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WALKING IN THE WIND
xviii. WALKING CONTRADICTIONS

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  NIGHTFALL PASSED WITHOUT SO much as a whimper, but tensions among the Narnians remained steadfast. News of what the Telmarine Prince attempted the previous day was spreading slowly, but the Narnians would be fools to not notice the depleted moods of their leaders. It was difficult to sit still that morning, knowing the Telmarines were coming. There was nothing left to do but wait.

  Adorned in another one of Susan's dresses, the sword Edmund gifted her hanging off her hip, Hope felt rather bare. They needed armor, shields, a fortress—something! Even Wysteria had a bit more than this—if she was remembering her youth correctly. As much as she cherished and appreciated her time spent at Aslan's How, Peter was right. This was a tomb in the making. When the Telmarines marched in, the Stone Table's rubble wouldn't differ from the others around it. Their catapults wouldn't discriminate.

  There was a little extended ridge of the How, sort of like a balcony, that Hope had become fond of. It overlooked the land ahead of the How. At sunrise, she liked to sit upon it and admire the vast greenery, pondering how far it all truly stretched before it transformed into something else. Surely, it depended on the direction you went. Sand one way, rocks in another, water in another.

  Hope was on her way to perch on that little balcony for a few minutes alone when she noticed someone had infested her spot.

  Prince Caspian was there—as he had been the afternoon before the Night Raid, as he had been last night. She had only heard a snippet of a conversation he was having with his Professor, that Caspian had the potential to be history's most noble contradiction. The Telmarine who saved Narnia. Hope had to bite her tongue and leave. After his stint with the White Witch, she had plenty to say about that.

  But the Narnians were finally warming up to her. Picking fights with Caspian would do nothing for her reputation.

  But this was the third time Caspian had invaded her thinking spot. Granted, Aslan's How wasn't very spacious, and there weren't many other places to go, especially with an infiltration imminent. Still, Hope just wanted five minutes of peace alone before everything went to shit again. When she saw Caspian, however, she found herself sighing and turned to leave.

  But then she thought, Why should I leave? He should leave!

  So she turned back around.

  Then she thought, I don't own the How. I have no right.

  So she turned again.

  Then, He can't hog it all week!

  Again.

  I'm furious with him still. I don't want to talk to him.

  By the time she turned again, Caspian was watching her intently, brow furrowed. "Is everything alright, Lady Hope—?"

  "I am perfectly alright, Your Highness, thank you!" She cleared her throat, for she knew that was not very convincing in the slightest. "I am simply... trying to decide how I feel about you in this given moment."

  Caspian blinked. "O-Oh—"

  "Because you show promise, but frankly, you are a coward," Hope spewed without realizing it. She stopped, reconsidered her words, then nodded. "Yes, that's it. You're a coward."

  He rose warily. "Perhaps there's been a... misunderstanding. If this is about what transpired yesterday—"

  "You're right. It is. How could it not be? I am a thousand years older than you, so I feel like this is the one time I can excuse myself for speaking so openly with a royal," Hope said. "What you did yesterday, summoning that witch, was a desperate plea that would've made matters worse. Infinitely worse."

  "I was only trying to help." And to his credit, he still appeared as remorseful as he did yesterday. A thread of wind curled through his long hair, baring his guilty brown eyes for the kingdoms to witness. A muscle in his jaw feathered. "I am trying to help Narnia."

  "And you chose the easy way out. You weren't alive when the witch was, but the Pevensies, Odette, and I all were. The White Witch was a cruel woman with no regard for life, only power. She massacred anyone in her shadow, no matter if they were loyal to her cause or not. She would've frozen you where you stood before you could realize the mistake you'd made. And to think you nearly brought her back without even consulting someone first—" Hope's nostrils flared, but she kept her voice taut, low. "The Night Raid was a horrible tragedy that should've unraveled differently. But... if you are to be the king that... saves Narnia, you— you can't just act so impulsively."

  There came a pause. Caspian continued to stare at her, doe-eyed, while Hope reminded herself to breathe. Part of her might always be just a little afraid of royals, no matter how many years and thrones withered away.

  But he didn't do anything. He just... sort of stared at her, mouth agape.

