Narnia fic: "Dust in the Air" (1)
Oct. 6th, 2008 03:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardTitle: Dust in the Air 1
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bedlamsbard
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia movieverse/bookverse
Rating: PG-13
Summary: And the end of all our exploring / will be to arrive where we started. An AU of The Last Battle, some five years after that book begins.
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia and its characters, situations, settings, etc., belong to C.S. Lewis. Certain characters, situations, settings, etc., belong to Walden Media. Title and quote from T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets: Little Gidding.
Author's Notes: This is part one, obviously, and this is also the first WIP I've posted since 2006. (And that WIP was abandoned, so one can see I'm understandably nervous about posting another one.) The structure of this lends it to being posted in sections, though, so that's how it's going up. Because of this, however, it's not getting posted to any comms until the whole thing is done.
When he'd ruled Narnia in actuality rather than just in name (and most days Tirian thinks he doesn't even do that anymore), he'd never seen the inside of his own gaol cells. Now that he is -- in far more intimate detail than he'd prefer -- he's looking back on everyone he condemned to prison and wondering if they really deserved this, being cut off from light and air and the sound of wind and rain. Or maybe his prisons weren't like that; maybe this is something the Calormenes have changed.
They've been here for three days. Tirian knows that the Calormenes plan to move them to Cair Paravel soon, knows that he's going to be mutilated at the very least, if not simply executed out of hand, and is almost certain that Eustace and Jill are going to be taken back to Calormen and sold. Not attractive prospects.
Even less attractive once he considers the fact that they were almost certainly betrayed by some of the Narnians in his camp.
Sighing, he stretches his long legs out in front of him, making whatever's alive in the rushes scatter. Jill, asleep with her head on Eustace's shoulder, doesn't even stir, but Eustace glances over at him, nods once, and closes his eyes again. They both cling to a kind of desperate hope that Tirian can't even begin to muster up, but after five years, hope is all they have, and it's fast fading. Tirian can't remember the last time he really believed they'd succeed, and now -- now Narnia is scattered rebels in the deep woods, those that haven't been burned or felled by the Calormenes. Narnia is men and creatures alike hanging from the gallows or consigned to the fires. Narnia is a flurry of whispers, of suspicion, of betrayal. Narnia is raw and laid bare, broken open and violated.
He knows his history. The last time Narnia was ripped apart like this was the Dying Times that followed the Golden Age of the High King, sixteen hundred years past. It was another thousand years before the country saw peace again, this time beneath the Telmarines. If history repeats itself, it will be the same now, perhaps. Tirian already knows that he will go down in history as the last of the Telmarine kings, the king who lost Narnia. No Peter the Magnificent or Caspian the Seafarer for him: Tirian the Unworthy, rather. If the Calormenes don't kill him, his own subjects will.
There's a sound outside, a solid thunk audible through the airslit at the top of the wall, and Tirian glances up, even though he already knows he won't see anything. The airslit only lets a thin slip of moonlight into the cell, and it's too high up for him to see out of. On a happier day he might have wished for rescue, but he knows better now. The free Narnians will let the Calormenes kill him and then turn around and call it a tragedy. Or good riddance.
Another few minutes and the sound of a scuffle, a bit-off curse in a language Tirian doesn't know, and that sound makes Eustace's eyes snap open. He shakes Jill awake and scrambles to his feet, clenching his fists and nearly tripping over the chain binding his ankles together. Tirian rises too, made slow by his own manacles, and shushes Jill as she whispers, "What --"
The cell door is five inches of iron-bound hardwood, impenetrable. Tirian listens to the key turn in the lock and wishes for a weapon.
He doesn't recognize the man who comes in, but he recognizes the sword. The blade is blood-streaked, but the runes are practically glowing, and the rubies in the golden lion's head gleam.
"How dare --" he begins automatically, heart in his throat from horror, because no one uses that sword, no one ever uses that sword, and then Eustace bursts out, "Peter?"
"Flight Lieutenant Pevensie?" Jill adds while Eustace is still getting out the last syllable, and she sounds shocked and surprised.
Abruptly, Tirian recognizes him. It's been five years, but the vision he had is burned into his mind, and he can see this man now, rising from the table with a face like stone. I am Peter the High King.
And another memory, his tutor's voice when he'd only been a boy in his father’s Cair Paravel. Legend says that the High King made a promise to Caspian the Telmarine -- he was not yet the Seafarer -- when he left Narnia: that if Narnia should fall through any action of Caspian's house, then he would return and rebuild Narnia anew on the bones and blood of the traitorous king.
Peter of Narnia is here to kill him. He's sure of it.
"Eustace. Jill," the High King says, tossing something that jangles in the air at Eustace, who barely gets his hands up in time to catch it. The guard's key ring. "King Tirian, I presume," he adds, and now Tirian knows why The Lay of the High King calls him "cold-eyed Peter." He's seen winters warmer than the High King's gaze. "We'll talk later. Hurry up. I don't want to linger longer than I have to."
He leaves the cell to stand in the hallway. Another set of footsteps approach, and there are whispered voices -- the High King's and a stranger's.
Eustace gets his manacles off and then turns to Jill and Tirian. Tirian sheds the chains with a sigh of relief, wrists and ankles suddenly light and unencumbered.
"Done?" the High King says shortly, suddenly looming up in the doorway. "Good. Come on."
Most of the torches in the hallway have been extinguished, and the other figure is shadowy and indistinguishable, the gleam of metal the only concrete thing about it.
"I'll take our rear," the High King says. "Follow Lucy. The others are waiting outside."
Lucy? Tirian thinks wildly, as the figure turns and grins at them, teeth white even amidst the shadows. "Hi, Eustace, Jill," she says. "How've you been?"
"Lu!" the High King says sharply, and she makes a flapping motion with one hand, long-bladed dagger stabbing the air.
"Yes, Pete, if you say so," she says. "Although you're really no fun at all." She sets off down the hall before the High King can answer, light and quick on her feet like the wind. Jill and Eustace follow her single-file and Tirian follows them, uncomfortably aware of the High King behind him. His fate at the hands of this man has been foretold for three hundred years.
They’ve been kept in a small stone fort that had served to guard a nearby town against bandits. The town has since been destroyed, but the fort remains, quartering Calormene soldiers. Tirian expects to be attacked at any moment – surely their escape will not go unnoticed by so many? – but all they pass are the dead bodies of the guards.
They emerge into the cool spring air, still chilled by the lingering winter, and Tirian automatically lifts his face to it, breathing in the scent of it. There's no smell of burning, and he's glad of that. For the first two years, he could smell burning flesh and burning wood with every breath he took.
Then he trips over the body of a dead Calormene. The High King catches his elbow to steady him and lets go almost immediately, eyes scanning the open ground. This land was wooded once, thick with it, but that's gone now. The earth is scored bare and empty by Calormene axes.
Two more figures flit out of the darkness. "We're clear," says the taller of the two, a youth with a sword and a cap of dark hair. "Go."
"You take them, Su and I will cover our six," the High King says.
The youth -- King Edmund, it must be, because there are four, and all the stories say there are always four -- nods shortly. "I'll take point," he says. "Lu, stay with them." He starts off without another word, just a shadow with a sword on the barren ground.
Queen Lucy hustles them in front of her. Tirian's legs are starting to ache; the manacles had prevented any real movement, and they’ve been chained for almost four days now. He keeps up gamely nonetheless, noting that Eustace and Jill are at least as tired, though they're not lagging as much as he is. Then again, they're younger.
He looks back once, and doesn't see the other two at all, at least at first. Then he sees the shadows of movement across the earth, on the patches of snow that haven’t melted yet. He doesn't know where they're finding cover, or if they're finding it at all, but the most he can see of them is the quick flicker of their shadows, the sudden gleam of moonlight as it catches the High King's hair or the horn on Queen Susan's hip. Because this last of them must be Queen Susan; she completes the quartet.
There's a stream nearby, running into the River Hliwe, and Edmund leads them into it. Tirian draws in a sharp breath as the water – snowmelt off the mountains of Archenland -- hits his legs, rising around his knees, but doesn't complain. If anyone's using dogs to track them -- Talking Dogs or not -- the water will throw off the scent.
Lucy catches his arm. "Is there anybody in the water who'll help us?" she asks, a bare whisper of sound. "Naiads, rusalka, banshees, kelpies --"
Tirian shakes his head. "There's no one," he says, and tries to whisper the words.
He doesn't do so well enough for Lucy's tastes, apparently, because she brushes a finger across his lips and says, "Shh," before moving forward, the water barely stirring around her bare legs. She's kilted her skirts up above her knees and Tirian finds himself glancing at the curves of her calves, smeared a little by the clear water.
