𝐄𝐫𝐨𝐬
[ˈɛrɒs/ˈɛroʊs/]
{𝑨𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑮𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒌: Ἔρως}
(𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒛𝒆𝒅: Érōs')
𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐞𝐱.
-
Lucy had never been as grateful for knives as she was at that moment.
She had been handy with a sword, but she had always adored knives. They were small and could be underestimated- something she understood too well- but were sneaky, and had a thousand uses, and were sharp to a fault.
Perhaps that love had started when Santa Claus had gifted her the dagger.
Perhaps it was even before, when she'd follow behind her mother as she bustled around the kitchen, and her eyes would always fall on the knives that stood just behind the spoons and forks.
No matter the reason, she loved them.
And they were saving her life, too, which was an additional advantage.
She had grabbed several knives from the makeshift armoury in the How before she and Susan had set out. She did not want to attack anyone if she could help it- she had helped kill Nikabrik, and that had hurt her, and she'd remembered why being a warrior was heartbreaking- but she had to protect her sister and herself as well as she could.
But, it was Susan who had ended up protecting her.
She'd jumped off the horse, Destrier, the moment she had realised that the Telmarines were too many and that they were cornering them in a spot they would not be able to get out of- and then she had smiled reassuringly at Lucy.
"I'm sorry, Lucy. It seems as though you will have go alone." She had said, the smile masking her despair. "You'll find Him, Lucy. I have faith in you."
Then she had tapped Destrier, making him gallop ahead once more- with Lucy on him, and Susan staying behind.
Despite her efforts, a few Telmarines still followed after Lucy- two or three, but she couldn't be sure. It was hard to count or see clearly as the horse sped up faster than ever, understanding that they were being chased and knowing that they did not want to be caught. All Lucy was aware of was the speed of the horse and the texture of his saddle- the brown-green blur of the forest as she passed it- and the pounding in her heart.
And- of course- the knives she kept throwing, haphazardly, whenever a Telmarine got close enough that she could see them clearly.
They were so deep into the forest already- this was where she had seen Him, that day, across the valley- but there was no sign of Him.
Susan had faith in her. Her brothers and her country was counting on her. Why was she failing? She didn't want to fail- she wanted to find Him, she wanted Him to comfort her-
An arrow whizzed by the side of her head, and she yelped, instinctively throwing another knife at the direction the arrow had come from. There was a thud from behind her, which meant her knife had found its mark- and now only Telmarine was still on her tail.
And she- she only had one knife left. It was a sudden realisation, as she felt her cloak with the hand that wasn't holding Destrier's reins- and terror began to flood through her body.
And that one knife was her dagger.
She couldn't let go of the dagger. It was her gift, her precious friend. It was as important to her as the cordial.
She had to throw the Telmarine off her trail- somehow, she had to disappear from his eyeshot.
But how?
The only thing that could help her was-
Something was running beside her, almost melting into the suddenly gold-green foliage of the trees. The sun shone brighter, and she thought she could see it reflected on a smooth animal-coat the colour of gold.
And then- on the ground-
A shadow.
In the shape of a Lion.
Had Lucy fallen asleep? Was this another dream, in which she glimpsed the Great Lion?
But as the Lion leapt over to catch the Telmarine- who had gotten too close, while Lucy had been lost in her musing- she realised it wasn't a dream.
It was reality, and Aslan was there, standing in a clearing, smiling His Lion-smile and bathed in sunlight.
Lucy's heart was full enough to explode, and she almost fell as she clambered down from Destrier- and then she did fall, as she collided into one of her greatest comforts, digging her fingers into His soft fur, both of them falling over onto the hug, embracing.
He was so warm and comforting, and His light Lion-chuckle was music to her ears. It had been Him she'd seen. Of course, it had.
She felt fully rested suddenly, ready to jump up and do cartwheels all around the forest.
She contented herself, however, with extricating herself from the Lion and sitting up- a bright smile on her face, easily rivalling the sunshine.
"I knew it was You!" She trilled, smiling even wider as she saw that there was a smile on His maw as well. "The whole time- I knew it!"