  Hope couldn't tell if she was feeling anxious now or just awkward. "Um... I'm only telling you this now because... the Pevensies are hardly speaking to anyone, the Narnians are nervous, Odette's nervous, I'm nervous— I mean, our worlds have been flipped upside down probably a good 20 times by now. Over and over and over again, I mean, really, how can anything surprise me at this point? You would think nothing can, but you'd be surprised! You're surprised, I'm surprised!"

  Great. Now she was rambling.

  "It's strange enough wrapping my head around the idea that the Telmarines are Wysterian. I mean, you're one of us. Or... Odette and I are one of you? Two of you? Never mind."

  She was sort of beginning to wish Caspian would just hit her at this point.

  "The point is, um, the future is terribly uncertain. We all may very much die here trying to restore Narnia. But our desperation shouldn't taunt us into acting recklessly. If we are to die, it won't be in vain." Again, Hope cleared her throat as the prince continued to stare at her. She patted her dress. "Um... That's all. I'll be taking my leave now—"

  "No!" Caspian blurted. "No, um. Stay." He hesitated, shaking his head. "My sincerest apologies, Lady Hope. You're right."

  Hope paused, looking around. "...I am?"

  "Everything is changing rather quickly, and now I am at the frontlines of a war I never imagined I would be part of," he said. "It's... difficult, and new. It's daunting. But I feel that I owe this to Narnia, to avenge the land and its people in apology for my people. Telmar's crimes against Narnia must end, but... you're right. I am deeply ashamed by what I tried to do yesterday. I was a fool. I'm sorry."

  Now she was the one staring at him.

  Surely, they must've looked comical, in all their hesitance. This part, Hope was still getting used to. Being treated like a human being, that is.

  "You're... sorry," Hope repeated.

  "Yes," Caspian said, though he sounded confused solely because she sounded confused, "and I hope you can learn to forgive me once I've proven myself to you all."

  "I'm not..." Hope laughed, even though nothing was very funny to her about this particular scene. "I'm not Narnian. And I am not of Telmar. And my home no longer exists. So I'm not particularly sure why I'm so furious in the first place. I hardly exist in history. You don't owe me anything."

  "Maybe," he agreed. "But you are honest, and you mean what you say. And... in my lifetime as a prince, I do not think many people have been honest with me or cared about much more than thrones and statuses. So, thank you. For telling me the truth."

  That caught her attention. She and Odette understood that feeling better than anyone. That suffocating feeling of walls closing in on you but you're in that room all by yourself. It was an ironic contradiction commoners would laugh at you for saying. Be grateful for what you have, Hope could already hear. And they were right. But that didn't change the fact that for years, Wysteria—and evidently, Telmar—only ever cared about where their names would fall in history books. Never were they preoccupied with what followed those names, only what came before. King, Queen, Ruler, and so on.

  Perhaps Hope had developed a prejudice against rulers unknowingly. Every one she met, she expected the worst from, and when she had a hairline of evidence to back that up, she ran with it. She'd expected the worst from the Pevensies, and they'd proved her wrong. She'd expected the worst from Miraz, and he'd proven her right.

  What had she expected from the Telmarine Prince? She wasn't sure. She was finding it difficult to read him, and she had a sneaking suspicion he felt the same way about her.

  "Um... You're welcome. I think." Hope quickly curtseyed. "And sorry, I think."

  A slanted smile curved up Caspian's tanned face as he bowed his head. "You are amusing, Hope. You are not what the Narnians suspect of you."

  She took in a deep breath. "Don't exhaust yourself trying to convince them that. I find that once people have made their opinions of me, they don't tend to change very easily. Most of the time, I think I've lived my life accidentally being in the wrong place at the right time. I can't control it or Aslan's sense of humor, I'm afraid."

  "That, I can sympathize with more than you realize," he admitted. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I'm not sure what I think of you either, as you put it."

  Hope nodded. "I think that's fair."

  To which Caspian nodded, as well. "Yes, I think I agree."

  Was this the start of a new friendship, or was he only acting this way because he was planning on executing her later?

  Maybe she needed to unpack that trauma she got from Odette's father later. Because, in hindsight, automatically assuming you're getting sent to the guillotine for every hiccup and sneeze is a little outrageous.

