𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃 || Tirian of Narnia

Chapter Twelve: Birthright

A/N: I realized it's been a while since I wrote an author's note, so hello!! I literally cannot express how grateful I am to everyone reading this story, whether you've reviewed on FFN, commented on Wattpad, or just sent me a DM on insta, you all mean the world to me and I think about you all the time!!

Also reminder to those not following me on Instagram, I have a trailer for this fic (and lots of edits that other people have made that are absolutely amazing) saved in my Untamed highlight, so check that out at tricia_pevensie if you want!!

I can't believe we're already on chapter 12 of 14, that seems insane (and yes the next books will be very much longer so don't worry haha), I'm just so grateful and happy to be able to share this story with you!! Thank you so much again for all your amazing support, you're amazing and I love you and I can't wait to walk with you through all the rest of the saga!

xXx

CHAPTER TWELVE: BIRTHRIGHT

Tirian's eyes snapped up to Mal in surprise, her face set hard with determination, icy fire in her dark gaze. "What? Are you sure?"

"This is my home, too."

"And mine," said Shadoht.

Gareth looked at his wife, and she looked steadily back.

"But even with archers," said another lord almost as quickly, "we are still painfully under-prepared. We can use none of the strategies or formations planned for the How."

A few other lords and knights chimed in, but Bran silenced them with the flick of sharp eyes. "We have more of a chance now than we did five minutes ago. If any of you have suggestions I'm sure we would all be welcoming."

Some men murmured amongst themselves, but it was Gareth who Tirian looked to.

"What do you think?"

The others fell silent, and Gareth glanced around before looking back to Tirian, gears turning behind his brown eyes, the true strategist in him, set free at last.

"We cannot hope to fight from the ground. The girl is right, we are not their equals, we cannot face their weapons or their size. Our goal must be to distract or occupy, never to fight head on. We will only be able to kill those felled by arrows, and flying beasts with their beaks and their talons."

"And if they cannot fell them all?" asked a knight.

"If I may," said a voice from somewhere on the ground, and Tirian looked down to see Cinder at his feet.

He extended an arm, and the Cat looked up with gleaming emerald eyes before propelling himself in one fluid motion up to Tirian's shoulder on a level with the rest of the company.

"If it is prey you want," he said, the rumble of his voice in Tirian's ear, the weight of Cat around his neck, "it is the smaller beasts you'll want to ask, those who have no choice but to fight this way. This may be a mad thought, but I have seen them do it— How if the diggers and tunnelers, Moles, Dwarfs, and the like, were to carve out warrens below the battlefield, not deep, but enough to weaken the ground beneath the weight of a giant?"

"Sink-holes, you mean," said Hosha, "And the rest of us could walk over without caving them in?"

"Yes, it might be a way to trip them up, at least, bring their throats within reach."

"Why, that's brilliant, Cin!"

From the glances exchanged between the rest of the lords, it was clear everyone could see it was a good idea.