There's a sudden hard grip on his shoulder and Tirian nearly falls, splashing a little as he turns to meet the High King's blue eyes. Peter doesn't say anything, just raises his eyebrows and lets go, moving back along the streambed. His sword is still in his hand.
Tirian doesn't look at Queen Lucy again.
The sun is beginning to rise over the horizon when they finally reach something that might actually be called woods, although the trees are sparse and small, too young to have dryads. The old trees have all been cut down, and a few of their stumps remain, though the Calormenes have ripped out most of them branch and root. Those stumps that are left are hacked and scarred, brutally burned; these are the ones too large to remove, large enough that Tirian could use one for a bed and still have room left over.
Lucy curses softly under her breath. "How dare they," she spits. "Not even the Telmarines --"
"We're not in the clear yet, Lu," the High King says from behind Tirian, voice sharp and short with anger, though so quiet it's barely more than a ghost on the breeze.
"We've been walking for hours," Jill protests.
"If you're sick of it, sit down," Edmund snaps. "We'll leave you for the Calormenes."
Eustace makes a horrified sound. "You wouldn't," he says, and then adds, a little helplessly, "Would you?"
"No one's leaving anyone behind," the High King says. "Although apparently moving silently isn't an option anymore. We'll leave the river here."
They splash over to the shore, shivering as they leave the chilled water. Peter motions his brother and sisters to either side and they spread out, flitting through the trees like ghosts with weapons drawn. In the light, Tirian has a better look at them: Lucy, small and slender, hair bundled back from her face with a pair of braids that holds the rest in check; Edmund, slim and sharp-faced, his eyes continually flicking around from face to face and tree to tree; Susan, beautiful and dark-haired, gaze narrowed inward and distant. She holds herself a little apart from her siblings and doesn't speak. On her face, Tirian can read the ravages of loss; it's a familiar enough expression these days.
And then there's the High King. Tirian is afraid to look at him straight-on, terrified that Peter will read his failure on his face, but Peter of Narnia is a brilliant figure, and he catches impressions from out of the corners of his eyes. Swift-footed, golden-haired (gold-crowned Peter, Fire-eater, Bittersteel, Summer's King), moving with a smooth economy of motion and an air of tight control, like his body is the weapon, not the sword in his fist or the hunting knife on his belt. (It was said that Peter of Narnia was a thousand-year swordsman, a warrior forged from Aslan's will and Narnia's need, and that he could not be defeated in battle, whether he fought alone or with an army at his back.)
"Clear," Edmund says, coming back, and Lucy and Susan echo it when they return.
"Take five, then," Peter says, sounding reluctant. "And don't talk." He sheathes his sword, and Tirian can't keep his gaze from flickering to the lion's head there as he sits down heaviliy on a stump. Eustace and Jill drop down beside him, panting and massaging their legs.
He watches as Edmund approaches Peter, bending his head so that the two brothers can whisper together. Peter nods in reply to something Edmund says and Edmund turns sharply on his heel, coming over to them. "Are there Calormene patrols in these woods?" he asks without preamble.
"Yes," Tirian says. "Every third day. But -- I'm not sure when the last one was."
Edmund snorts derisively. "What time? Morning, afternoon, evening, night?"
"I don't -- we haven't been in this area very often."
"Of course," Edmund mutters and looks up at Peter, who's watching them with one eyebrow raised.
"Get up," the High King says. "I don't want to stay in one place for too long."
Tirian drags himself up and they start walking again, the High King and his siblings flitting around them like ghosts, never staying in one position for more than a few minutes. By the progression of the sun, it's been an hour when they hear the hoofbeats.
The High King's hand is on Tirian's back instantly, shoving him down behind the charred remnants of a stump while Lucy strongarms Eustace and Jill over.
"Stay here," Peter orders, drawing his sword in one smooth motion. He turns toward the sound, motioning his siblings away. Susan's longbow is in her hands; Lucy produces a recurve horsebow half the size of Susan's bow, and Edmund unslings a second longbow from his back. They retreat to the meager cover of the trees and Peter stands still, waiting in silence. He doesn't look -- quite -- like the statues of him scattered across Narnia. Those usually portray him in armor. He's just in boiled leather now, plain and unadorned, but the sculptors had managed to capture the set of his face after all: calm, patient, vaguely disinterested. Tirian had always thought that Peter of Narnia would have cared more, but now he sees that the artists were right after all: he doesn't seem to care at all.
When the Calormenes become visible, their small, fast horses edging nimbly around the scraggly trees, Tirian realizes with a start that they aren't just Calormenes. There are two centaurs with them as well, and a rusalka -- this is how they were tracked through the river. His second realization is that the High King will hesitate, and that that hesitation will get him killed.
The High King doesn't hesitate.
He holds his ground until the first horse is nearly on him, and next to Tirian Jill makes a terrified sound and clutches at his hand. Then Peter's moving, faster than Tirian's ever seen anyone move before, and cuts half-through the horse's neck in one blow, ripping his sword free as the horse stumbles and falls at his feet, already pivoting to behead its rider. From the trees, arrows dart out, each one finding its mark as men and horses die. No arrows touch the three traitorous Narnians, but the High King is moving smoothly among the dead and dying, sword flashing. Only one of the centaurs manages to cross blades with him for more than a heartbeat, then he's dead as well, guts spilled out across the yellow-green grass as the High King turns away in time to meet the second centaur's blow, sword severing an arm at the elbow. He cuts the centaur's front legs out from beneath him and beheads him as he falls.
"Peter!" Susan shouts, panicked, and the High King turns to find the rusalka before him. One blow sends his sword flying and Peter stumbles backward, scrambling for the knife at his hip before he trips over the body of the centaur he's just killed.
On Jill's either side, Eustace gives a hoarse shout and tries to jerk up before Jill drags him back down. An arrow thuds into the tree behind them as a trio of mounted Calormene archers appear. One falls from his horse as Queen Susan steps out of the trees, drawing arrows so quickly from her quiver that she never seems to move at all.
Edmund emerges from the trees at a dead run, bow discarded and sword in his hand. He kills the fallen archer’s horse with a wide backhanded slash, but his attention is on Peter and the rusalka, who's reaching for the fallen High King with a stone knife in her fist. Water drips from her hair onto his face.
Three arrows bud in her back, two red-shafted, the other brown. The High King snatches the comb from her hair as the rusalka stiffens, and as he does she lets out a terrible cry that makes Tirian want to cover his ears. Peter rolls to the side to avoid her grab, clutching her comb to his chest, and then another red-shafted arrow sprouts from her neck. She convulses in agony, clawing at her throat, and then Edmund cuts her head off.
He stands still for a moment, panting, and leans down to offer his brother a hand up. Then three arrows cluster in his chest as a second trio of Calormene archers ride out of the trees. From where he’s crouching, Tirian can see the surprise on Edmund’s face as his sword falls from his hand before he crumples like a puppet with its strings cut.
"No!" Peter shouts, surging upright. His knife is in his hand now, sinuous and curved like something living, and he draws it back to his shoulder and throws, turning as soon as it's left his hand to kneel by his fallen brother. Tirian, watching, sees the knife bury itself in the nearest archer's throat a bare heartbeat after an arrow takes him in the eye.
Another arrow grazes the High King’s cheek as he snatches his brother’s sword from the ground, charging with a wordless roar of rage. He kills the nearest archer and his horse with one stroke, already moving away towards the next. Susan and Lucy’s arrows take out the others as Peter kills the last, blood spattering over his face in a fine arc. He turns away as the man falls, feet light on bloodslick grass before he falls to his knees beside Edmund’s limp body.
This time, Jill doesn't hold Eustace back when he scrambles up. She and Tirian follow more slowly as Peter pulls his brother upright, Edmund scrabbling blood-slick fingers around the shaft of an arrow to pull it free, gasping in pain. His sisters come running, their bows still in their hands, arrows nocked on the strings.
"We have to get back to the camp now," Eustace says, voice only shaking a little bit as he reaches for Edmund. Peter slaps his hand away without looking up. "There are healers there -- we can --"
"What do we need healers for?" Peter demands, his voice harsh. He breaks the last two arrows and pulls them free one-handed, tossing them aside. There’s blood so thick on him it looks like he’s been bathing in it.
"Well, if you want him to live --"
"Shut up, Eustace," Edmund says through gritted teeth as Lucy drops to her knees beside them, heedless of the blood soaking the ground. She draws a familiar crystal vial from her belt, and Tirian thinks frantically of some way to tell her that that cordial hasn't healed anyone in three hundred years, if it ever did, and that it's nothing more than a saint's relic. Eustace does it for him.
"That thing doesn't work --"
"The only way it's not going to work," Edmund gasps, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth as he forces out the words, "is if I've somehow built up another immunity while -- getting shot at by the fucking Malays --"
"Shh," Peter says, his hand light on his brother's hair, and Edmund turns his face blindly into Peter's palm.
