Fearless • P. Pevensie

Blood For Blood

Jadis is the first to emerge.

She tears back the flaps of the tent, making an exit for herself as she seems to have a flare for the theatrics. Peter and I stand from where we had boredly been picking at grass in wait.

The army stands to see. Beetee, with a once again unconscious Xavier strapped to his back, rises to his feet as well. The three remaining Pevensie siblings are the last to rise to their feet.

The Witch takes a few steps forwards. Once again, my hand finds it's way to the hilt of my sword. She stares down at Edmund, though not for long, as I step ahead of him.

I don't draw my sword, yet. No use for mindless brutality if it is unwarranted.

She passes us by. I don't miss the look she gives me, though, as she does so. I look up to see Aslan emerging from the tent as well. They spent a good hour or so sat in that tent. I suppose I'll never truly know exactly what was said.

Aslan looks at the five of us. His eyes fall to Edmund, hidden away carefully behind me, before looking up at me.

I don't hold resentment towards Aslan. Truly, I don't think I ever could. But if he tells me that we must give away Edmund...he won't have any kings or queens to fight in his war. I'll make sure of it.

He turns to address the people.

"She has renounced her claim on the Son of Adam's blood." He announces.

Relief washes over me. I smile, closing my eyes and letting my head fall backwards as it faces the sky. I can hear the Pevensies celebrating, hugging onto the youngest brother for dear life.

But all must come at a price. 

"How do I know your promise will be kept?" The Witch asks at the very moment I come to this conclusion. I eyes snap open as my gaze falls upon Aslan.

The lion roars, causing the Witch herself to sit down on her throne in fear. I can see it in her eyes, in her face. She is terrified of Aslan. Even if she doesn't let it show most of the time.

I hear Narnian soldiers laugh. Though, I find no humour in her fear. She is much like us. Human in appearance. Capable of fear. And yet she turned to such cruelty in this world. How? How does one capable of fear, therefore capable of much more, turn into someone so vile?

I suppose we are all capable of the atrocities she committed. It is just our choice that we do not fall to her level of morality.

I find no humour in her fear, for the war's not yet won. All this means is that Edmund is free to go. The war, however, is still much upon us.

The Pevensies continue celebrating. But I wear a concerned expression as I look up at Aslan. He doesn't see me for a few moments. But I see him. He's...something about him seems sorrowful. If I didn't know better, I'd say nervous.

Aslan looks to me. He catches me staring, but I refuse to look away. I try to ask him all the questions in my head, but I can't bear to utter a word.

I fear the worst has come to fruition.

Blood for blood. All debts must be repaid in one way or another. And looking out upon the mighty King, I feel I already know what was discussed inside of that tent. I know it, sure as the sun.

Aslan traded his own life for Edmund's.

I do not waver, though. I keep my stance as Aslan and I engage in eye contact. He knows that I know. He knows I won't tell a soul, either. Because if I do, that could mean harm to Edmund. And I was already more than willing to kill or die for the kid.