"I knew you would, My dear one." Aslan said softly, love in His deep voice. "I waited for you, to come to Me, for long."
"I wanted to come." She said plaintively, the smile fading. "But the others- they didn't- they couldn't believe me."
"That ought not have stopped you from coming to Me. Why did it, dear one?"
"I- I-"
He was not wrong. Why hadn't she set out to find Him, the moment she had realised it was Him she had seen?
She was capable enough of riding through a wood, accompanied or not- but she had acquiesced glumly to the others' lack of belief, and not fought to find Aslan, as she should have.
"I- I was suppose I was afraid, Aslan."
Narnia was so different than it had been- and the hope she had had in Aslan's return, it had begun to dim. That had scared her, too.
"I was scared to come alone. And part of me- it hoped that You would come just like last time, roaring in to save us and be our miracle."
"Things never happen the same way twice, dear one." He said gently.
She had been worried He would be angry at her, that she had not come looking. But He wasn't angry. She was angry at herself, though. If she had just felt and been as Valiant as her title...
"If I'd come earlier," She began quietly, realising another thing, but much worse, "everyone who died-" that raid, that awful raid, "everyone who suffered- could I have stopped all that?"
For a moment, Aslan did not answer, and Lucy had the terrifying thought that she could have stopped it all.
"We can never know what might have happened, my child." His voice was still as gentle and soothing as ever, and her terror and anxiety began to leave her. "It is best to not dwell on the realities we never see- and look on the future we will receive with joy and renewed faith."
The hope in her was enough to blind now.
"Does that mean-" She scrambled to her feet, her eyes shining, "You'll- You'll help?'
"Of course, dear one. As will you."
Would she? Could she? Living up to being the Valiant was harder than ever.
Her voice was too quiet as she replied, "I wish I was braver."
"If you were any braver, you would be a Lioness." A mild growl accompanied His words, and Lucy felt heartened- and then even more so, remembering her dagger. "Now- climb on My back, I must get you to the forest by Beruna-"
Her brows furrowed, "Will You not come with me?"
But then what sort of help did He mean? Her siblings- their Narnia- they needed Aslan! He had to be there!
"I will be there, dear child, and I will help with all that I am." Aslan spoke the truth, as Lucy climbed on. "But I have another miracle to find before I can."
"What sort of-"
"You will see." He said enigmatically, rising up- before looking around, at the far-too-still forests. "Now- I think your friends have slept long enough, don't you?"
And then Aslan roared, the trees beginning to shake out of their centuries-long hibernation- and Lucy knew that all would be well.
Unfortunately, the same knowledge was not there to mollify those who fought in the battle in the field of Beruna- the only knowledge they had was that, somehow, they had to keep fighting.
Edmund wasn't tired, exactly. There was a pleasing thrill in using his swords, of parrying attacks, and of pirouetting to get to more than one opponent- but he did want it to be over.
The agony had gone on too long- Edmund wanted the pain to be over so badly.
Not just the pain at the side of his eye, which had been grazed by a soldier wearing something he could only describe as a knife-ring- but the pain they all were undergoing, and had been for too long.
How long would Narnia be hurt? How long would his siblings and his people have to endure all the bad things and continue to suffer, just to bring back what they had once had in plenty- but was now gone? Why could the people he cared about not have only the good things in life? Why was there so much pain, so much effort, so much catastrophe?
More catapults struck, downing an entire regiment- and he could only stare.
Edmund wanted Sanya here; he wanted her with him- like he'd said once- by his side, forever.
She was gone, too, and he was suffering as well.
But it was hardly the time for such reflection.
They were in battle.
It felt good to have his swords in his hands- one in each hand, slashing through the air and into armour- and if Edmund pushed away his thoughts, if he pushed away the knowledge of why he was fighting, if he pushed away the fear of what more he might lose, he would be enjoying the battle.
Plunging his swords into the chest of a Telmarine carrying a battle-axe (those had always been too heavy and clumsy for him), he took a moment to look around, to survey how things were going.
They had had the element of surprise, as the Narnian battalions rose out of the ground- and the Telmarines had certainly been taken off-guard.