"Oh, Jesus, Pete," Edmund says, his words beginning to slur. The entire front of his surcoat is wet with blood. He clutches at his brother's sleeve. "Pete, Aslan, Peter --"
"I've got you, Ed," the High King tells him, his voice infinitely gentle, and then he turns to Lucy and shouts, "What the fuck are you waiting for? Aren't you supposed to be a fucking nurse?"
She almost drops the vial as she fumbles the cap off. "It's been a while," she snaps at him, and lets two drops of potion fall in Edmund's mouth as Peter turns his head toward her.
It's too late is on the tip of Tirian's tongue, because it strikes him he's about to see one of the ancient sovereigns of Narnia die in front of him. It's not the first man who's died for him; he doubts it will be the last. Then Edmund lets out a shuddering breath and turns his face back against Peter's bloody hand.
"Now I know I'm home," he says, and passes out.
Peter catches him before he can hit the ground, hugging him tightly against his shoulder. "Fuck," he says, soft as a prayer, and lowers Edmund softly down, sitting back on his heels and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, not seeming to notice the blood he's smeared even further across his face.
Susan reaches out to touch his shoulder, and Peter flinches. He looks around at her with wide eyes. "We can't stay here," she tells him.
Peter swallows, visibly getting himself back together, and brushes a hand lightly through Edmund's hair before he straightens. "Right," he says. "Anybody else hurt? Good. Get your gear; we have to get moving. It's too bad none of the horses survived; we could have used them."
He stoops to retrieve his sword and Edmund's, cleaning them both absently on the clothes of one of the dead Calormenes before resheathing them, then crosses to jerk his hunting knife free of the archer's body. Susan paces back and forth sliding arrows free, discarding the broken ones and putting the good ones back in her quiver. A moment later she disappears behind a tree and comes back with Edmund's discarded longbow, which she holds out to Eustace as he scrambles up.
"Edmund said you could shoot," she says, almost a question.
Eustace stares at the bow in her hands. "I -- Pole is better." His voice is uncertain, and he looks at Susan like she's a stranger.
Susan turns towards Jill. Jill takes bow and quiver hesitantly, eyes sliding past Susan's when she says, "I've never -- I mean, I haven't -- not someone."
"What have you been doing since you got here?" Susan asks blankly. "Don't hesitate," she adds, and walks away, stooping by her sister, who's still on her knees by Edmund's unconscious body.
Lucy twists viciously away from Susan. "Don't touch me," she snaps, and Susan lets her hand drop. "You damned traitor," Lucy adds, whispering the words, and Susan flinches and walks away, her grip on her bow white-knuckled.
Peter passes her the arrow from the archer in silence, and then he leans forward and says something against her ear. Susan smiles a little, weakly, and then Peter pulls her into a short, sharp hug. She wipes the smears of blood off his face with the side of her thumb. Tirian sees Lucy glare as they part and come back.
“What are you all standing around for?” Peter demands, looking around at them. “Take a weapon. It’s not as if they have any use for them.” He toes the nearest body – one of the centaurs – his face bitter.
Tirian stoops to pick up a curved Calormene blade, fumbling the knot on the fallen horseman’s swordbelt as he pulls it free and ties it around his own waist. A few paces away Eustace and Jill do the same thing. Dead bodies they can handle; Tirian knows that of them, at least. They’ve seen a lot of dead bodies in five years, Narnian and Calormene alike.
“Get up, little sister,” Peter says to Lucy, offering her a hand.
She shakes her head and gets up on her own, replacing the cordial on her belt. She snatches the arrows Susan holds out to her as if Susan’s touch might burn her, then turns to Peter, her face crumpling. “Oh, Pete, I’m sorry,” she bursts out. “I just couldn’t – I didn’t – it’s been so long and I haven’t really – I’m only a trainee, really, not a real nurse. Yet. I thought it would be easier. It used to be easier.”
“Just don’t do it again,” Peter says. He touches her wrist with the tips of his bloody fingers and adds, “Maybe it’s easier for me. This is my day job, you know. Mine and Edmund’s.”
“It’s supposed to be mine too!” she exclaims. “I used to be able to do this. I used to be able to do this all the time and not even blink, it didn’t mean anything then, but I just couldn’t, I just froze, like I’d never seen blood before, never –”
“Just don’t do it again,” Peter says more firmly. “Now’s not the time, Lu. You and Su spread out to see if there’s anyone else on our tail, then come back and catch up with us.”
She nods tightly, lower lip caught between her teeth, and bends to pick up her bow, putting an arrow to the string.
“Peter,” Susan begins, and Peter says sharply, “You heard me.”
There’s an arrow on her bow before Tirian can blink, and then she moves off, parallel to Lucy.
“What do you want us to do?” Eustace asks.
“Nothing stupid,” Peter says shortly. He leans down and heaves Edmund up over his shoulders, grunting a little under the weight, and starts walking forward.
It’s another two hours before they see any free Narnians, and that’s only once they’ve entered real forest, the deep forests of the west that are still untouched by the Calormenes. Ahead of them, Peter stops abruptly; Jill nearly runs into his back. Tirian puts his hand on the hilt of his Calormene sword, liking the feel of the weapon there but hating that it’s not a Narnian sword. No king of Narnia should have to fight with a foreign weapon.
“Come out,” Peter says shortly. “I see you, kvikindi.”
Tirian blinks in surprise as the huldra slips out from behind a tree trunk. He hadn’t seen her. He doesn’t know her, either; they’ve been moving in the opposite direction of the camp he, Eustace, and Jill had been living at. “It has been a long time since anyone called us that, my king,” she says, dipping in a graceful curtsy. “Is all well?”
“If you can call it that,” Peter replies. “I wouldn’t do so myself, but if you’re so inclined, feel free.”
“I would not dare disagree with you, my king,” says the huldra. She puts her head to one side, tail curling in the air behind her. “Is something amiss with the King of Evening?”
“Not at the moment,” the High King says blandly, which makes no sense at all, because King Edmund is unconscious across his shoulders, and Peter’s been carrying him for the past two hours without flinching or stumbling, which Tirian certainly would have done by now.
“Although,” he adds, “something will certainly be amiss with me if we don’t reach your camp soon, because Ed’s doing a number on my back.”
The huldra looks startled. “Of course, my king!” she exclaims. “I have been remiss in my duties. Allow me to relieve you –”
“No,” Peter says flatly. “If you really have to do something, keep an eye on them, but I’ll take care of Edmund.”
“Oh,” the huldra says, and then seems to notice Tirian for the first time. “Oh,” she says again, sounding depressed. “You found him.”
Jill makes an indignant sound. “This is the king of Narnia!” she exclaims. “You should –”
She stops abruptly when Eustace kicks her in the shin. Tirian would say something about it not being appropriate to hit women, but he rather agrees with Eustace at the moment.
“Oh, hullo!” Lucy says brightly from behind them, and Tirian turns to find her regarding the huldra with her head cocked to one side inquisitively. Off to the side Queen Susan is silent, bow still nocked in her hands. Her expression is cool as she looks at the huldra.
“Shouldn’t Edmund have woken up by now, Peter?” she asks.
“Probably,” the High King says tightly. “Now, if we could get moving and not just stand here waiting to get attacked --”
“Of course!” the huldra exclaims, her expression suddenly scandalized, and looks at the High King anxiously.
From where he’s standing, Tirian can’t see Peter’s face, but he hears the annoyed breath the High King lets out before he says, “Lay on, MacDuff.”
Susan snorts softly to herself, and the huldra looks confused.
“Forget it,” the High King snaps. “I’ll find my own damn way,” and starts forward.
The huldra doesn’t move until he’s past her, and then she falls into step behind her, cow’s tail lashing furiously. She keeps turning her head to sneak looks at Queen Susan and Queen Lucy, but utterly ignores Tirian, Eustace, and Jill.
They’re not far from the camp. Tirian hears it before he sees it, a constant murmur that grows into a familiar dull babble of sound as dwellings and people start to appear, a sudden distinction from wild forest to forced inhabitation. A fox catches her kits as they start to spring forward into their path, and a dryad steps out of her tree and stares. A pair of minotaurs loom abruptly up out of the undergrowth, not seeming to notice as a crow lands on the branch above them, wings mantling. More and more Narnians, human and otherwise (though there are fewer of the former, to Tirian’s discomfort) appear, lining their path.
“Jesus,” Eustace murmurs, and Jill slips her hand into his, her face set and pale. Tirian looks from side to side, trying to find a familiar face, but everyone he sees is a stranger. Peter, Susan, and Lucy don’t look anywhere except straight ahead. The women have replaced their bows in their quivers and their hands are open and empty, their faces set. They move just behind Peter, to either side, flanking him.
