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

Chapter 16

The surface beneath me is soft, and the air around me smells almost sweet. Faintly, I can hear sounds of chatter, but close to me, I can hear no more than a few shuffled movements. I can feel myself about to drift back to sleep when hands touch my back.

My eyes fly open, and I attempt to scuttle away, a weak cry falling from my lips.

"Hush, hush, child, you're all right; you're safe." The female voice soothes.

My breathing is rapid, my chest rising and falling sharply. I stare straight into her chestnut eyes and see nothing but calm concern.

Slowly I lower myself back onto my stomach.

"Where am I?" I ask.

My voice feels considerably less horse but drier than parchment.

"You're in Aslan's camp, my lady; you and Prince Edmund were brought here by Oreius and his men."

"Is this some kind of trick?"

"What? No, of course not."

"The witch is trying to test my loyalty, right? Trick me into thinking I'm free so she has an excuse to beat me again."

"Lady Cressida, you're safe." She pauses, "My name is Celsa; I am a Dryad and a healer."

"You promise me you aren't lying."

"I promise you, Cressida, I promise you the Witch can't hurt you anymore."

I look into her eyes and see her conviction. She's telling the truth. A heaving sob rips through my chest, and tears spring to my eyes.

Celsa rushes to my side, brushing the hair back from my face and holding my checks gently.

"What is it? What hurts?" She pleads.

"Nothing," I sob, "I'm free."

"You're free, my lady, you're free."

"I have been her prisoner for nine years, and I'm finally truly free." I splutter.

The tears slowly trickle down my face as I try to control my breathing. Celsa soothes me, brushing her slender fingers over my hair. So soft, so gentle, so like Ephe.

"Now, let's try to get you sitting up, okay." She offers calmly.

"I'm sorry," I sniffle, "I'm not usually like that."

"I would guess you haven't been able to express emotion like that in quite some time, hmm?" Celsa smiles as she helps me sit up on the bed.

I nod my head, and the dryad brings me a goblet of water, which I drink eagerly.

"Okay, now do you feel any burning or tenderness?"

"No, my back just aches." I say with a deep breath, the relief of the water beautifully potent.

"It will for a few days, at least, I'm sorry to say. I'm good, but I'm not perfect."

"It'll scar, won't it." It's not a question.

"Yes, I'm sorry it will." Celsa sighs. "It appears the witch had some sort of herb applied, which had already mostly sealed the wounds as jagged scars. Even if I'd reopened and stitched them properly, the results would have still been obvious."

"You did what you could, thank you."

"I've bound your torso and applied a salve, which is what's soothing the burning, and as I say, the wounds are closed but still raw, clean though, no sign of infection."

I thank her again and slowly push myself off the bed, planting my feet firmly on the grass the tent is set over. My back aches, but it's bearable.

When Celsa decides I'll be fine to stand on my own, she crosses the tent and retrieves a gown hanging over a chair. The dress is a deep red, almost maroon colour, and with cleverly placed slits, it's clearly built for movement. With it is a simple white shift. Celsa has me step into the shift to protect my back as much as possible.