  Then again, that was totally something King David would do.

  "But since we are being transparent..." Caspian turned back to the fields, getting lost in all of the beautiful emerald ocean. Only a mere fraction of Narnia's fullest potential, and the land was only asleep. Still, the trees did not wave at them as they once did. "You may not be Narnian. But my uncle appears to have confided in you with knowledge even I had buried under years of studies. I digress. You do belong somewhere. You are of Telmar. And I know that is not the highest compliment, especially not now, but..."

  Hesitant, she stepped along the ridge, keeping a decent amount of distance between herself and the prince. "We are walking contradictions. An insult is a compliment, and a compliment is a slap to the face."

  He laughed. "Or a brutal punch to the nose."

  Hope cringed, but when she glanced over, he didn't seem so offended anymore. "Sorry about that, by the way."

  "And I am sorry I snuck up on you while you were asleep."

  "Just don't do it again."

  "Yes ma'am."

○ ○ ○

  They heard them before they saw them.

  It began as a thump, low beneath the plates of the land, a tremor at their feet. It went on for ages. Thump... Thump... Thump... Louder and louder, the marching resounded for miles before the Narnians accepted what was happening. The earth wasn't simply quaking, as they all foolishly wished. Marching across Narnia, the Telmarines had arrived.

  Clad in garish silver armor, they were impossible to miss. With masks concealing their faces, there were more than Hope could've imagined, with horses and mountain-like catapults, massive shields, organized masses. Their heavy metal dragged through the long grass, scraping long, winding dirt paths in their stead. The same paths they intended to follow home, with a glorious victory and the extinction of Narnians once and for all.

  And leading ahead of the frontlines, riding in on a white stallion, in glaring gold armor, was Miraz. Usurper of Telmar.

  As the Narnians gathered outside the How, too frightened to move any farther, it became evident that they were devastating, hilariously outnumbered. And with the fight being forced into their territory, it was clear that whatever happened next, there would not be a third battle. This was it.

  Which was why everyone was startled when Peter announced the plan.

  "Cakes and kettledrums!" Trumpkin protested. He circled the crowded How, grimy with alarm. "That's your next big plan? Sending a little girl alone into the darkest parts of the forest alone?"

  "It's our only chance," Peter firmly said. It was no secret the High King was troubled. Miraz's sudden appearance was the cherry on top. He knew he was on his way, but seeing him now... All of the options were laid out in front of him, all of the things he would've done in his prime in Narnia's Golden Age. But this was a new dawn, and Peter was just a boy again. A boy with wavering faith in himself and Aslan.

  Naturally, he did the exact opposite of what everyone was expecting him to do: send the Valiant Queen, the most faithful and feeble of the Pevensies, into the forest in hopes of summoning Aslan all on her own.

  Odette, however, snorted. "Honestly, it's kind of brilliant. If we keep their eyes on us, they have no reason to leave in pursuit of Lucy."

  Susan nodded. "Precisely. She only needs a way out. It isn't Aslan that needs to find us. It's us who need to find him. No one seeks Narnia the way Lucy does."

  Trumpkin turned to the Pevensie sisters, the dry blood in his wrinkles deepening his troubled expression. "Haven't enough of us died already?"

  "Nikabrik was my friend, too," offered Trufflehunter. The badger kept his head up. "But he lost hope. Queen Lucy hasn't. And neither have I."

  Reepicheep drew his blade. "For Aslan."

  Bulgy Bear raised a paw. "For Aslan!"

  Trumpkin was only half-convinced, however. To Lucy, he said, "I'm going with you."

  "No," Lucy said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "we need you here."

  "Besides, she won't be alone," Peter declared. His gaze flickered to the quiet redhead as she sat in the corner beside his brother. His sister-in-law only needed to read him for a second before her shoulders fell.

  "Oh, I hate when you give me that look," Hope muttered. It didn't matter how different the Pevensies were at times. They all had that knowing expression, that face that read, You're about to do this, whether you like it or not. She got it from Odette all the time!

  Which was how Odette managed to read her best friend perfectly clearly. "I was just going to suggest the same." She twisted a free strand of blonde hair between her fingers, poised as always. She did this often—feign nonchalance when she was secretly taking diligent notes to herself. It was how she got away with sitting in on her father's conferences as a girl. "Your plan is to send Aslan's most loyal believers to find him, isn't it? Hope makes perfect company. In our amnesiac states in London, she was convinced the stray cat in our alley was Aslan, you know."