Tirian has never felt like more of an imposter in his life.
Like most of the camps, this one is organized around a wide clearing, sunlight filtering down through the canopy above them. Unlike the one they’ve been staying at, there are ruins here, edges of broken wall worn away by time, scattered stones with makers’ marks nearly indistinguishable. The forest has grown up around it; the clearing is roughly marked out by the dark stones. More Narnians linger at their edges, silent and watching, expressions awed.
In the center of the clearing are the remains of a huge fire, half-burned logs still piled up amidst the ashes. He sees Lucy turn her head to look at it, then away, back towards her brother.
“Found your missing king,” Peter says flatly. “And now that we’ve done your dirty work, I want a place to sleep and something to eat. My brother’s hurt.”
A red-bearded dwarf steps forward. A dwarf. Tirian hates dwarves.
“Of course, my liege,” he says. “We have healers, very skilled –”
“That’s taken care of,” Peter says. “And I wouldn’t trust your healers to work on my brother anyway.”
Tirian shoots a sharp look at the dwarf to see how he’s going to react, because if he ever said anything like that he’d be laughed out of Narnia, but all the dwarf does is nod. “Of course, my liege. I fear that the accommodations we can offer are small and meager, nothing like what you must be accustomed to, but –”
“I’ve spent the better part of the past six years living in a tent with three hundred other men, being shot at, being shelled, and sometimes, just for a change of pace, having people trying to kill me in a number of other myriad and very interesting ways. As long as I have somewhere to sleep, I’ll be fine,” Peter snaps. “It doesn’t even have to have a roof.”
The dwarf looks horrified. “The very best we can offer, my liege,” he says quickly, nearly babbling in his hurry to get the words out. “Come with me and I shall show you your quarters.”
“And Eustace, Jill, and King Tirian too,” Peter says.
The dwarf looks at Tirian, expression immediately switching from fawning adoration to earnest dislike. “I suppose something can be arranged,” he says reluctantly. “Celipe will find something,” he adds and sidles along the edge of the clearing. “My liege, if you will accompany me?”
“Right,” the High King says. “And just for the record, I’m not going to murder anyone that turns their back on me, if that’s what you all are afraid of. It’s getting inconvenient. And annoying.”
“Oh, is that what it is?” Lucy asks brightly into the shocked silence that follows the High King’s words. “I thought you all were just very shy.”
A cat, somewhere in the circle of watching Narnians, snorts softly to itself, and Lucy turns to grin in its general direction. “We don’t bite, you know,” she exhorts. “Or at least, I don’t. Peter’s another matter entirely.”
“Lu,” Peter says, and his voice is suddenly fond. “Come on. Edmund’s gained another few stone since the last time I had to do this, and my back hasn’t been right since the damned crash.”
“Oh, all right,” Lucy says. “If you insist.” She follows her brother and the dwarf, smiling around at all the Narnians.
Queen Susan stays still for a moment, her eyes on Peter and Lucy, and then follows as well. She doesn’t look around, just lifts her skirts to step over the crumbled wall at the edge of the clearing.
“Your grace,” a young centaur says, coming up to him. “A Calormene attack took five of our band. Their quarters will do for you. Come with me.”
“Thank you,” Tirian says, a little absently; his attention is still on the High King and his sisters, vanished from sight behind the trees.
“They’re just my annoying cousins,” Eustace mutters to himself as they leave the clearing. “What makes them so special?”
The centaur – Celipe, Tirian assumes – turns his head. He’s young, no more than a teenager, wearing a patched vest over a worn white shirt. “They are the kings and queens of summer,” he says. “They will return Narnia to glory. We have long prayed for their return, and now they have come. They shall give us Narnia as it was in the days of old, in the days of eternal summer.”
Part One 0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17
Part Two 00 | 000 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | Interlude | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31
Author:
bedlamsbardFandom: Chronicles of Narnia movieverse/bookverse
Rating: PG-13
Summary: And the end of all our exploring / will be to arrive where we started. An AU of The Last Battle, some five years after that book begins.
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia and its characters, situations, settings, etc., belong to C.S. Lewis. Certain characters, situations, settings, etc., belong to Walden Media. Title and quote from T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets: Little Gidding.
Author's Notes: This is part one, obviously, and this is also the first WIP I've posted since 2006. (And that WIP was abandoned, so one can see I'm understandably nervous about posting another one.) The structure of this lends it to being posted in sections, though, so that's how it's going up. Because of this, however, it's not getting posted to any comms until the whole thing is done.
When he'd ruled Narnia in actuality rather than just in name (and most days Tirian thinks he doesn't even do that anymore), he'd never seen the inside of his own gaol cells. Now that he is -- in far more intimate detail than he'd prefer -- he's looking back on everyone he condemned to prison and wondering if they really deserved this, being cut off from light and air and the sound of wind and rain. Or maybe his prisons weren't like that; maybe this is something the Calormenes have changed.
They've been here for three days. Tirian knows that the Calormenes plan to move them to Cair Paravel soon, knows that he's going to be mutilated at the very least, if not simply executed out of hand, and is almost certain that Eustace and Jill are going to be taken back to Calormen and sold. Not attractive prospects.
Even less attractive once he considers the fact that they were almost certainly betrayed by some of the Narnians in his camp.
Sighing, he stretches his long legs out in front of him, making whatever's alive in the rushes scatter. Jill, asleep with her head on Eustace's shoulder, doesn't even stir, but Eustace glances over at him, nods once, and closes his eyes again. They both cling to a kind of desperate hope that Tirian can't even begin to muster up, but after five years, hope is all they have, and it's fast fading. Tirian can't remember the last time he really believed they'd succeed, and now -- now Narnia is scattered rebels in the deep woods, those that haven't been burned or felled by the Calormenes. Narnia is men and creatures alike hanging from the gallows or consigned to the fires. Narnia is a flurry of whispers, of suspicion, of betrayal. Narnia is raw and laid bare, broken open and violated.
He knows his history. The last time Narnia was ripped apart like this was the Dying Times that followed the Golden Age of the High King, sixteen hundred years past. It was another thousand years before the country saw peace again, this time beneath the Telmarines. If history repeats itself, it will be the same now, perhaps. Tirian already knows that he will go down in history as the last of the Telmarine kings, the king who lost Narnia. No Peter the Magnificent or Caspian the Seafarer for him: Tirian the Unworthy, rather. If the Calormenes don't kill him, his own subjects will.
There's a sound outside, a solid thunk audible through the airslit at the top of the wall, and Tirian glances up, even though he already knows he won't see anything. The airslit only lets a thin slip of moonlight into the cell, and it's too high up for him to see out of. On a happier day he might have wished for rescue, but he knows better now. The free Narnians will let the Calormenes kill him and then turn around and call it a tragedy. Or good riddance.
Another few minutes and the sound of a scuffle, a bit-off curse in a language Tirian doesn't know, and that sound makes Eustace's eyes snap open. He shakes Jill awake and scrambles to his feet, clenching his fists and nearly tripping over the chain binding his ankles together. Tirian rises too, made slow by his own manacles, and shushes Jill as she whispers, "What --"
The cell door is five inches of iron-bound hardwood, impenetrable. Tirian listens to the key turn in the lock and wishes for a weapon.
He doesn't recognize the man who comes in, but he recognizes the sword. The blade is blood-streaked, but the runes are practically glowing, and the rubies in the golden lion's head gleam.
"How dare --" he begins automatically, heart in his throat from horror, because no one uses that sword, no one ever uses that sword, and then Eustace bursts out, "Peter?"
"Flight Lieutenant Pevensie?" Jill adds while Eustace is still getting out the last syllable, and she sounds shocked and surprised.
Abruptly, Tirian recognizes him. It's been five years, but the vision he had is burned into his mind, and he can see this man now, rising from the table with a face like stone. I am Peter the High King.
And another memory, his tutor's voice when he'd only been a boy in his father’s Cair Paravel. Legend says that the High King made a promise to Caspian the Telmarine -- he was not yet the Seafarer -- when he left Narnia: that if Narnia should fall through any action of Caspian's house, then he would return and rebuild Narnia anew on the bones and blood of the traitorous king.
Peter of Narnia is here to kill him. He's sure of it.
"Eustace. Jill," the High King says, tossing something that jangles in the air at Eustace, who barely gets his hands up in time to catch it. The guard's key ring. "King Tirian, I presume," he adds, and now Tirian knows why The Lay of the High King calls him "cold-eyed Peter." He's seen winters warmer than the High King's gaze. "We'll talk later. Hurry up. I don't want to linger longer than I have to."
He leaves the cell to stand in the hallway. Another set of footsteps approach, and there are whispered voices -- the High King's and a stranger's.
