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WALKING IN THE WIND
xii. FRESH AIR AND DEAD LANGUAGES

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  BEFORE THEY COULD DECIDE what to do next, the group of travelers took it upon themselves to rest, clean up, and get some proper food in their system. It had been a long 24 hours for all of them, and the upcoming days weren't getting any shorter. With a gruesome war on the way, it seemed silly to neglect even the most basic self-care. They needed to be prepared for anything. Besides, why would anyone want to enter a battle already bruised and beaten?

  Hope found settling in to be quite difficult, considering everyone either hated her or felt otherwise indifferent toward her. Somehow, dealing with both sides was equally as terrible.

  Firstly, there was Prince Caspian X, who Hope punched in the face before either could adequately introduce themselves. She hadn't spoken to him much since then, and she didn't plan on it. She didn't have much of a reason why, but she wasn't very fond of him already. She figured it had something to do with him disrespecting her boundaries.

  She also didn't like Caspian because she didn't fully trust him. He was a Telmarine, after all. His people were the reason the Narnians were battling extinction in the first place. She thought that was enough of a reason, personally. How could anyone want such a beautiful land to crumble?

  Hope did, at the very least, feel some empathy toward him after discovering he was forced to flee Telmar because his uncle and aunt ordered their soldiers to kill his nephew for the throne. The only reason he was still alive to lead the war against the Telmarines, who thought Narnians were extinct all this time, was because of his private tutor.

  She wouldn't confess this aloud, but Hope was only empathetic because the same thing happened to her — except the person who saved her was her best friend (and a wooden wardrobe).

  Speaking of Odette, they hadn't spoken to each other since yesterday. Hope wasn't interested in chatting with Odette either (for obvious reasons), which turned out to be a nightmare in itself. Everyone was interested in Wysteria, making it nearly impossible to ignore Odette's existence. Everyone spoke of the lost princess and handmaid endlessly.

  Right. Hope kept forgetting she wasn't a handmaid anymore. She was a queen. How strange. She'd been hoping she could bury this whole thing in the past, but she couldn't escape it. Her mistakes were written on the walls and buried in history books. They lingered within Cair Paravel's ashes and the hearts of the Narnians. Her past wasn't only her present, but it was her future, too.

  It felt like the only people Hope was comfortable being around at the moment were Peter and Lucy. Susan only ever spoke to Hope with a harsh glare, and Edmund was... Well, Edmund was Edmund. But at least she had the oldest and youngest to keep as close company for now.

  Normally, she would've flocked to the servants, but as it turned out, they didn't like Hope all that much either.

  She was used to her place being with other servants, but every time she approached them, they either became painfully timid or offered her a cold shoulder. Most of the Narnians disliked her for her illicit marriage (which... alright, fine. They sort of had a point). Those who were indifferent were a rarity, practically nonexistent. They didn't speak to her unless it was necessary. If she was lucky, they would acknowledge her with a small smile or a meek greeting. They were all extremely passive-aggressive in a weird, respectful-because-of-her-title way, and in turn, Hope felt lonely and powerless.

  This was how Hope found herself outside, away from everyone. It was a good decision, she concluded. The fresh air didn't do much in terms of clearing her mind, but it was a nice day out regardless. Besides, spending time alone was becoming more and more important to her. If she didn't take a minute to simply stop and breathe whenever she could, she feared she might really go mad.

  Her thoughts wandered as she sat upon a large rock near the entrance to Aslan's How. It overlooked the wide field, where blades of grass swayed deftly. Tiny dandelions broke apart, drifting toward the clouds. Part of her felt the urge to pluck one and make a wish, but a crunch in the grass behind her demanded her attention.

  "Oh, I didn't realize you were out here."

  Hope couldn't find it in her to be surprised that Edmund managed to find her. No matter where they went, one of them was always running into the other.

  "Yeah, I've been out here for a while," she awkwardly replied. "I'd head back inside, but it's a bit..."

  "Suffocating?"

  "That's one way to put it."