But, still, the Telmarines were so much greater in number. He could see Peter, some metres away, fighting three Telmarines at once- and Susan, between the two of them, had to leap aside to avoid a cannonball tossed at the Narnians by the enormous catapults the Telmarines had set up on their side of the battlefield.
Running towards a Dwarf that needed help with a particularly towering Telmarine, Edmund prayed silently. He wasn't sure to whom- Aslan?- but he knew what he was praying for.
Lucy. Lucy had to be safe. Lucy had to come back, safe.
But if the battle went from bad to worse- if they lost, it would mean that the Narnians- that he, and Peter, and Susan, would be slaughtered. Narnia would never be free from the Telmarine rule, its subjugation. He didn't want Lucy to see that happen to their land, to know that, and to see her family killed. No one deserved to perceive something like that.
He shook his head, fixed his stance as more Telmarines charged at him- they must have realised how impactful a threat he was- and swung his swords again.
Susan collided with a tree- one that might as well have been dead- narrowly avoiding a cannonball- how advanced was the Telmarine technology?
Perhaps Peter had been right in asking about whether they had guns or not.
Her shoulder began to hurt, where she'd hit the trunk- and she grit her teeth. She couldn't have that. She needed her shoulders, her arms, working.
She had to fight- and her hand began to tremble, as she pulled out another arrow from her quiver- and she had to maim.
And perhaps even kill.
Was all this bloodshed truly necessary? She had never understood the point. Talking things out- however aggressive said talking would end up- was always preferable. Edmund agreed with her on that, but he still enjoyed fighting, and he was the most skilled swordsman she knew. And Lucy, pacifist as she was- how she hoped she had found Aslan!- relished battle.
Then again, perhaps Susan did understand. Some things were too great, too terrible, to be resolved with mere debate.
Was partaking in the battle why she continually felt a sense of foreboding, as though any moment a giant would show up and kick her out of Narnia? Was flirting with death, which was what fighting was, the reason why everything felt like it was nearing the end?
She didn't want it to end. This was home- being here for everything. She would fight a thousand battles, if it meant she could stay in Narnia.
A Telmarine snuck up on her, and Susan- hearing the crunch of his boots on the grass- barely had the time to whirl around.
She could not see the Telmarine's face under his grotesque metal helmet, but she had a feeling he was smiling- especially as he slashed a dagger at her, the blade of it cutting open her cheek.
Her mouth opened in pain, and a laugh came from the Telmarine, who moved closer to her- pulling out another dagger, a longer one, seemingly from nowhere.
The cut, though she knew it was small, burned- and she reacted in the moment he took to revel in having succeeded in cornering her, raising the arrow she held high and then bringing it down, pushing it into his stomach.
She pulled the arrow out as the man fell- perhaps she had hit some vital organ- and then she let the bloodied arrow fly from her bow, sure it would find another mark.
Peter always thought so much in battle, and he bloody hated it.
And he hated this particular phenomenon of his even more so now, since most of his thoughts- he thrust his shield ahead, knocking it into a Telmarine's chest, and then kicked him down- were to do with worrying.
Lucy, whether she was fine and had found Aslan and whether she truly had got through.
Edmund, whether he was holding up as well as he'd used to, and how he felt about his apology.
Susan, whether she was managing to fight and kill, or if she was screaming at herself for every arrow she let fly.
Caspian, whether he was alright and whether he felt torn about fighting his own people, and however he felt about his uncle's death.
The Narnians, his people, and whether he was just dooming them to more torture and death.
He did not know why he was so clear-headed in battle- he brought his foot down on a lain Telmarine's bare arm, the armour there having torn off the skin- he was never so in any other situation in his life. Why could he not just lose himself in the exhilaration, and focus on nothing but his sword and shield and the enemies he was cutting down? He knew what was at stake, and he knew what they were fighting for-
Peter's eyes widened, and he stared ahead- a soldier in the Telmarine cavalry was coming at him on his horse, a broadsword held in his hands.
He felt paralysed. The horse could stomp him down- and if the horse was a kind soul, then the soldier would run him through, or behead him. How had he allowed himself to be put in way of such obvious danger?