Eustace gets his manacles off and then turns to Jill and Tirian. Tirian sheds the chains with a sigh of relief, wrists and ankles suddenly light and unencumbered.
"Done?" the High King says shortly, suddenly looming up in the doorway. "Good. Come on."
Most of the torches in the hallway have been extinguished, and the other figure is shadowy and indistinguishable, the gleam of metal the only concrete thing about it.
"I'll take our rear," the High King says. "Follow Lucy. The others are waiting outside."
Lucy? Tirian thinks wildly, as the figure turns and grins at them, teeth white even amidst the shadows. "Hi, Eustace, Jill," she says. "How've you been?"
"Lu!" the High King says sharply, and she makes a flapping motion with one hand, long-bladed dagger stabbing the air.
"Yes, Pete, if you say so," she says. "Although you're really no fun at all." She sets off down the hall before the High King can answer, light and quick on her feet like the wind. Jill and Eustace follow her single-file and Tirian follows them, uncomfortably aware of the High King behind him. His fate at the hands of this man has been foretold for three hundred years.
They’ve been kept in a small stone fort that had served to guard a nearby town against bandits. The town has since been destroyed, but the fort remains, quartering Calormene soldiers. Tirian expects to be attacked at any moment – surely their escape will not go unnoticed by so many? – but all they pass are the dead bodies of the guards.
They emerge into the cool spring air, still chilled by the lingering winter, and Tirian automatically lifts his face to it, breathing in the scent of it. There's no smell of burning, and he's glad of that. For the first two years, he could smell burning flesh and burning wood with every breath he took.
Then he trips over the body of a dead Calormene. The High King catches his elbow to steady him and lets go almost immediately, eyes scanning the open ground. This land was wooded once, thick with it, but that's gone now. The earth is scored bare and empty by Calormene axes.
Two more figures flit out of the darkness. "We're clear," says the taller of the two, a youth with a sword and a cap of dark hair. "Go."
"You take them, Su and I will cover our six," the High King says.
The youth -- King Edmund, it must be, because there are four, and all the stories say there are always four -- nods shortly. "I'll take point," he says. "Lu, stay with them." He starts off without another word, just a shadow with a sword on the barren ground.
Queen Lucy hustles them in front of her. Tirian's legs are starting to ache; the manacles had prevented any real movement, and they’ve been chained for almost four days now. He keeps up gamely nonetheless, noting that Eustace and Jill are at least as tired, though they're not lagging as much as he is. Then again, they're younger.
He looks back once, and doesn't see the other two at all, at least at first. Then he sees the shadows of movement across the earth, on the patches of snow that haven’t melted yet. He doesn't know where they're finding cover, or if they're finding it at all, but the most he can see of them is the quick flicker of their shadows, the sudden gleam of moonlight as it catches the High King's hair or the horn on Queen Susan's hip. Because this last of them must be Queen Susan; she completes the quartet.
There's a stream nearby, running into the River Hliwe, and Edmund leads them into it. Tirian draws in a sharp breath as the water – snowmelt off the mountains of Archenland -- hits his legs, rising around his knees, but doesn't complain. If anyone's using dogs to track them -- Talking Dogs or not -- the water will throw off the scent.
Lucy catches his arm. "Is there anybody in the water who'll help us?" she asks, a bare whisper of sound. "Naiads, rusalka, banshees, kelpies --"
Tirian shakes his head. "There's no one," he says, and tries to whisper the words.
He doesn't do so well enough for Lucy's tastes, apparently, because she brushes a finger across his lips and says, "Shh," before moving forward, the water barely stirring around her bare legs. She's kilted her skirts up above her knees and Tirian finds himself glancing at the curves of her calves, smeared a little by the clear water.
There's a sudden hard grip on his shoulder and Tirian nearly falls, splashing a little as he turns to meet the High King's blue eyes. Peter doesn't say anything, just raises his eyebrows and lets go, moving back along the streambed. His sword is still in his hand.
Tirian doesn't look at Queen Lucy again.
The sun is beginning to rise over the horizon when they finally reach something that might actually be called woods, although the trees are sparse and small, too young to have dryads. The old trees have all been cut down, and a few of their stumps remain, though the Calormenes have ripped out most of them branch and root. Those stumps that are left are hacked and scarred, brutally burned; these are the ones too large to remove, large enough that Tirian could use one for a bed and still have room left over.
Lucy curses softly under her breath. "How dare they," she spits. "Not even the Telmarines --"
"We're not in the clear yet, Lu," the High King says from behind Tirian, voice sharp and short with anger, though so quiet it's barely more than a ghost on the breeze.
"We've been walking for hours," Jill protests.
"If you're sick of it, sit down," Edmund snaps. "We'll leave you for the Calormenes."
Eustace makes a horrified sound. "You wouldn't," he says, and then adds, a little helplessly, "Would you?"
"No one's leaving anyone behind," the High King says. "Although apparently moving silently isn't an option anymore. We'll leave the river here."
They splash over to the shore, shivering as they leave the chilled water. Peter motions his brother and sisters to either side and they spread out, flitting through the trees like ghosts with weapons drawn. In the light, Tirian has a better look at them: Lucy, small and slender, hair bundled back from her face with a pair of braids that holds the rest in check; Edmund, slim and sharp-faced, his eyes continually flicking around from face to face and tree to tree; Susan, beautiful and dark-haired, gaze narrowed inward and distant. She holds herself a little apart from her siblings and doesn't speak. On her face, Tirian can read the ravages of loss; it's a familiar enough expression these days.
And then there's the High King. Tirian is afraid to look at him straight-on, terrified that Peter will read his failure on his face, but Peter of Narnia is a brilliant figure, and he catches impressions from out of the corners of his eyes. Swift-footed, golden-haired (gold-crowned Peter, Fire-eater, Bittersteel, Summer's King), moving with a smooth economy of motion and an air of tight control, like his body is the weapon, not the sword in his fist or the hunting knife on his belt. (It was said that Peter of Narnia was a thousand-year swordsman, a warrior forged from Aslan's will and Narnia's need, and that he could not be defeated in battle, whether he fought alone or with an army at his back.)
"Clear," Edmund says, coming back, and Lucy and Susan echo it when they return.
"Take five, then," Peter says, sounding reluctant. "And don't talk." He sheathes his sword, and Tirian can't keep his gaze from flickering to the lion's head there as he sits down heaviliy on a stump. Eustace and Jill drop down beside him, panting and massaging their legs.
He watches as Edmund approaches Peter, bending his head so that the two brothers can whisper together. Peter nods in reply to something Edmund says and Edmund turns sharply on his heel, coming over to them. "Are there Calormene patrols in these woods?" he asks without preamble.
"Yes," Tirian says. "Every third day. But -- I'm not sure when the last one was."
Edmund snorts derisively. "What time? Morning, afternoon, evening, night?"
"I don't -- we haven't been in this area very often."
"Of course," Edmund mutters and looks up at Peter, who's watching them with one eyebrow raised.
"Get up," the High King says. "I don't want to stay in one place for too long."
Tirian drags himself up and they start walking again, the High King and his siblings flitting around them like ghosts, never staying in one position for more than a few minutes. By the progression of the sun, it's been an hour when they hear the hoofbeats.
The High King's hand is on Tirian's back instantly, shoving him down behind the charred remnants of a stump while Lucy strongarms Eustace and Jill over.
"Stay here," Peter orders, drawing his sword in one smooth motion. He turns toward the sound, motioning his siblings away. Susan's longbow is in her hands; Lucy produces a recurve horsebow half the size of Susan's bow, and Edmund unslings a second longbow from his back. They retreat to the meager cover of the trees and Peter stands still, waiting in silence. He doesn't look -- quite -- like the statues of him scattered across Narnia. Those usually portray him in armor. He's just in boiled leather now, plain and unadorned, but the sculptors had managed to capture the set of his face after all: calm, patient, vaguely disinterested. Tirian had always thought that Peter of Narnia would have cared more, but now he sees that the artists were right after all: he doesn't seem to care at all.
When the Calormenes become visible, their small, fast horses edging nimbly around the scraggly trees, Tirian realizes with a start that they aren't just Calormenes. There are two centaurs with them as well, and a rusalka -- this is how they were tracked through the river. His second realization is that the High King will hesitate, and that that hesitation will get him killed.
The High King doesn't hesitate.
He holds his ground until the first horse is nearly on him, and next to Tirian Jill makes a terrified sound and clutches at his hand. Then Peter's moving, faster than Tirian's ever seen anyone move before, and cuts half-through the horse's neck in one blow, ripping his sword free as the horse stumbles and falls at his feet, already pivoting to behead its rider. From the trees, arrows dart out, each one finding its mark as men and horses die. No arrows touch the three traitorous Narnians, but the High King is moving smoothly among the dead and dying, sword flashing. Only one of the centaurs manages to cross blades with him for more than a heartbeat, then he's dead as well, guts spilled out across the yellow-green grass as the High King turns away in time to meet the second centaur's blow, sword severing an arm at the elbow. He cuts the centaur's front legs out from beneath him and beheads him as he falls.
