Peter gritted his teeth. If he was going anywhere, it was going to be after a good fight.

Curling his fingers around his sword handle once more, Peter gathered his strength and swung his arm. A painful grunt and a brief tug let him know that Rhindon caught on something. Or someone. Just what he needed.

He reached up, tugging the sack off his head. His eyes blinked rapidly with the onslaught of sunlight, trying to adjust to the brightness. Rolling onto his stomach, he jumped onto his feet. The back of his head throbbed, adrenaline pumped through him but he tightened his grip on his sword and swung it in a mighty arc.

Now he saw them; the rogues with battered faces, scarred skin, wide teeth baring smiles. Save for one. His gloved hand pressed against his cheek and, when he removed it, Peter saw the slice across his cheek, the blood seeping out and sliding down the cure of his jaw.

Peter’s nostrils flared. One quick sweep allowed him to take in their number—nine of them—their size—shorter but packed with muscle—and their armor—none.

Gulping, he clenched his jaw. There weren’t many that were so brazen to go through Narnian lands without some sort of armor to protect themselves. Those that didn’t, he knew, didn’t have much to worry about losing.

Right then. Steeling his nerves, he eyed them.

“You are not welcome in our lands! Leave at once!” He ordered, taking on his High King voice—a deeper, authoritative tone used seldomly. Not even when he spoke to his own kingdom did he resort to such measures.

The scratched rogue laughed, a raspy wheezy laugh. “No, I don’t think so,” he replied. “’Cause, y’see, you can’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re not welcome here!”

The gang of rogues burst into laughter. Peter’s nostrils flared and, all at once, he was taken back to the early days of their Golden Age reign. When foes and visitors alike snickered behind their palms or second guessed his decisions and choices simply because of his age. He grew into the ruling position, not without push-back, but he’d paid his dues hadn’t he?

The lion deep within him roared and pawed at the ground, poised and ready to strike. Lifting his chin, Peter held the gaze of the scratched rogue. The scratched rogue’s laughter stopped and those around him petered out.

“Leave,” Peter snarled.

“I don’t think so,” the scratched rogue replied. He dragged his thumb across the scrape on his cheek, scraping the blood away. He barely glanced at it as he flicked the blood away; it dotted leaves of the underbrush by his feet. “Y’see, you all have it good around here. I figured it was my duty to, ah, lighten the load. Figure you wouldn’t miss some gems and trinkets here and there.”

“You’re killing innocent people!”

The scratched rogue shrugged. “They shouldn’t have resisted.”

The loud roar of a lion rushed in his ears and lit a fire within Peter. He briefly took a step backwards. Everyone seemed to move at once. Shouts and battle cries surrounded him as he turned and ran. Wind tugged at his clothes as he burst through the paths ahead of him. The rogues stayed close on his heels. They were fast, but he had the advantage of knowing the lands.

He ducked aside, charging off the path, ducking and dodging between large rocks that reached upwards to the canopy of leaves above. Something whizzed past his head, a hum buzzing in his ear before the bark on a tree nearest him exploded. He ducked, bits of bark reigning down on his head and shoulders.

He squeezed between a rock, glancing back only to jerk away when the tip of a sword came inches from his nose. He gulped and kept going, eyes darting around for an exit or even a half decent hiding place. There!

As if granting his wishes, he spotted it: a toppled over tree. The base, so large, lifting out of the ground it resembled a bare treetop of its own. Roots pointed in every which way, clumps of dirt hanging on. Peter headed for it, rushing through the tall grass. He scrambled over it and jumped down behind the shield of roots.

His chest heaved and he silently cursed himself for walking off without cover. But it was Narnia, he knew his lands, he knew he was safe. Or at least, he was. Maybe he rested too far on his laurels, believing all the good they were doing for their country and how they protected it. Either way, he needed to get a message back to his family. And fast.

Peter glanced around, searching the trees until he spotted one that appeared to be bathing in a golden glow, all the spotlights of sunlight directed on it. He let out a long breath, briefly closed his eyes while saying a prayer to Aslan, and jumped out of his hiding place.

“There he is! Men, charge!”

Peter raced for the tree, dodging the weapons being thrown around him. He jumped over upturned roots and zig-zagged around trees until he finally reached it. In a swirl of leaves, a figure wrapped up in pearl pink petals appeared before him, floating along.

“My king,” the dryad spirit said, approaching.

“Take news back to the castle. I need the others. And....and please hurry,” Peter said.

“Of course, My King,” the spirit said before disappearing to whence it came.

Standing up straight, Peter turned and faced the rogues that rushed in at him, twirling rope-like weapons over their heads and readying their swords. He brushed the sleeve of his shirt across his mouth and pressed his lips into a line.

He raised his sword, catching a glimpse of his own face reflecting in the blade for a mere second. He closed his eyes, thinking to his sisters, Susan and Lucy, who were left behind at the castle, steadied his nerves, opened his eyes, and charged forward.

-------

Caspian rushed across the castle grounds, his booted footfalls muffled by the lush greens underneath. Wind tugged at his clothes, dragging him, but still he ran. He hadn’t stopped running since he heard the noise. Heard the ambush.

He gritted his teeth. If only he’d followed after Peter sooner, if only he hadn’t taken so much time to sort things out with Edmund before going after the High King, this wouldn’t have happened. If not for the dryad spirit coming to him with a message from Peter himself, he wouldn’t have been there in time. And it was tough, choosing to turn and run for help rather than go into the fight on his own to help. But then, if the dryad spirit hadn’t awoken, who would have known they were there in the first place? Last they heard the rogues were only by the borders, waiting. No one would know to look in the words.

