow Narnians. Bellus and his Wolves would be welcomed as heroes. His Guard would be absolved. Aslan would know them. Aslan would save them.

First, though, they had to find him.

Edmund called for the army to march, his voice carrying beyond the trees, ringing like a silver bell into the sky above. The soldiers thrilled at the sound of it, at the strength and confidence of their small, proud little king.

But Philip was not fooled.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Peter faced Maugrim alone, his brandished sword flashing brightly in the golden sunlight. The other Wolf was caught beneath Aslan’s great paw, held there for later interrogation, since no one had expected to see the Witch’s agents so close to their camp. Oreius stomped one hoof, wanting to protect his king, but Aslan’s orders were clear.

This was Peter’s fight.

Susan huddled on her branch with Lucy, clinging to her little sister for some small measure of comfort. “Please,” she heard Lucy chant under her breath, eyes locked on Peter as he set himself before the Wolf. “Please, please, please.”

Not another brother lost to them, not another to worry over uselessly.

“Peter,” Susan breathed. “Please.”

For his part, Peter was frozen in the conflicting grip of terrified self-doubt and the newborn glimmer of belief that he was here for a reason, for the sake of Aslan and Narnia and even for his family. It was all he could do to keep the tip of his sword leveled on the Wolf.

“What will you do, Son of Adam?” the Wolf growled, a mocking laugh rumbling under his words as he circled. “Will you fight? I’ve had too much practice killing, and I like the taste of blood. You won’t be able to beat me. Or maybe you’ll run, like your sniveling runt of a brother?”

And that, Susan knew, had been the wrong thing to say.

Peter’s doubt was swept away in a wash of indignant fury. “My brother didn’t run,” he hissed between clenched teeth, lifting his sword a degree in warning. “And he doesn’t snivel!”

“You don’t know your brother,” the Wolf taunted.

“I know him better than you,” Peter spat. “He’s leading an army to us that will ensure our victory once that Witch gets here. He’ll be the key to Narnia’s freedom, and he did it all under your nose.”

The Wolf snarled, a sound so furious it made Lucy tremble. “It won’t matter if you string together a thousand armies. Two Sons of Adam need to sit in those thrones, and your brother is already dead!”

“Shut up!” Peter screamed.

“Your wish is my command,” the Wolf snapped, all of his teeth bared and his hackles raised as he sunk close to the ground. He leapt at Peter with a wicked snarl, furious and feral, and Peter matched him with an angry shout.

They clashed to the sound of Susan and Lucy screaming. After a brief struggle, they collapsed together, Peter caught under the Wolf’s bulk.

For a moment, Susan thought he was dead.

Then the Wolf’s body fell aside, and Peter stood, panting and triumphant and a king at last.

“Clean your sword,” Aslan instructed, passing his captive to the small group behind him. “And kneel.”

Peter obeyed, taking one knee before Aslan with his sword planted brightly in the grass before him.

Aslan rested his paw heavily on Peter’s shoulder, releasing him with the command, “Rise, Sir Peter Wolf’s-Bane, Knight of Narnia!”

Before Peter could stand, a Horse came thundering out of the forest behind the Centaurs, more from the west than the direction of camp. Peter’s heart gave a sharp thud of fear as he leapt to his feet, because there were only so many reasons any Animal would come from the west.

Then Lucy noticed the Horse’s passenger and shouted, “Mr. Tumnus!” She tumbled quickly out of the tree, running to him with her arms flung wide for a hug. “Oh, I’m so glad! We thought the Witch had you!”

But Tumnus only shot her a quick, tight smile before focusing on Aslan. “Please,” he rasped. He swallowed quickly to wet his throat and tried again. “Please!”

“Shut up, useless Faun!” the Horse yelled, sides heaving for breath even as he reared enough to almost dump his passenger. He stomped his hooves angrily, taking control of the story. “Edmund’s under attack less than an hour from here,” he told Aslan, shifting constantly under the combined jitters of adrenalin, exhaustion, and being separated from Edmund. “He took his Guard to investigate a hunting party calling for aid but ordered the army to keep marching. It was a trap, and now they’re in danger of losing. He sent us to call for help!”