"Peter!" Susan shouts, panicked, and the High King turns to find the rusalka before him. One blow sends his sword flying and Peter stumbles backward, scrambling for the knife at his hip before he trips over the body of the centaur he's just killed.
On Jill's either side, Eustace gives a hoarse shout and tries to jerk up before Jill drags him back down. An arrow thuds into the tree behind them as a trio of mounted Calormene archers appear. One falls from his horse as Queen Susan steps out of the trees, drawing arrows so quickly from her quiver that she never seems to move at all.
Edmund emerges from the trees at a dead run, bow discarded and sword in his hand. He kills the fallen archer’s horse with a wide backhanded slash, but his attention is on Peter and the rusalka, who's reaching for the fallen High King with a stone knife in her fist. Water drips from her hair onto his face.
Three arrows bud in her back, two red-shafted, the other brown. The High King snatches the comb from her hair as the rusalka stiffens, and as he does she lets out a terrible cry that makes Tirian want to cover his ears. Peter rolls to the side to avoid her grab, clutching her comb to his chest, and then another red-shafted arrow sprouts from her neck. She convulses in agony, clawing at her throat, and then Edmund cuts her head off.
He stands still for a moment, panting, and leans down to offer his brother a hand up. Then three arrows cluster in his chest as a second trio of Calormene archers ride out of the trees. From where he’s crouching, Tirian can see the surprise on Edmund’s face as his sword falls from his hand before he crumples like a puppet with its strings cut.
"No!" Peter shouts, surging upright. His knife is in his hand now, sinuous and curved like something living, and he draws it back to his shoulder and throws, turning as soon as it's left his hand to kneel by his fallen brother. Tirian, watching, sees the knife bury itself in the nearest archer's throat a bare heartbeat after an arrow takes him in the eye.
Another arrow grazes the High King’s cheek as he snatches his brother’s sword from the ground, charging with a wordless roar of rage. He kills the nearest archer and his horse with one stroke, already moving away towards the next. Susan and Lucy’s arrows take out the others as Peter kills the last, blood spattering over his face in a fine arc. He turns away as the man falls, feet light on bloodslick grass before he falls to his knees beside Edmund’s limp body.
This time, Jill doesn't hold Eustace back when he scrambles up. She and Tirian follow more slowly as Peter pulls his brother upright, Edmund scrabbling blood-slick fingers around the shaft of an arrow to pull it free, gasping in pain. His sisters come running, their bows still in their hands, arrows nocked on the strings.
"We have to get back to the camp now," Eustace says, voice only shaking a little bit as he reaches for Edmund. Peter slaps his hand away without looking up. "There are healers there -- we can --"
"What do we need healers for?" Peter demands, his voice harsh. He breaks the last two arrows and pulls them free one-handed, tossing them aside. There’s blood so thick on him it looks like he’s been bathing in it.
"Well, if you want him to live --"
"Shut up, Eustace," Edmund says through gritted teeth as Lucy drops to her knees beside them, heedless of the blood soaking the ground. She draws a familiar crystal vial from her belt, and Tirian thinks frantically of some way to tell her that that cordial hasn't healed anyone in three hundred years, if it ever did, and that it's nothing more than a saint's relic. Eustace does it for him.
"That thing doesn't work --"
"The only way it's not going to work," Edmund gasps, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth as he forces out the words, "is if I've somehow built up another immunity while -- getting shot at by the fucking Malays --"
"Shh," Peter says, his hand light on his brother's hair, and Edmund turns his face blindly into Peter's palm.
"Oh, Jesus, Pete," Edmund says, his words beginning to slur. The entire front of his surcoat is wet with blood. He clutches at his brother's sleeve. "Pete, Aslan, Peter --"
"I've got you, Ed," the High King tells him, his voice infinitely gentle, and then he turns to Lucy and shouts, "What the fuck are you waiting for? Aren't you supposed to be a fucking nurse?"
She almost drops the vial as she fumbles the cap off. "It's been a while," she snaps at him, and lets two drops of potion fall in Edmund's mouth as Peter turns his head toward her.
It's too late is on the tip of Tirian's tongue, because it strikes him he's about to see one of the ancient sovereigns of Narnia die in front of him. It's not the first man who's died for him; he doubts it will be the last. Then Edmund lets out a shuddering breath and turns his face back against Peter's bloody hand.
"Now I know I'm home," he says, and passes out.
Peter catches him before he can hit the ground, hugging him tightly against his shoulder. "Fuck," he says, soft as a prayer, and lowers Edmund softly down, sitting back on his heels and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, not seeming to notice the blood he's smeared even further across his face.
Susan reaches out to touch his shoulder, and Peter flinches. He looks around at her with wide eyes. "We can't stay here," she tells him.
Peter swallows, visibly getting himself back together, and brushes a hand lightly through Edmund's hair before he straightens. "Right," he says. "Anybody else hurt? Good. Get your gear; we have to get moving. It's too bad none of the horses survived; we could have used them."
He stoops to retrieve his sword and Edmund's, cleaning them both absently on the clothes of one of the dead Calormenes before resheathing them, then crosses to jerk his hunting knife free of the archer's body. Susan paces back and forth sliding arrows free, discarding the broken ones and putting the good ones back in her quiver. A moment later she disappears behind a tree and comes back with Edmund's discarded longbow, which she holds out to Eustace as he scrambles up.
"Edmund said you could shoot," she says, almost a question.
Eustace stares at the bow in her hands. "I -- Pole is better." His voice is uncertain, and he looks at Susan like she's a stranger.
Susan turns towards Jill. Jill takes bow and quiver hesitantly, eyes sliding past Susan's when she says, "I've never -- I mean, I haven't -- not someone."
"What have you been doing since you got here?" Susan asks blankly. "Don't hesitate," she adds, and walks away, stooping by her sister, who's still on her knees by Edmund's unconscious body.
Lucy twists viciously away from Susan. "Don't touch me," she snaps, and Susan lets her hand drop. "You damned traitor," Lucy adds, whispering the words, and Susan flinches and walks away, her grip on her bow white-knuckled.
Peter passes her the arrow from the archer in silence, and then he leans forward and says something against her ear. Susan smiles a little, weakly, and then Peter pulls her into a short, sharp hug. She wipes the smears of blood off his face with the side of her thumb. Tirian sees Lucy glare as they part and come back.
“What are you all standing around for?” Peter demands, looking around at them. “Take a weapon. It’s not as if they have any use for them.” He toes the nearest body – one of the centaurs – his face bitter.
Tirian stoops to pick up a curved Calormene blade, fumbling the knot on the fallen horseman’s swordbelt as he pulls it free and ties it around his own waist. A few paces away Eustace and Jill do the same thing. Dead bodies they can handle; Tirian knows that of them, at least. They’ve seen a lot of dead bodies in five years, Narnian and Calormene alike.
“Get up, little sister,” Peter says to Lucy, offering her a hand.
She shakes her head and gets up on her own, replacing the cordial on her belt. She snatches the arrows Susan holds out to her as if Susan’s touch might burn her, then turns to Peter, her face crumpling. “Oh, Pete, I’m sorry,” she bursts out. “I just couldn’t – I didn’t – it’s been so long and I haven’t really – I’m only a trainee, really, not a real nurse. Yet. I thought it would be easier. It used to be easier.”
“Just don’t do it again,” Peter says. He touches her wrist with the tips of his bloody fingers and adds, “Maybe it’s easier for me. This is my day job, you know. Mine and Edmund’s.”
“It’s supposed to be mine too!” she exclaims. “I used to be able to do this. I used to be able to do this all the time and not even blink, it didn’t mean anything then, but I just couldn’t, I just froze, like I’d never seen blood before, never –”
“Just don’t do it again,” Peter says more firmly. “Now’s not the time, Lu. You and Su spread out to see if there’s anyone else on our tail, then come back and catch up with us.”
She nods tightly, lower lip caught between her teeth, and bends to pick up her bow, putting an arrow to the string.
“Peter,” Susan begins, and Peter says sharply, “You heard me.”
There’s an arrow on her bow before Tirian can blink, and then she moves off, parallel to Lucy.
“What do you want us to do?” Eustace asks.
“Nothing stupid,” Peter says shortly. He leans down and heaves Edmund up over his shoulders, grunting a little under the weight, and starts walking forward.