Emboldened by his decision, Caspian continued his sprint. His chest heaved, his lungs burned, but onward he pushed until he reached the base of the castle. A few watchmen shouted at him, at his hurried arrival, but he blew past them, going straight for the one place he knew Edmund would be residing when he needed to clear his head.

And sure enough, Caspian witnessed with brief relief, Edmund sat perched near the edge of the tallest cliff on the grounds, overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean down below. Such a sight usually stopped him in his tracks but he didn’t have time. Peter didn’t have time.

“Come to bring a message from Pete?” Edmund asked. Caspian didn’t miss the curl of disdain appearing on his upper lip as he spoke. “Typical, can’t even face me himself.”

“Ed! Hush! Your brother’s in danger,” Caspian said curtly, causing Edmund’s head to whip around.

For a brief second surprise filtered into his dark eyes before they hardened and his jaw clenched. Standing, his shoulders squared and Caspian could almost see the little gears turning in his head, formulating a plan in an instant.

“How many?”

“Nine as I last saw. Could be more. We’d be beneficial with the archers.”

“I agree,” Edmund replied. “I’ll round up a few of them. Get some of the first division. We need the numbers and the speed now more than strength. Anyone that can help.”

Caspian nodded. “And Susan and Lucy?”

“I’ll alert them myself, you be sure that everyone is ready to leave at once.” Caspian spied a lump sliding down Edmund’s throat when he swallowed. “We may not have a lot of time but...any extra will be enough.”

“Perhaps I should have stayed—”

“We can have this conversation later. Go. Now.”

Edmund was right, of course, but as Caspian went through the motions of gathering up a small unit of Aslan’s Army he couldn’t shrug off his guilt. What would happen if they were too late? At a moment’s notice Caspian had the choice to put his life on the line for his friend and his country and he chose to ran. Would others see it that way as well? Lucy? Susan?

The whistling of wind in his ears as his horse carried him back into the woods drowned out his mind’s doubt. He kept his grip on the reins and kept perfect posture over every jump that they encountered on their way. Edmund rode ahead of him, back straight, form strong. Except for his shoulders. Even beneath his little bit of armor Caspian found them rounded, weary. Caspian pressed his lips together. They would get to Peter in time, he was sure of it.

It wasn’t long before boisterous revelry wafted around them, carrying on the breeze like a bird’s song on the dawn of a new day. It hit Caspian like a cold wave, slamming him around until he took a breath, regained control, and followed Edmund’s signal to charge ahead.

The rogues dropped their bottles of mead, staggering to their feet as Aslan’s Army charged through. Caspian leaned sideways on his horse, catching a running ogue with the end of his sword when he swung. Reaching a clearing, Caspian jumped down from his horse and immediately ran into the foray.

His sword bit and clashed against the staves and daggers wielded against him. He dodged and parried. He ducked and swung, using the fire in his belly as a driving force to keep pushing, keep fighting. A few blows landed on his armor, creating a clang so loud it rattled in his skull but he pushed through.

Out the corner of his eye he spotted Edmund fighting a rogue about the size of a troll and the width of a barrell. A large scratch sliced through his right cheek, staring by his mouth and ending right below his eye. Edmund aimed a kick at its chest only for the rogue to grab his leg and give it a mighty twist. Caspian winced at the crack, followed by Edmund’s scream of anguish.

Arrows flew through the air, piercing the rogue’s arms and chest but it only made him grin. He didn’t slow. Caspian tightened his grip on his sword and charged forward, bringing it down with all his might. The rogue screamed as Caspian’s sword sliced through his arm, coming to a shuttering stop when it hit bone. Blood sprayed outwards, dripping down the length of Caspian’s sword. The rogue dropped Edmund and he fell to the ground with a thud where he immediately curled downwards to grasp his leg and drag himself away.

“For Narnia!” the army cried out as they ran forward, charging like a tidal wave. Caspian took the time to rush to Edmund’s side, managing to avoid the scratched rogue’s swinging arm.

“Don’t worry about me,” Edmund grunted.

“Come. I’ll get you out of here.”

“No. Get Pete!”

Caspian’s heart skipped a beat. “Where—?”

“There...over there,” Edmund managed to utter through his scrunched up face.

Caspian whirled around and saw him, Peter, propped up by a nearby tree. His head lolled forward. He sat still. So still. Caspian swallowed and ran over to him. He lifted Peter’s head, growling beneath his breath as he took in Peter’s banged up face, dried blood caked beneath one nose, and gag wrapped around his mouth. Caspian reached to untie the gag when he looked down and saw that Peter was tied to the tree and around his ankles as well. But it was the darkened patch on his side that made him briefly take pause.

He drew a knife from its holster on his waist and sawed at the ropes until Peter was let free. He slumped sideways and Caspian eased him to the ground. Please. Please. Placing two fingers beneath Peter’s neck, he waited and waited and waited...until finally he felt a pulse. It was weak, but at least it was there.

“Ed, I got him!” Caspian called over his shoulder. Edmund rolled over and struggled to his feet. He nearly fell over again but he managed to stay upwards, dragging his bad leg behind him as he hopped over to Peter. “I got him,” Caspian repeated.

“Pete? Hey, Pete.” Once by his older brother’s side, Edmund started patting Peter’s cheek. A small groan escaped from Peter’s mouth, but his eyes remained closed. “Go. I’ll stay with him.” Edmund lifted his chin over his shoulder where the rogues, now down to five, struggled against the circling Narnian army. The scratched rogue was nowhere to be seen. “Finish this.”

Caspian threw one last glance Peter’s way, pressing his lips together when Edmund leaned forward and rested his forehead against his brother’s. “I’m here, Pete. It’ll be okay,” he murmured.