Miraz's loud gasp caught their attention as Telmarine King collapsed to his knees, Queen Susan's arrow in his side. Caspian recognized Lord Sopespian, who had an expression between a mixture of joy and surprise.

"Treachery!" he yelled when Miraz fell to the ground. "They shot him! They murdered our King!"

He had cried it loud enough for the Generals and the other Lords to hear him.

"Be ready!" Peter ordered towards the archers, and Caspian jumped onto the horse Brocéliande was still holding.

"Peter!" cried the prince, seeing a Telmarine soldier approaching with his full armor.

The High King chopped off his head before turning back to Caspian. "Go!"

Brocéliande returned to the side of the Narnians as the Telmarine war machines were activated. Peter glanced at Caspian, and the prince galloped into the mausoleum followed by the centaur. The young man grabbed a torch at the entrance before heading to a dark corridor where there were a multitude of columns that held the earth above.

"Narnians! Charge!"

The group, which consisted mostly of felines, the giant, minotaurs and centaurs followed him down the hall as Caspian started counting along with Peter.

"One, two..." began the High King.

"Three, four..." the prince continued under his feet.

"Five, six... Seven... Eight, nine... Get Ready !" Peter ordered.

"NOW!!" Caspian yelled, and all the Narnians following him destroyed the columns if they could.

Brocéliande saw the ground below and in front of the cavalry begin to crumble, and smiled.

"NOW!" Susan yelled, and all the archers let go of their ropes, riddling their enemies with arrows.

"Charge!" Peter ordered, pointing his sword forward.

The centaur and dwarf womens came out of the mausoleum, followed by many animals as all the Narnians present outside rushed into battle.

Suddenly, three entrances to the land opened, and the Narnians who were destroying the columns came out to attack, led by Caspian as they should have been from the start.

"Charge!!"

All fought fiercely, talking animals, fauns, centaurs, minotaurs, satyrs. Caspian held out his sword forward, and many griffins holding dwarves in their talons emerged from the forest behind the mausoleum, the little men aiming at the infantry and the remains of the cavalry.

Much of that winged aid was wiped out when the Telmarines began firing whit what looked like giant crossbows. 

Peter, seeing their winged strength vanish, turned to his sister. "Lucy ?!"

Susan, understanding despite the distance, shook her head at the absence of their sister and Aslan.

Brocéliande swung his sword behind Peter, who watched in horror as a soldier collapsed.

"What a breach of honor," roared the faun in rage, attacking other infantrymen. "Only cowards attack from behind!"

He leaps high in the air to kick a man's face with his hoofs before grabbing one of his arrows and stabbing it in the neck of another, and slitting the throat of a third. His face showed no expression. He restrained his anger, and fought to defend himself and protect his people.

Caspian glanced at Glenstorm, who understood before grabbing a foghorn hanging from his neck and blew inside. Immediately, the rest of the Narnian army emerged from the woods where it was hidden, the soldiers rushing head first into the battle. The Telmarines were rather taken aback, enough for the Narnians to have the advantage for a moment, but the arrival of the infantry forces caused them to fall back. The catapults destroyed the entrance, crushing a poor faun and a satyr in the process, and Susan nearly fell from the mausoleum. Trumpkin caught her as best he could, and swung her towards the old entrance, where the stone formed a slope stable enough that she could land on it.

The Telmarines surrounded them, and the Narnians gave all they had to fight and regain their freedom.

Brocéliande pushed the man back in front of him, and Bane, the white lion, jumped on the threatening soldier on his left, but was stabbed by the latter's sword. The feline moaned, and tore his assassin's throat as his last act. The faun scorned his bow, firing and striking at the same time. He shot a soldier who was threatening Trumpkin, and one of them destroyed the bow with his sword. The faun grabbed his, slitting his throat before rushing towards Caspian, who had just fallen into the crevasse. He had to face the two men who had previously threatened the prince, and did not see the third.