It’s another two hours before they see any free Narnians, and that’s only once they’ve entered real forest, the deep forests of the west that are still untouched by the Calormenes. Ahead of them, Peter stops abruptly; Jill nearly runs into his back. Tirian puts his hand on the hilt of his Calormene sword, liking the feel of the weapon there but hating that it’s not a Narnian sword. No king of Narnia should have to fight with a foreign weapon.
“Come out,” Peter says shortly. “I see you, kvikindi.”
Tirian blinks in surprise as the huldra slips out from behind a tree trunk. He hadn’t seen her. He doesn’t know her, either; they’ve been moving in the opposite direction of the camp he, Eustace, and Jill had been living at. “It has been a long time since anyone called us that, my king,” she says, dipping in a graceful curtsy. “Is all well?”
“If you can call it that,” Peter replies. “I wouldn’t do so myself, but if you’re so inclined, feel free.”
“I would not dare disagree with you, my king,” says the huldra. She puts her head to one side, tail curling in the air behind her. “Is something amiss with the King of Evening?”
“Not at the moment,” the High King says blandly, which makes no sense at all, because King Edmund is unconscious across his shoulders, and Peter’s been carrying him for the past two hours without flinching or stumbling, which Tirian certainly would have done by now.
“Although,” he adds, “something will certainly be amiss with me if we don’t reach your camp soon, because Ed’s doing a number on my back.”
The huldra looks startled. “Of course, my king!” she exclaims. “I have been remiss in my duties. Allow me to relieve you –”
“No,” Peter says flatly. “If you really have to do something, keep an eye on them, but I’ll take care of Edmund.”
“Oh,” the huldra says, and then seems to notice Tirian for the first time. “Oh,” she says again, sounding depressed. “You found him.”
Jill makes an indignant sound. “This is the king of Narnia!” she exclaims. “You should –”
She stops abruptly when Eustace kicks her in the shin. Tirian would say something about it not being appropriate to hit women, but he rather agrees with Eustace at the moment.
“Oh, hullo!” Lucy says brightly from behind them, and Tirian turns to find her regarding the huldra with her head cocked to one side inquisitively. Off to the side Queen Susan is silent, bow still nocked in her hands. Her expression is cool as she looks at the huldra.
“Shouldn’t Edmund have woken up by now, Peter?” she asks.
“Probably,” the High King says tightly. “Now, if we could get moving and not just stand here waiting to get attacked --”
“Of course!” the huldra exclaims, her expression suddenly scandalized, and looks at the High King anxiously.
From where he’s standing, Tirian can’t see Peter’s face, but he hears the annoyed breath the High King lets out before he says, “Lay on, MacDuff.”
Susan snorts softly to herself, and the huldra looks confused.
“Forget it,” the High King snaps. “I’ll find my own damn way,” and starts forward.
The huldra doesn’t move until he’s past her, and then she falls into step behind her, cow’s tail lashing furiously. She keeps turning her head to sneak looks at Queen Susan and Queen Lucy, but utterly ignores Tirian, Eustace, and Jill.
They’re not far from the camp. Tirian hears it before he sees it, a constant murmur that grows into a familiar dull babble of sound as dwellings and people start to appear, a sudden distinction from wild forest to forced inhabitation. A fox catches her kits as they start to spring forward into their path, and a dryad steps out of her tree and stares. A pair of minotaurs loom abruptly up out of the undergrowth, not seeming to notice as a crow lands on the branch above them, wings mantling. More and more Narnians, human and otherwise (though there are fewer of the former, to Tirian’s discomfort) appear, lining their path.
“Jesus,” Eustace murmurs, and Jill slips her hand into his, her face set and pale. Tirian looks from side to side, trying to find a familiar face, but everyone he sees is a stranger. Peter, Susan, and Lucy don’t look anywhere except straight ahead. The women have replaced their bows in their quivers and their hands are open and empty, their faces set. They move just behind Peter, to either side, flanking him.
Tirian has never felt like more of an imposter in his life.
Like most of the camps, this one is organized around a wide clearing, sunlight filtering down through the canopy above them. Unlike the one they’ve been staying at, there are ruins here, edges of broken wall worn away by time, scattered stones with makers’ marks nearly indistinguishable. The forest has grown up around it; the clearing is roughly marked out by the dark stones. More Narnians linger at their edges, silent and watching, expressions awed.
In the center of the clearing are the remains of a huge fire, half-burned logs still piled up amidst the ashes. He sees Lucy turn her head to look at it, then away, back towards her brother.
“Found your missing king,” Peter says flatly. “And now that we’ve done your dirty work, I want a place to sleep and something to eat. My brother’s hurt.”
A red-bearded dwarf steps forward. A dwarf. Tirian hates dwarves.
“Of course, my liege,” he says. “We have healers, very skilled –”
“That’s taken care of,” Peter says. “And I wouldn’t trust your healers to work on my brother anyway.”
Tirian shoots a sharp look at the dwarf to see how he’s going to react, because if he ever said anything like that he’d be laughed out of Narnia, but all the dwarf does is nod. “Of course, my liege. I fear that the accommodations we can offer are small and meager, nothing like what you must be accustomed to, but –”
“I’ve spent the better part of the past six years living in a tent with three hundred other men, being shot at, being shelled, and sometimes, just for a change of pace, having people trying to kill me in a number of other myriad and very interesting ways. As long as I have somewhere to sleep, I’ll be fine,” Peter snaps. “It doesn’t even have to have a roof.”
The dwarf looks horrified. “The very best we can offer, my liege,” he says quickly, nearly babbling in his hurry to get the words out. “Come with me and I shall show you your quarters.”
“And Eustace, Jill, and King Tirian too,” Peter says.
The dwarf looks at Tirian, expression immediately switching from fawning adoration to earnest dislike. “I suppose something can be arranged,” he says reluctantly. “Celipe will find something,” he adds and sidles along the edge of the clearing. “My liege, if you will accompany me?”
“Right,” the High King says. “And just for the record, I’m not going to murder anyone that turns their back on me, if that’s what you all are afraid of. It’s getting inconvenient. And annoying.”
“Oh, is that what it is?” Lucy asks brightly into the shocked silence that follows the High King’s words. “I thought you all were just very shy.”
A cat, somewhere in the circle of watching Narnians, snorts softly to itself, and Lucy turns to grin in its general direction. “We don’t bite, you know,” she exhorts. “Or at least, I don’t. Peter’s another matter entirely.”
“Lu,” Peter says, and his voice is suddenly fond. “Come on. Edmund’s gained another few stone since the last time I had to do this, and my back hasn’t been right since the damned crash.”
“Oh, all right,” Lucy says. “If you insist.” She follows her brother and the dwarf, smiling around at all the Narnians.
Queen Susan stays still for a moment, her eyes on Peter and Lucy, and then follows as well. She doesn’t look around, just lifts her skirts to step over the crumbled wall at the edge of the clearing.
“Your grace,” a young centaur says, coming up to him. “A Calormene attack took five of our band. Their quarters will do for you. Come with me.”
“Thank you,” Tirian says, a little absently; his attention is still on the High King and his sisters, vanished from sight behind the trees.
“They’re just my annoying cousins,” Eustace mutters to himself as they leave the clearing. “What makes them so special?”
The centaur – Celipe, Tirian assumes – turns his head. He’s young, no more than a teenager, wearing a patched vest over a worn white shirt. “They are the kings and queens of summer,” he says. “They will return Narnia to glory. We have long prayed for their return, and now they have come. They shall give us Narnia as it was in the days of old, in the days of eternal summer.”
Part One 0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17
Part Two 00 | 000 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | Interlude | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-06 09:27 pm (UTC)If you haven't guess already: I'm fangirling you. Hope you don't mind?
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-07 11:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-06 09:53 pm (UTC)You know you're glad you're writing it!
I'm really excited to see where this goes! So much conflict!
PETER!!!
Whats up with Lucy and Susan? Ow!
I'm glad to see that whatever Lucy's mad at Susan for (for losing faith, ignoring Narnia, doing whatever it is she's been doing these past years while Lucy's a nurse?) that it isn't all the Pevensies. And I really like how you're contrasting the two sisters- Lucy all bright and outgoing, Susan aloof and silent.
I kinda feel bad for Tirian, mostly because he *knows* he's useless. And because Peter caught him checking out Lucy. Poor poor Tirian, as if you aren't dead enough for ruining Narnia! Peter's NARNIA!!
I'm really glad you decided to write this! And that the huldra are back! And appearing out of tree trunks and being completely dumbfounded by Peter! That exchange made me so geekishly happy!
I love Jill- Susan's line "what have you been *doing* since you got here?"- and Eustace because to me he'll always be a little snot or well, scrubb.
In the second to last paragraph you have:
“They’re just my annoying cousins,” Edmund mutters to himself....
and I'm pretty sure you mean Eustace.
