The Faded Portrait of a Bygone Era

The Red Lady

"I had thought, or rather hoped that Calormen was beginning to move on," Edmund said.

Margaret shook her head. "It's all about the leader, Edmund. Archenland has King Lune. The Narnians have you, they have Lucy and Susan and Peter and I. We care for each of our subjects, we mourn each loss, and it makes us hesitate to wage war. Can the Tisroc of the Calormen say the same?"

Edmund gave her a small smile, taking her hand in his. "How right you are, Margaret." He pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You never cease to amaze me. You and Lucy... Who would have thought that the youngest of our siblings would be the wisest?"

Margaret laughed softly, squeezing his hand. "You're barely older than me, Ed, don't go getting an ego... Though Aslan certainly knew how things would be."

"But of course," Edmund said. "The Lion always knows. Now come, let us face these Calormen together."

-

The battle was brutal. When the Calormen army clashed with the Narnians, the chaos of war erupted there in the field before the castle. Margaret had lost track of Edmund somewhere in the fray, and the section of soldiers she was leading had been cut off by a column of Calormen troops.

"Haveron, where is Edmund?" she called to her Horse.

Before he could answer, however, a blow to her left shoulder knocked her from his back.

Her whole body throbbed from the impact with the ground, and when she moved, a sharp pain flared in her shoulder. A quick glance revealed she'd been struck by an arrow. That set her heart pounding. Was this her vision? No, it couldn't be...

Back in the present moment, she realized Haveron was calling her name. He was stuck in the middle of a ring of Calormen soldiers, closing in on him. All around, the group of Narnians that had been cut off were in poor shape. Most of the Cats were too busy scaring away the Dumb horses of the Calormen to provide any aid.

Margaret had to do something. Her people were in danger. If this were how her vision came to pass, then let it be so. She hauled herself to her feet, sword in hand.

"Narnians, to me!" she yelled, drawing attention from all over the battlefield.

The Calormenes surrounding Haveron turned to approach her. Her stallion friend reared and kicked two of them from behind. Margaret easily dispatched them all, numbering about ten. She rushed to Haveron and pulled herself up onto his back. The Narnians who had been separated had all rallied behind her. She raised her sword, urging them to charge.

And so they did.

Following her lead, the Narnians carved through the Calormen soldiers, finally meeting the rest of the troops on the other side.

It wasn't long after that that most of the Calormen army had fled or been cornered, and then, it was over. By the end of it, her hair was plastered to her skin with blood, more rose tinted than flame colored now. The battle had been won, but by no means had it been easy. Margaret had lost count of the Calormen she'd slain. She had been too focused on keeping them away from her people.

Edmund came over to help her down from Haveron's back.

"It's alright," he said when she winced, "Tumnus will take care of that arrow for you in no time. But first... You might enjoy seeing this."

He helped her over to the wall of the castle where Prince Rabadash himself hung by his hauberk, stuck on a hook in the wall. Everyone around was laughing, and Margaret was certainly no exception.