A Prison of Ice and Fear || Peter Pevensie x OC || Narnia

Chapter 13| Peter

I can feel the warmth radiating from the lion's side as we walk to the crest of the hill. The knee-length grass swishes and whispers around my ankles.

The sun is bright overhead, and not a whisper of winter is left over the landscape.

Far across the expanse at the edge of the land, a castle perches on a cliff edge. It glints in the sun, nearly blinding to look at.

"That is Cair Paraval, the castle of the four thrones. In one of which you will sit Peter, as High King." Aslan explains.

He makes it sound so certain, a destiny set in stone. Why me? Why us? Why not someone like Cressida, someone born or trained to live a royal life with manners, etiquette and leadership?

"You doubt the prophesy?" Aslan asks when I remain silent, staring off into the distance.

"No. That's just it." I sigh, turning to the lion. "Aslan, I'm not what you all think I am."

"Peter Pevensie, formerly of Finchley. Beaver also mentioned you planned on turning him into a hat." Aslan chuckles.

I look down at my feet, but my mouth pulls into a smile.

"Peter, there is a Deep Magic, more powerful than any of us, that rules over all of Narnia. It defines right from wrong and governs all our destinies. Yours... and mine."

"I couldn't even protect my own family." I argue.

"You've brought them safely this far."

"Not all of them."

"Peter, I will do what I can to help your brother, but I need you to consider what I ask of you." He pauses, "I, too, want my family safe."

I look sidelong at the lion and suck in a deep breath.

"I'll do what I can as long as they're my first priority."

Aslan studies me for a moment as I stare back across the horizon. I wonder where Jadis is keeping Edmund, and at the back of my mind, I wonder if Cressida is there, too.

"Something else plagues you, Peter."

"It's just...well, sir, there was another we left behind."

"Another?"

"A girl, the Lady Cressida, she helped us, and we left her behind."

"You've met the Witch's prisoner; how did this come to be?"

"She escaped to help us," I explain. "At first, I didn't trust her, but she was kind to us, and in the end, at the frozen river, she stayed behind to buy us more time."

"Cressida knows better than anyone the power and fury of the witch; she would not have taken such a risk lightly."

"Do you think she's still alive?"

"I cannot say, for her sake and ours, I hope so."

"Who is she?" I ask. "I mean, the witch wouldn't have taken her prisoner without a reason?"

"Hers is not my story to tell Peter Pevensie, but should you meet again, be sure to ask her yourself."

"Can you help her? I'm sure she would be wherever Edmund and the witch are."

"I will most certainly try. Cressida has lived in fear and torment for far too long."

I bristle at the thought of Cressida locked up for who knows how long. Trapped in the cold and the ice. I think back to her, how her hair was dull and her skin waxy, but her eyes, how her eyes shone with green fire. They were warm and bright and full of life.