  Could've left that last bit out, Hope thought with warm cheeks. Edmund cast her a quick glance before focusing once more. There was a good chance he would tease her about that later, assuming they survived this nightmare.

  Still, her heart skipped a beat at the thought of that lion. "You all seem to know me better than I know myself," Hope shyly said. "Ultimately, it is Lucy's choice whether or not I accompany her. She's the one leading this fight. She should decide her army for herself."

  Peter considered it for a moment before nodding. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Lu?"

  Lucy stood taller at that, a new determination beaming through her. "I would appreciate Hope's presence very much. It may be worth something to Aslan, if an unorthodox Wysterian... or... Telmarine joined a Narnian to seek him. It would show that bridges are willing to be built between us. The mark of a new age for Narnia."

  "Then, it's settled," Edmund proudly said, because he might've been the biggest believer in Lucy and Hope than anyone in that realm.

  Trumpkin stroked his beard. "I suppose that might work. At least she can wield a sword well."

  "We have to hold them off until Lucy and Hope get back," Peter declared. "We only need to get them out of Miraz's sight."

  "If I may," Caspian spoke, stepping away from his Professor's side. "Miraz may be a tyrant and a murderer. But as king, he is subject to the traditions and expectations of his people."

  Hope and Odette found each other's eyes from across the How, as if reading the prince's mind. This was a tradition that had stood since King David and Queen Lydia's rule, their favorite excuse to prolong wars beyond what was necessary.

  "You can't force people to listen," Hope offered, her Edmund's voice returning to her memories, "but you can get their attention."

  Caspian nodded. "There is one tradition in particular that may buy us some time."

  Odette's hair slipped from her grasp. "Oh, if Miraz is anything like my father, he's going to hate this." Her chuckle was terribly misplaced in that tense air. "I'm in."

○ ○ ○

  It had been some time, Odette was realizing as she joined the stroll into the enemy's territory, since she spent any time alone with her ex-fiancé. The last time she stood by his side... It was her birthday, wasn't it? This was how Odette knew she wasn't the same princess she used to be, for she was beginning to find her circumstances funnier and funnier as the days passed.

  As the smallest of the group, Odette was trying not to make it obvious that she was fighting for her life to keep up with the staggering heights of King Edmund, Glenstorm the centaur, and Wimbleweather the giant. Glenstorm had offered her a ride on his back, but Odette refused because she could do with some fresh air. Now she was regretting tying her breastplate so tightly—in secret, at least. She would never give Hope, who had suggested against it, that satisfaction.

  Still, her chin remained tilted high as her mother had trained her long ago. It was easier to do so with Edmund at her side. As King, he became someone else when he was called to play his part. Stonier, quieter, he was calculated in every furrowed brow, every movement of his chest. With his swords graciously at his side, Odette saw the Magnificent in the Just King. Still, Edmund's mischievous, quiet air made him something more intimidating to others.

  The Telmarines had taken camp not far from Aslan's How. They had done nothing yet, only announced their presence. Peter's plan was a race against time. Odette paid the soldiers prepping for battle no mind as she and Edmund entered the tent where Miraz and his councilmen were waiting, leaving Wimbleweather and Glenstorm outside.

  With an unwound scroll, Edmund read aloud, "I, Peter, by the gift of Aslan, by election and by conquest, High King of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Emperor of the Lone Islands, in order to prevent the abominable effusion of blood, do hereby challenge the usurper Miraz to single combat upon the field of battle. The fight shall be to the death. The reward shall be total surrender."

  Originally, Caspian had offered to accompany Edmund to confront his uncle. However, Odette insisted she take his place, and she was so very glad she did because it gave her the chance to see the stupid look on Miraz's face.

  "Tell me, Prince Edmund—" Miraz began.

  "King," Edmund corrected.

  The usurper blinked. "...Pardon?"

  "It's King Edmund, actually. Just king though." Edmund rolled up the scroll without regard. "Peter is the High King. I know, it's confusing."