“Oreius,” Aslan ordered, pawing the ground restlessly, “gather your best and go to Edmund, hurry!”

“We left an obvious trail,” the Horse told Oreius. “We traveled too quickly for anything else.”

Oreius nodded once before thundering back to camp, his subordinates in tow. One remained behind to guard their Wolf prisoner.

“Let me go too,” Peter begged, sheathing his sword.

“And me!” Lucy added. Susan tugged her back, pressing her lips into a thin, deeply concerned line.

“No,” Aslan refused. “Edmund’s army will arrive soon, and it is your duty as king and queens to greet them properly.”

“Greet them?” Lucy cried, devastated.

“I can help,” Peter insisted. “Let me fight!”

“You are needed here,” the Lion said firmly. “There is nothing you can do for Edmund except to wait and welcome him when he arrives.”

When Peter and Lucy would have objected again, Susan rested her hands on their shoulders. “We will obey you, Aslan,” she replied softly, standing tall and peerless, a queen before her King. “The army Edmund fought so hard for will finally be properly met. For Edmund’s sake,” she added to her siblings, “we have to.”

Peter clenched his jaw until his teeth ached. Then he shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. When he looked back at Aslan, his face was stony but calm. “As you command,” he said decisively.

Aslan smiled warmly, pleased and proud. “You are a worthy knight, Sir Peter Wolf’s-Bane.”

“It’s harder to be the one waiting,” he replied, parroting Aslan’s own words.

Lucy didn’t say anything, but she turned her attention to Mr. Tumnus and the Horse. “You look tired,” she observed, stroking the Horse’s sweat-dampened shoulder. “Come with us to camp and we’ll let the healers make you well again. Poor Mr. Tumnus.” She smiled sadly up at him. “Does it hurt terribly?”

“There are worse pains,” he admitted enigmatically.

“Ai!” the Centaur guard exclaimed suddenly, dancing back a step. He pawed the ground with his left foreleg, trying to shake out the ache of a Wolf bite. “Stop!” he cried as his prisoner broke for the woods in a streak of grey, but he stumbled when his wounded leg wouldn’t hold his weight. “I’m sorry, Majesties,” he said desperately. “I didn’t expect him to attack with us all here! Let me go after him, I’m sure I can catch up!” He stumbled again when he tried, and Peter rushed forward to halt his attempts with one hand to the Centaur’s arm.

“Peace,” Aslan ordered, ears swiveling forward to listen for the Wolf. “He is gone, and you are in no condition to follow.”

“But he’ll lead the Witch to us!” the Centaur protested, wanting to fight but lacking the ability.

“That is likely,” Aslan agreed placidly. “We always knew it would come to a battle between us. At least we are familiar with this area enough to use it to our own advantage. For now we must return to camp,” he ordered, including everyone in a sweep of his golden eyes. “There is much to do and far too little time to do it all.” They followed him as he walked, staying close for the sanctuary he offered.

“I would return to Edmund,” the Horse murmured, head low in a bow as he made his request.

“Edmund will come to you, best of Horses,” Aslan told him warmly. “For now, join us in waiting.”

“I have never been separated from him while he was in Narnia,” Philip admitted, tossing his mane in frustration. “Not since you sent me to him in the beginning. I do not like being so far. He gets into trouble as easily as breathing, and Bellus is no help at all.”

“What does he mean?” Lucy asked Aslan, eyes wide. “You sent Edmund a Horse?”

Aslan chuckled when Philip’s pride bristled at the phrasing. “When Edmund first came to Narnia,” he explained, “I knew he would need good friends and loyal companions. Philip was with me then, and I asked him to watch over Edmund, if he could. The others your brother collected on his own, but Philip, at least, I sent. It was possible Edmund would refuse him,” the Lion divulged. “Or else that he would turn Philip in to the Queen once his true loyalties were revealed. I am glad, for Edmund’s sake, he did not.”

“As am I,” Philip murmured.

Before anyone else could respond, they crested into their camp and set to work.