The smart thing to do was turn and run the other way. He had no horse- and he didn't have Ephre with him.
But, out of nowhere, an arrow whizzed towards the Telmarine, slicing clean into his skull- and he dropped onto the ground, dead.
The horse turned in confusion for a moment- but finding no alive soldier to take charge, it cantered away, hopefully far from the bloodiness of battle.
"Your Majesty." Trumpkin grunted, running ahead- and then he bent, squeezing the arrow out of the Telmarine's skull. It made a squelching sound as it came out, covered in- Peter didn't have to study medicine to know that was brain. "Don't stand still."
Thank you, he wanted to yell back, as the dwarf began to another corner of the field. Thank you, and I do trust you, DLF.
Caspian's duelling instructor would have been proud if she saw him. He hoped, at least. He was holding his own, fighting against soldiers he knew had trained for years more than him, perhaps years longer than he'd even been alive- and he was holding it well! He was tiring, yes, but-
But- he'd spoken too soon.
He couldn't win against the soldier he was currently duelling- every move of his was manic, unplanned, impulsive- it was not the Telmarine style of fighting, it was far different, and that was why Caspian was losing.
If he hadn't been so afraid for his life, the Prince would have commended him for the intelligence of adopting a different style, to throw off his opponent.
Caspian was pushed more and more back, as the soldier's energy seemed to grow- there was a large pit behind him, which had been collapsed when he had led the Narnians out of the underground How. He knew several Telmarines had fallen into it, and were being cut down as they attempted to climb out- Reepicheep and his band of mice doing most of the cutting- and he wondered if that was where he belonged.
He was a Telmarine, too. He had hurt Narnia, too. Peter had said as much.
But if Peter truly believed that- if that was the truth of it all- then he wouldn't have kissed him.
Caspian brought his sword down savagely, and it landed on the soldier's armoured shoulder- there was a sharp crack, which meant that he'd effectively broken the bones there- something he had not even known was possible to be down through armour.
The soldier let out a guttural yell, and charged- his head bowed to strike him and the sword raised to stab him, and Caspian stumbled over two dead bodies- Telmarines- and plummeted down into the pit he had feared.
It was chaos, in here. Horses were neighing loudly, in pain and in confusion- fauns leapt in from above and killed Telmarines as though it was a simple jumping-jack- and the count of the Telmarines grew, falling down from the surface over and over and over-
Glozelle was there, mere feet away, wrestling a spear from a fauness. His uncle's most- trusted, if there were any he did trust.
Caspian was going to die. He knew Glozelle must want to kill him- to avenge Miraz.
He had to get away, he had to get out of this hellish hole, before he was seen-
The fauness went down, and Glozelle pulled the spear away from her dead hand- and then he turned.
Caspian's face contorted in fear, as the general recognised who it was that lay before him- and he charged, the sharp spear held high in his hand.
He would die in battle. It was alright. It was for a worthy cause. He would die knowing he had done everything-
But something slackened in Glozelle, the moment he was but a foot away from Caspian- and the two Telmarines looked at each other.
There was fear in his eyes, Caspian realised, just as there was in his.
He swallowed, still trying to edge away- he did not think he would kill him, not anymore- and just as he dropped the spear- thud, just like the countless bodies littered over the field- roots burst out of the earth, snaking around Glozelle, trapping him.
Alive roots, of alive trees.
Peter saw Caspian struggling to pull himself out of a ditch, and he started ahead quickly, leaning down- how in the world had he managed to fall in? You'd think it was large enough to be wary of.
Offering him a hand, Peter smiled a little- and as Caspian gripped the hand tight, his smile widened, and he pulled the Telmarine onto the above-earth, and then the Prince lost his balance just as he found solid ground, and both of them fell.
"Get off." Peter muttered, knowing he was red in the face. Caspian was on top of him, blinking, as though unsure whether he'd fallen asleep. "Get off, we are in a battle-"
Caspian blinked rapidly, and then leaned in to peck the High King on the lips. It was a reckless indulgence- but Peter's blush meant he had no problem with it.
He rolled off him, and Peter hastily stood, before offering his hand to Caspian once again, pulling him to his feet.