  "Agreed." Scattered memories of their conversation from last night flashed through his mind. Edmund cringed, turning to go back inside. "Well, I'll leave you—"

  "Don't be silly," interrupted Hope. "Just because I'm out here doesn't mean you can't be, too."

  Edmund hesitated. "But yesterday, you said—"

  "I know what I said, but it's not like I own the entire outside world." With a small smile, she added, "I don't bite, you know." Besides, she figured she should talk to him at some point. He was one of the only people that made her feel safe, understood. Talking to him would make things better... hopefully.

  His tense shoulders fell as he finally walked forward and sat down beside her. "I don't know," Edmund said, "judging the way you beat up Caspian this morning..."

  "I didn't beat him up," she defended. When he gave her a knowing look, she waved her hand. "Oh, whatever. He deserved it. He gave me a heart attack!"

  Edmund chuckled. "Always the charmer." Suddenly, his smile withered as he watched Hope reach for her cheek, scratching at one of her many cuts.

  Insecurity crept up on her. "...What?" She waited for him to say something, but he only narrowed his eyes at her face. "Uh, hello—?"

  "Your cuts are infected," Edmund matter-of-factly said.

  "What?!" Her hands went to her face again. "No, they're not!"

  "Oh, really? When was the last time you looked in a mirror?" he challenged. She started to argue, but he was already rising to his feet. "Wait here. And stop touching your face."

  "But—"

  Without warning, he suddenly leaned back down, his face hovering mere inches away from hers. Then, with a firm voice, he ordered, "Don't. Move."

  Flustered, Hope couldn't find it in her to respond. She only nodded. He vanished into Aslan's How again, leaving her alone. Now that she'd been ordered not to touch her face, all she wanted was to do the opposite of what she was told, but she refrained. Puzzled thoughts crossed her mind. What was he up to?

  Luckily, Edmund returned in a matter of minutes, holding something in his hand. As he sat back down, he somehow managed to read her mind because he was speaking before she could ask. "We need to clean your wounds," he said.

  "Is it that bad?" Hope asked, reaching for her cheek again. Edmund grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand back. "Oh, come on—!"

  "You're a lot more stubborn than I remember you being," he teased. "Let me help you."

  She tried to conceal her confusion. He clearly didn't forget their conversation last night, so why was he so insistent on helping her?

  Hope peered down at the small clay container in his grasp, furrowing her eyebrows at whatever was inside of it. "What is that?"

  "Not sure. I walked in, asked if anyone had something I could use to help you, and everyone insisted I took this medicine. A centaur, Windmane told me this would do the trick. It's some special, top-secret recipe," Edmund explained. When she raised an eyebrow, he mused, "Being a king has its perks."

  She gently laughed. "...Is it going to hurt?"

  "Probably."

  "Very reassuring."

  "Hey, I'm an honest man."

  "You have such a way with words."

  Edmund shook his head at her nervousness. "Just focus on me, mon chérie. It'll be over before you know it," he assured.

  Sighing, she nodded. He carefully took her face into one of his hands. It took everything in her not to lean into his touch. She prayed she wasn't blushing, but judging the faint amusement on his face, she had a feeling she was.

  "I didn't know you knew French," Hope mumbled as he took the homemade medicine in his other hand.

  "I'm fluent in it, dove."

  "Uh, since—" She flinched as he dabbed the medicine onto her forehead. It melted into her cuts, leaving behind an uncomfortable sensation that blended between burning and stinging. "—when?"

  "Since forever, nosy," he teased. "Being in my position, it benefits you to know a few languages. I'm fluent in French, Elvish, German, Latin, and I know a bit of Russian."

  "Latin's a dead language, you know."

  "And that's why French is my favorite," Edmund revealed as she flinched again. "Is it really that bad?"

  "Yes!" she whined. "I'd rather jump out of another car than do this."

  "Well, you shouldn't have let it get this bad," he mocked. "I still can't believe you jumped out of a moving car."

  "Hey, I can be a badass when I want to!"

  "Yeah, right," Edmund laughed. "Remember when you flew on a griffin's back for the first time?"