THANKYOU!!!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-07 11:17 pm (UTC)Tirian's -- well, I have hopes for Tirian not actually being as useless as he comes across, but the guy's no Caspian. People say I underestimate Caspian, but Caspian had charisma and a head on his shoulders. Caspian succeeded against all odds! Tirian starts out with evvery advantage and destroys the world. Caspian is a back-stabbing, manipulative, vicious bastard who manages to be kind, idealistic, and loyal at the same time (this is a compliment, by the way). Tirian hangs out with a unicorn and looks vaguely surprised when his castle is overrun (apparently within minutes).
*cough* I will figure out some way to make that comparison in the story without making it sound pointlessly rant-y.
Did I mention that we're apparently going to get Tirian/Lucy at some point? I have no idea, man. Lucy wants her some action.
Heh. Yeah, that would be Eustace and not Edmund.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-07 01:00 am (UTC)And then I remembered. And I kinda like how Tirian is terrified that Peter is going to kill him, and Peter apparently hasn't really noticed because it's how everyone acts.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-07 11:26 pm (UTC)Er, on second thought, my usually biting sarcasm doesn't really go over all that well on the web. Or in real life. *cough*
Peter's going to be so pissed when he figures out why the Narnians are acting the way they are...
(no subject)
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Date: 2008-10-07 02:51 am (UTC)Peter all in command is always so cool, and the Calormenes have no idea what they brought upon them. Now, when I think about it, I find it a brilliant idea Aslan has that there should be four; or maybe it's Narnia's idea. Even when there's argument and quarrels brewing, as long as Peter's in command, they will be working so efficiently that the Calormenes are going to regret! And Peter and Edmund. Just as Tirian observes how Peter doesn't seem to care whatsoever, then Edmund's hurt and everything. You see, Peter does care, a lot; but just about those people or things that matter to him. I can't express how much I love your Peter and Edmund. *flails* And Susan's absolutely cool, but what I especially love is Peter still understands her and will comfort her. And also he doesn't really take sides in the argument between Susan and Lucy because I think he sort of understands both of them. Peter is and always will be the High King, but I still always love his moments as the big brother.
And the Huldra. And the Narnians. Oh dear, Peter's remark, I’m not going to murder anyone that turns their back on me, if that’s what you all are afraid of. That must be awkward for the Narnians, but I am actually laughing. And Peter saying, "And I wouldn’t trust your healers to work on my brother anyway" is too awesome for words.
And poor, poor Tirian, he must be totally dumbfounded by now. And he has no idea the kings and queens won't have even a single moment's hesitation about killing Narnian traitors. They have killed a lot more in their older days, and adding a few to that list isn't much trouble.
And oh, did I mention I love it that only they could use their gifts? No one can use Rhindon; no one can use Lucy's cordial to heal others either. Love that.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-07 11:55 pm (UTC)Man, the Calormenes are so screwed. There's a reason they haven't fucked with Narnia for almost two thousand years, and apparently they've forgotten it: well, they're about to have it pounded into their heads.
Peter and Edmund, man, Peter and Edmund. They kill me. There's this whole undercurrent of backstory and subtext we haven't seen yet because we've only had Tirian's POV, but Peter and Edmund. And Peter and Susan! And Edmund and Susan! And Susan and Lucy! (Okay, the other reason I don't post WIPs is because I cannot keep my mouth shut. I will happily babble about the story at anyone.)
The Narnians have no idea what they've gotten themselves into it. *grin*
There's this whole wealth of myth and truth that's sprung up around the Pevensie artifacts: anybody could use Rhindon, theoreticallly, but that's a sword that hasn't been used since Caspian's time (and that tradition probably started with Caspian; we'll see Peter's shield later). Lucy's cordial may or may not be able to be used by anyone else. There's a myth that no one but Susan will ever be able to string her bow (think Odysseus here). And while Susan's horn can certainly be used by anyone, the general school of thought is that it will summon the Pevensies back, and it should only be used in a time of genuine need.
(no subject)
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Date: 2008-10-07 05:31 am (UTC)*shakes head in exasperation* Eustace just doesn't get it does he? I'm looking forward to see him finally seeing how unwise it is to cross Peter, especially in Narnia.
Peter's totally *pissed*. The trees were cut down, his subjects are all disorganized and traitorous and he had to fix other people's mistakes. Narnia's probably in his head as well, sulking at him again.
Lovely story. More please?
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-08 12:03 am (UTC)Oh, Eustace is going to be...surprised is one way to put it.
We have no idea how pissed Peter is. It's going to be bad.
<3
Date: 2008-10-07 06:29 am (UTC)a compelling combination of emotion and action. [/movie tag-line mode]
tirian hating on dwarves, peter&susan (lay on macduff! and susan snickering back!!), peter&edmund, SUSAN OMG, statues of the high king, peter's epithets, references to old poems and legends, OMG SUSAN, the whole pete&su Moment with the quick hug and wiping the blood off his face after lucy calls her traitor.
<3
BUT WHERE IS TIRIAN'S ONE TRUE LOVE AKA JEWEL THE UNICORN??
Re: <3
Date: 2008-10-08 12:13 am (UTC)I thought my stuff was a geek fest AND THEN I WROTE THIS STORY, where Peter's all over western canon and Tirian's all over Narnian canon. (At least Caspian didn't know the stories by heart, just by broad outline if that. Because he was all about the modern until the classics shoved their way into his life.)
Jewel is either at Tirian's old camp or dead; I haven't decided, since I'm not entirely certain where I'm going AU from. Oh, that was why I was going to go to the bookstore today; I knew there was a reason. (I did not go to the bookstore, by the way.)
(no subject)
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Date: 2008-10-07 09:13 am (UTC)Oh Edmund. And Peter. And Lucy!
And Susan, oh, Susan.
And Tirian, so convinced he's going to die, and that he's the most horrible person ever.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-08 12:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-07 01:40 pm (UTC)Plus, one of the things I love about your work in general is the way you create such a deep history and mythology/religion for the Narnians. It makes everything so full and gives my brain many wonderful things to think about/play with.
So, yes, very much looking forward to where you go from here. =D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-08 12:19 am (UTC)Thank you -- the history and mythology of the Narnians is what fascinates me. Seriously, I blame the cave paintings and the illustrated books in PC for getting me into the fandom.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-08 12:24 am (UTC)This is too awesome, and I can't wait for the next installment!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-08 12:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2008-10-08 03:28 am (UTC)Eee, well done. A Last Battle with Susan in it just rocks in any case.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-08 05:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-08 03:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-08 05:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-15 04:02 am (UTC)I did feel somewhat bad for Susan. She'd convinced herself that Narnia wasn't real, what have you, and then there they are...and Lucy is PISSED at her, Edmund seems disapproving, and Peter, well, he's not mad, probably due to your Aslan conspiracy theory. *grins*
I LOVE the interplay between Peter and Edmund. The way that Edmund automatically covers for Peter and then, dying, turns into Peter's hand, calling on his brother in the same breath as Aslan (*before* Aslan...); and then Peter, all frantic-relieved and not trusting anybody else to carry his brother or work on him...*wibbles*
I still think everyone is too hard on Tirian. Canonically, everything was going all right, he heard some rumors about Aslan and went to check them out personally, and turns out some Calormenes had infiltrated the country. Tirian was brave, no dumber than Caspian (whom most people seem to like), and honestly believed in Aslan/cared about his country/people; and he worked well with Eustace and Jill. The fact that Aslan *chose* this time to end the world isn't *his* fault; and the general Narnian populace failed in *their* responsibilites, too, because they didn't believe in Aslan any more, or were dumb enough to be fooled by a moonlit donkey in a Lion-skin.
LJ better not eat this one. *glares*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-15 04:27 am (UTC)Peter and Edmund kill me here. That is one of the most self-indulgent scenes I've ever written, seriously, but Peter and Edmund, oh my God. *flails*
I think Tirian's main problem is that he never had Caspian's sheer charisma; Caspian was damn good at getting people to do what he wanted (well, at least until Peter showed up -- movieverse canon up through PC) and he was damn good at getting people to follow him. Tirian...not so much. (Caspian talked the Narnians out of killing him for three hundred years of murder and war. Tirian couldn't even get the dwarves to follow him.) And he isn't completely incompetent; he'd be (and was) a good peacetime king. He's just not the king you want in war. (Also, Cair Paravel fell in about three seconds. Peter's going to have a fit when he hears.)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-20 06:17 am (UTC)SUSAN. You brought SUSAN back! Why does Lucy hate her?
Also, why is Edmund so cross with Eustace?
ZOGM.This is awesome. *dies*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-20 01:24 pm (UTC)*blinks* I didn't realize Edmund and Eustace ever actually talked at all; is he?
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Date: 2009-03-17 05:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-17 06:32 pm (UTC)