But he felt the latter's sword very well pass through the middle of his abdomen. He let out a cry of pain, thrusting his sword blindly into his back, and pulled the Telmarine sword out of his own body, his hand shaking. He had been hit by a coward, a blow in the back. He saw the tree behind come alive to choke the soldier who was about to attack him on his left, his eye on the same side blind from the blood from his scratch that had reopened. His paws were shaking, blood streaming down his fur and cheek, but he couldn't give up without knowing whether Caspian was alive or not.

He felt relief and pain come over him for good as he saw Peter pull Caspian out of the abyss. The prince gave his friend a relieved look, and Brocéliande knew he would be fine. Caspian, not having noticed the wound on the back of his friend who crossed him through and through, but that was hidden under his leather breastplate, followed Peter and the other Narnians to repel the Telmarines terrified of the trees. The faun watched them run away, knowing that Caspian had assumed he would follow him, and felt his strength give up.

He fell to his knees, then to the side before rolling onto his back on the hard ground. The grassy freshness eased his burning body somewhat, and he felt terribly lonely. Like before Caspian burst into his life filled with fear and flight. The pain tore his stomach and lower back, but he felt no fear. Only loneliness.

Knowing that he was going to die there, among so many of his people already fallen in battle, alone. But a sense of duty accomplished accompanied the loneliness and pain.

Caspian was alive.

And Aslan was back.

That was all that mattered.

He didn't cry. He had cried for his brother, his father, his uncle, his mother. He had cried so many hours in the arms of Windmane who was like a second mother to him. But not this time, no. He wouldn't cry, because they had won. He was convinced of it. He had never doubted Queen Lucy, and he had never doubted the Great Golden Lion.

But he had regrets. He would not be able to attend Caspian's coronation, and would never be able to see Narnia as it was meant to be. Vibrant with magic and freedom.

A paw resting on his hand pulled him from his gaze at the pearly clouds as a pool of ruddy blood gulped the once green and plump lawn. His green eyes struggled to focus on a face he knew well.

"Trufflehunter," breathed the faun, turning his head towards the badger.

He coughed, blood slipping from his lips to fall on the already red grass. Trufflehunter felt his throat tighten, and he squeezed his paw around his friend's hand.

"It's going to be fine," the badger reassured, and Brocéliande smiled sadly.

"Are you saying that to reassure me, or to reassure yourself?"

The badger smiles, saddened. "A bit of both I guess..."

The talking animal gently squeezed the injured's hand, and Brocéliande closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the loneliness recede.

"Thanks ... but what are you doing here?" the faun asked, breathing harder as his wound continued to bleed.

The badger pointed at his thigh where there was a deep sore, probably caused by a dagger.

"I barely managed to drag myself to join you," Trufflehunter confessed as Brocéliande was seized with another coughing fit. "I couldn't leave you alone."

The faun felt his eyes moisten, but no tears fell. Trufflehunter wiped away the blood from his eye, and Brocéliande could see again.

"Thank you my friend," he whispered, closing his eyelids briefly.

"Try to hold on," Trufflehunter encouraged. "I'm sure Queen Lucy will be here soon."

"Why would I do such a thing?" Brocéliande whimpered, his breathing harder, "Caspian is alive, and we've won. My mission is over."

A considerable amount of blood slid from his lips as he turned paler. The badger squeezed his hand, his once white stripes tinted with dirt and blood, both his own and that of his enemies.

"Then fight for the prince," the animal said, replacing a dark brown, almost black, curl from his friend. "I'm not blind Brocé... you could tell him. Let him know."

The faun understood, and closed his eyes for a moment that seemed like an hour. A long groan left his throat as Trufflehunter made a movement to lift his breastplate and analyze his wound.

"Sorry.."

"No, it's not ... your fault," Brocéliande panted. "Trufflehunter... I don't think... that I will... manage... Thanks Glenstorm and Windmane for... everything they have... done for... for me... and tell Caspian.. that it's not... his fault..."

The badger let tears fall at the sight of his dying friend. He had already lost Nikabrik, and now he was losing Brocéliande. But he thought the prince must know. And it was when he heard the sound of hooves that he felt that, perhaps, it was not too late.