  "Ugh, don't remind me," she mumbled. She pulled away from his touch, wincing yet again. She shook her head and whined, "It hurts, Eddie!"

  "And who's fault is that?"

  "Not mine! If I could yell at the ground for hurting me without looking stupid, I would!"

  "As much as I'd love to watch that, you have to sit still," Edmund instructed. "You know, I once fought an entire battle with a dislocated shoulder. Meanwhile, you can't even sit still for five minutes."

  "That's different!" she opposed.

  "How is that different?"

  "Because you're insane!" Hope retorted. "Who fights with a dislocated anything?"

  Edmund took her face once more with both of his hands. This time, he failed to wipe the grin off his face as he threatened, "If you move one more time—"

  "You'll what?" she challenged.

  Words escaped him. He tenderly pulled her closer until their faces were mere centimeters apart. They were so close that he could feel her hold her breath, and if she listened closely, she could hear his heart racing at a million miles an hour.

  Swiping his thumb over her lower lip, he said, "For the record, I know you're trying to distract me so that we don't have to do this anymore."

  "That obvious, huh?" Hope whispered.

  "Uh-huh."

  "Is it working?"

  "You're not leaving until you're fixed up."

  "Damn you, Edmund," she whined, pulling away from him and sitting up straight again. "Fine, just do it."

  With a smug grin, he asked, "Was that so hard?"

  Hope rolled her eyes. "It was, actually. Thanks for asking. Can you at least distract me?"

  "Oh, I have a few ideas—"

  "Not those kinds of distractions, you doorknob. Real ones!" she interposed. "Tell me something I don't know."

  "What, like my favorite color?"

  "You're an ass."

  "Ah, yes, I'm an ass, even though I'm the one cleaning you up," he remarked. "Alright, fine, you big baby. How about this: I'll say something in French, and you have to guess what I'm saying. I'll give you something easy, alright? Le ciel est bleu."

  "Uh..." Hope trailed off, eyebrows knitted together. She couldn't focus, her heart fluttering from how he sounded when he spoke French. She couldn't quite describe it, but he sounded different, and she really, really liked it. That, plus the fact that he was just holding her face made the butterflies in her stomach go into a frenzy. "Er, something something is blue? Uh... the sea? The... The school?"

  "Oh, come on," Edmund said. "This one's supposed to be easy!"

  "Well, I'm sorry I can't focus when you—!" Hope started to defend, only to go quiet. "Never mind."

  "No, no," he encouraged, "go on."

  "No, your head's already massive. I wouldn't want to contribute to that," Hope argued. Though she hadn't said exactly what she was thinking, Edmund was able to put the pieces together.

  "It was, The sky is blue, Einstein," Edmund revealed.

  Pouting, Hope replied, "Okay, okay, fine. I wasn't trying. Give me something else. Let me redeem myself!"

  He couldn't ignore how her bright eyes stared back at him, pooled with more determination than before. Humming, he said, "Vous êtes très jolie, mon chérie."

  You are very pretty, my darling.

  He thought it was cute how her face changed as she tried to process his words. Hope thought about it for three measly seconds before deciding, "I don't like this game."

  "You're not very good at it either," Edmund pointed out.

  "Well, Odette's the one that took French in school. I picked Spanish," she explained. "I wasn't bad either, but then I quit, and now, the only thing I remember is a rather harsh insult and how to ask if I can use the bathroom."

  Edmund chuckled as he took her left hand, rubbing the medicine over her inflamed knuckles. "Do I want to know what that insult is?"

  "No, I'm saving it for someone who deserves it. Fortunately for you, I don't think you do." Soon, her smile wilted. "Can we... talk about last night?"

  Edmund hesitated. "We don't have to if you don't want to. Honestly, I thought we were going to pretend it never happened."

  "No, you saw how well things went the last time we tried to ignore something. We shouldn't pretend it didn't happen," Hope insisted. "I'm really sorry. I don't know why I reacted like that—"

  "Hey, you don't have to apologize for anything," Edmund argued.