As the trees came to life, Peter looked around in in the same awe he had beheld Narnia for the first time- and the hope he knew that was abundant in Lucy- the one who had surely caused the trees to wake- was brought in him as well.
He turned to Caspian, whose hand he was still holding, and smiled again. He looked besotted- staring wondrously at the trees walking across the field, at the thick branches that brought down the catapults and saved the Narnians from more of onslaught.
Caspian's dark eyes met his, questions in them, and he answered easily, "Lucy."
For the first time in he didn't know how long, Edmund breathed a sigh of relief.
He couldn't believe it, though, for a moment, as he watched the roots of the trees come up aboveground and the trees began to walk, on their way to trample Telmarines and turn the tide.
But then he wanted to hit himself. This was Narnia- Narnia- the world of fantasy and everything miraculous- how could he not believe, even for just a second?
He was sweating- a welcome change from the terrible cold he had been wrapped in the last few days- and he pulled himself straight, and looked on.
He held his swords loosely in his hands, and he walked ahead- almost like in a daze, though he was entirely sound of mind, in between Susan and Peter, who were just ahead of him- and Caspian, who his brother was holding hands with- and they looked at the destruction of the deadly catapults.
The trees were alive. They were fighting, and in seeing their fight, a new vigour rippled through the Narnian forces.
It had to be Aslan- Lucy must have found Him, and He had awakened the trees, knowing that the Narnians needed aid.
He watched the terrified Telmarines, almost feeling pity for them- they had clearly been blindsided, and could find no way to take down Nature herself. No matter the might or numbers of their army- Nature was always stronger, always greater.
Really, the only way they would have even a sliver of a chance was-
The Just rolled his eyes, watching the Telmarine army turn and run into the forests they had feared for so long, for on the other side of it, lay the river of Beruna. Trees could not walk on water, and they had the bridge there- they must have been thinking that they'd be able to defeat the Narnians there.
If they had Sanya here- if he had Sanya with him- the Telmarines would have had no chance.
With her divine ability, she would have bade the river itself rise up against the other side- or, more likely, she would have just moved all the water away to some trench for her own personal swimming pool, leaving the Telmarines flailing in wet rock and sand.
But, as his heart thudded for the thousandth time, she wasn't here. There was no miracle to be had, not from her, because she was dead.
Quickly composing himself, Edmund caught Peter's eye, and nodded at him, knowing he was thinking the same thing. There was no way that an army of that size would be able to cross on the bridge- but the ford was shallow, and shallow enough to easily traverse through, either on foot or on horse.
And beyond the ford, beyond its shore, was more forest- and it would be nearly impossible to fight a battle in the woods.
They had to catch them- somehow- before they hit the bridge.
"After them! Cut them off before the bridge!" Peter howled, and the Narnians who heard him, began to charge, and then more Narnians followed, seeing which direction to go in.
He looked at Susan, and then at Edmund again. They gave him grim nods, and their weapons seemed to almost gleam in the sunlight.
They ran ahead, side-by-side with their people, and they cried, all as one, "For Narnia, and for Aslan!"
-
-✧･: °*✧*°:･✧-
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I don't have much to say for this chapter. Battle scenes are very tedious for me. Give me smut anyday 💁♀️
Though, I gotta say, writing Lucy's scene with Aslan was difficult. It's always hard to bring an emotional edge to such a bright character, but that scene was very particularly troublesome. Especially because of the religious, faith undertones- I'm agnostic-atheist, so.
I don't think I did it justice, but eh. Justice is Ed's thing.
Speaking of Ed- EVEN IN THE MIDDLE OF BATTLE, he misses his wife. He misses her so much, he must find it hard to breathe without her.
I should write that in...
And, ha, Caspian fell on top of Peter and kissed him.
Cute, clumsy, and very wrong timing.
OKAY, it's going to be another double-posting day- so I shall be posting Chapter 23 today as well (though, since it'll be after midnight, it'll be tomorrow for ME), and that will be in around four or five hours. See you then!
BE THERE.
And, as always- I humbly and unashamedly ask you to vote on the chapters, and perhaps comment, too :)