  Miraz gave an unpleased sigh. "...Why would we risk such a proposal when our army could wipe you out by nightfall?"

  Edmund's eyes lit up. "Haven't you already underestimated our numbers? Only a week ago, Narnians were extinct."

  "Only a week ago... yes," Miraz said. He thrummed his fingers across the table between them, eyeing the girl beside him. "I see you haven't brought your wife with you. Tell me, is her neck alright?"

  "Yes, my wife is well." Edmund's composure had begun to frighten Odette. His muscles hardly tensed beneath his armor as they recalled the story of how Miraz had nearly strangled Hope to death. But then they remembered how she'd saved her own life. Edmund motioned to the lingering scar on Miraz's neck after being stabbed with an arrow. "She should like to know the same about yours."

  Miraz made a noise, but he attempted to play it off by clearing his throat. "One week ago, Narnians were extinct. And so you shall be again."

  "Then you should have little to fear."

  Miraz gave a wicked laugh that reminded Odette too much of her own father. Hurriedly, the councilmen joined him in his laughter. "This is not a question of bravery."

  Edmund hummed. "So you're bravely refusing to fight a swordsman half your age?"

  Miraz's smile dropped. "I didn't say I refused," he hissed. His attention became fixated on the princess. She wore her father's face intrepidly as he looked her over. "And what of you? What might you have to say regarding claiming war against your own people?"

  Odette stared at him for a moment, then offered a polite smile. "My people are some of Narnia's eldest allies. I have no fondness for the unnecessary cruelty you command."

  "And where are your people now, hm? Buried and blended with the enemy," Miraz mocked. "You have given up your throne and voice to play pretend with animals, princess. It is princess, isn't it?"

  Edmund was about to respond in her defense, but she was quicker this time. "Let me make myself transparent, usurper. I did not grow up on magic. I was raised on graveyards and battlefields, much like the terror the Telmarines have reaped. The fact of the matter is that, yes, we are blood. But my sister and I will not abandon Narnia."

  "You abandoned Wysteria once before. I have no reason to show surprise toward an enemy such as that of a blood traitor."

  "The true enemy is the one who mistreats the land it claims to rule," Odette cooly said, "for when it awakens from its hibernation, it will be the first to swallow you whole. Wysteria may have been taken captive by your people and been killed, but so long as I breathe, the Princess of Wysteria will honor her legacy. And when you address me again, usurper, it will be on your knees as Queen."

  Edmund allowed himself to relax his shoulders an inch, satisfied as Miraz pressed himself into his chair.

  One of the Telmarine Lords leaned over. "You shall have our support, Your Majesty, whatever your decision."

  Another, Lord Sopespian, protested, "Sire, our military advantage alone allows us the perfect excuse to avoid—"

  Miraz sprang to his feet, drawing his sword. "I AM NOT AVOIDING ANYTHING!" he roared.

  Odette simply kept her demeanor pleasant. It was clear the same poison that had taken Wysteria had been inherited by Miraz. Impulsive, flighty, arrogant. Her father would've loved him.

  Lord Sopespian clarified, "I am merely pointing out that my lord is well within his rights to refuse."

  Lord Glozelle chimed, "His Majesty would never refuse. He relishes the chance to show his people the bravery of their new king."

  Miraz steeled himself. He pointed his sword at the Narnian King. "You," he jeered, then gestured his blade toward Odette, "should hope your brother's sword proves sharper than his pen."

  Edmund and Odette simply smiled.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

There's another universe where Edmund and Odette were probably MENACES to counsel with if she and Hope never left Narnia. On one hand, Ode and Edmund would be clever and cunning as a duo. On the other hand, you just know Edmund and Hope would be bantering, annoying little shits. 

Anyway, I like this chapter :) I think it's nice to show that Ed and Odette still get along despite everything that happened. The Pevensies, Odette, and Hope really have become a little family. I think our girls have come far!! I really do think they blend into the storyline and the Pevensie family well. It's nice to see Odette in a position of power after believing for so long that she had to have a husband for her words to have any meaning. Knowing the Pevensies has changed just about everything for Odette :')

I've also enjoyed writing Hope's interactions with Caspian so far, especially. I'm excited to see where my brain decides to take them haha. Let me know what you guys think!