  "No, I do. Just because I haven't accepted that it's been 1,000 years since this all started doesn't change the fact that it happened. It isn't fair for me to criticize you for feeling... that way, not after everything you've been through. It's been years for you. And your memories weren't screwed with either. You've had more time to think about it than me," Hope said. "It's just... When you said it, I started overthinking, and I panicked."

  "You don't have to apologize because you're not ready to say something," he gently told her. "Or-or if you don't feel that way. You shouldn't say it because someone else did."

  "But that's the thing, Ed," Hope mumbled. "I really, really, really like you."

  Surprise became him. "You do?"

  She scoffed. "Don't act so surprised! Of course, I do! I dreamed about you for over 1,000 years, and you think I'm not crazy about you?"

  "...It wasn't actually 1,000 years for us, you know."

  "Yeah, yeah, my point still stands," she insisted. "Even when you're being annoying or scaring me to death or arguing with me over some book or smiling with that stupid grin of yours that makes me go crazy, I like you. So much. I like you enough to put myself through all kinds of crap if it means being with you." She sighed. "But you deserve so much better."

  "Are you joking? Of course, I do," agreed Edmund. "That's why I want you."

  A smile lit up her face as she stifled a laugh. It only lasted a few seconds before fading, but Edmund wanted to bask in those few seconds for the rest of his life.

  "Do you... Do you think we could just... take it slow for a while?" she shyly asked. "There's so much going on, and it's all happening so fast and I hardly know what I'm doing, and... I don't want to distract from what's important right now."

  Edmund squeezed her hand. "Absolutely. I'm glad you told me."

  "You are?"

  "Don't sound so surprised. Communication is key, right?" he returned. If Edmund didn't know any better, he could've sworn a weight magically lifted from her shoulders. "And for the record, I really like you, too."

  Hope feigned surprise. "Really? Honestly, I had no idea," she teased. "You know, we've done this entire relationship thing completely backward. Who gets married before dating?"

  "Well, let me introduce you to the concept of an arranged marriage."

  "At least you stayed true to your word. There was just a... mix-up along the way." Her eyebrows met once more as she noticed him wipe the medicine off of his fingers. "Wait, you're done?"

  "Mhm," he revealed. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

  "I can't believe those distractions actually worked," Hope confessed before leaning forward and gently kissing his cheek. "Thank you, by the way."

  Whatever Edmund said after that was entirely foreign to her as her gaze snapped toward something shifting in the trees across the field. The leaves rustled obnoxiously, far more intense than anything the breeze could've caused. Squinting, Hope asked, "Do you see that?"

  Near the treeline, a soldier was sitting atop a horse. There was no doubt in her mind that he was a Telmarine. How long had he been watching them?

  Edmund sat up, alarmed. "Is that...?"

  The horse suddenly whinnied as the soldier tugged on its reins, disappearing into the forest. Edmund jumped to his feet, but it was no use. The Telmarine was gone.

  Hope and Edmund only exchanged glances before hurrying inside.

○ ○ ○

  "I don't understand," admitted Hope. She stood in the Stone Table room in an emergency meeting. Narnian leaders and high-ranking troops gathered around with grave expressions. Her arms were folded over her chest, unnerved. "He was just... watching us."

  "He didn't attack either of you?" queried a centaur by the name of Glenstorm. He was Narnia's current General. "He didn't attempt to communicate?"

  Edmund shook his head. "It's impossible knowing how long he was there. I'm just curious if this is the first time Telmarines have discovered this area. Do you think they're planning something? An ambush, maybe?"

  Peter seemed to think so. "It's only a matter of time. Miraz's men and war machines are on their way. That means those same men aren't protecting his castle," he declared.

  "What do you propose we do, Your Majesty?" wondered the small gray mouse from earlier, Reepicheep.

  "We need to get ready—"

  "Our only hope—"

  The air was still as Peter and Caspian's words crashed into one another. The tension between them seemed to grow expeditiously whenever they were in the same room. They shared an immense desire to lead the Narnians, but apparently, there was only room for one leader (which Odette thought was silly, considering Narnia was ruled by two kings and two queens).

  The High King shot Caspian a stern look before continuing as he had before, "Our only hope is to strike them before they strike us."

  "That's crazy," Caspian immediately opposed. He clenched and unclenched his fist, venturing to sustain composure. "No one's ever taken that castle!"

  "Well, there's always a first time," Peter offered.

  "We'll have the element of surprise," agreed Trumpkin.

  Odette's eyes were on her nails, picking at a piece of dirt underneath them, as she calmly chimed in, "With these numbers? You'll be lucky if you make it past the castle gates."

  "Exactly! We have the advantage here!" Caspian encouraged.

  Susan rose from where she'd been sitting next to Odette, joining Caspian's side. "If we dig in, we could probably hold them off indefinitely," the Gentle Queen proposed. She ignored the betrayed look on her brother's face.

  "I, for one, feel safer underground," Trufflehunter confessed. Mumbles of quiet agreement scattered across the room.

  "Nothing screams confidence like digging your grave before the fight even begins," Hope mumbled, mostly to herself.

  Caspian shot the redhead an irritated glare. "I'm sorry, is there something you want to say?" he snapped.

  Hope jumped, not realizing she had spoken much louder than she intended. "O-Oh, well, I was just agreeing... sort of. Er, not really. Just thinking out loud," she excused. "If we bring the fight here, we could utilize our resources to our advantage. We know the lay of the land here and we could set up traps to divide their army—" Hope paused when she noticed Peter's prolonged look of irritation. "—Never mind. Forget I said any of that."

  From his corner, Edmund knew how much Peter despised the thought of his people disagreeing with him. It was ironic, he supposed. Peter desperately wanted to flee England because no one supported him the way the Narnians did, and look at him now.

  Turning to Caspian, Peter spat, "Look, I appreciate what you've done here, but this isn't a fortress. It's a tomb."

  The thought of this place functioning as a deathbed drove Edmund into a state of panic. The distant roar of a lion rang in his ears as he recalled how Aslan's blood once dripped onto the cracks of the Stone Table because of him. If not for Aslan's sacrifice, Edmund's blood would've spilled instead. He was enriched with guilt.

  That seemed to follow him, Edmund noticed. Guilt. Regret.

  "Yes, and if they're smart, the Telmarines will just wait and starve us out," Edmund voiced, taking his brother's side.

  "Considering the Narnians escaped extinction without them realizing it, I seriously doubt they have the brain capacity to think that," Odette admitted, causing a few to snicker.

  "We could collect nuts!" Pattertwig, a dim-witted squirrel, cheered.

  "Yes! And we could throw them at the Telmarines!" Reepicheep sarcastically exclaimed before glaring at him. "Shut up!" He turned to Peter, adding, "I think you know where I stand, sire."

  "If I can get your troops in, can you handle the guards?" Peter asked Glenstorm.

  "Or die trying, my liege."

  Suddenly, Lucy spoke from where she sat on the cracked Stone Table. Under the dim lighting, some could've sworn the small girl looked much like a lion cub. "That's what I'm worried about," she said. "You're all acting like there are only two options: dying here or dying there."

  "I'm not sure you've been listening, Lu," Peter dismissed.

  "No, you're not listening," argued Lucy. "Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch, Peter?"

  Everyone tensed at the Valiant's harsh words. Their minds wandered to Aslan yet again.

  Peter's eyes didn't soften, only staring at his youngest sister with a harsh glare. "I think we've waited for Aslan long enough."

  And so, it was settled. The Narnians would invade the Telmarine Castle.

  It was somewhere between thrilling and daunting for everyone involved, whether they would partake in this endeavor or wait anxiously on the sidelines. As imminent as this war was, everyone could agree that this seemed like a suicide mission. The Narnians' numbers were lacking, and where they had strength, their fears overpowered it. They knew what the Telmarines were capable of, and considering everything, their trepidation prospered. But as their fear remained, so did hope.

  Yes, that was the right word for it: hope. Hundreds of years went by while Narnia drowned in wickedness, but finally, at the end of the tunnel of darkness, there was hope.

  This was their chance.