"Figs! Figs! Get your figs!" a woman's voice cried from down the street.

"Fresh fish!" a knife slammed against a table and a tail went off. "Get your fish!" a fat bearded man said.

"Flowers!" "Dates!" "Oranges!" "Spices!" "Melons!" "Meat!"

A dozen smells and a dozen voices trying to overpower one another resonated through the markets of Tashbaan. Anything you wanted, if you knew where to look, you could find there.

The streets were loud and hot, people bumping into one another, flies swarming about, sweat dripping down necks, cats roaming for scraps, children begging for a coin, and the Narnian lords and servants looking to purchase supplies for their trip and hire entertainment for a party that would never be.

"For tomorrow night. At the docks. Look for the Splendour Hyaline," Lord Ansoul said to the juggler while Lord Launce inquired as to where he could find some musicians. And while Lord Iames purchased wine and Lords Peridan and Percheval secured provisions for the voyage back, Susan finished composing the letter where she'd be inviting Prince Rabadash onboard their ship the following evening.

The packing was still undergoing in the house when Edmund returned from talking to the Captain. 

"Ready?" he asked Susan as he entered her chamber.

"I have the letter," she said, holding it up.

"You haven't sent it?!"  

"I wanted to show it to you first," she handed it over and Edmund began to read, nodding halfway through. 

"So?" 

"It should do," he folded it back and gave it to his sister. "The packing?" he asked.

"Almost finished, your majesty," one of Susan's ladies answered for her.

"Good. Good," Edmund looked around, noticing all the gifts Prince Rabadash had given Susan laid displayed on a table and looked back at her, eyebrow raised.

"I can't very well accept those now, can I?" she said as she sealed the letter and gave it to Mr Tumnus to hand to a Calormene servant.

No, you cannot, Edmund thought. "Where are the princes?"  

"Should they dare come in here I'll punch them in the nose and send them tumbling out the door," Corin said to the twin princes of Narnia, punching an invisible enemy.

"And I'll shoot them with my bow straight through their eyes," Edward said, drawing a very real bow––though with no arrow in charge–– and releasing the chord with a satisfying twang.

"As terrifyingly gratifying as the image of you three taking on the Calormen might be," Edmund said from the door and the three princes smiled at the comment, "you should be busying yourselves with packing. We've got to leave," and he grabbed a grape from one of the many fruit bowls in the room and popped it into his mouth. 

"Oh, Corin, that awful bruise," Susan approached him and brushed her fingers gently over his bruised browbone. "We simply cannot take you back to your father looking like that,"

"It's a battle wound of which I am most proud of," Corin grinned and Edmund had no doubt he was indeed proud of his black eye. He'd probably tell everyone on the ship about it. And then at Cair Paravel when they returned. And again at Anvard. And every breathing chance he got. 

He sighed. This is going to be a long trip home. 

"I know just the thing that will fix it back in Cair Paravel," Susan continued.

Edmund looked up and smirked. "Queen Imira makes some great ointment for such occasions," he said and considered the black eye and his sister-in-law's smelly fix-all paste would be punishment enough for Corin's latest antics. 

"Oh, that thing smells––" Edward began, too familiar with the stinky concoction his mother put on him for every cut and scrape he turned up with, but his brother elbowed him in the ribs and King Edmund's pointed glare made him understand. "Minty," he amended and the three Pevensies shared a conspiratorial look Corin was too busy enjoying Susan's attention to notice, for Corin loved Susan like an older sister, or a mother, or a cousin, or all three at the same time for he had neither. 

"Minty? Are you serious?" Will whispered to his brother. 

"Oh, he wasn't even listening," Edward retorted. 

"Couldn't you think of something better?" 

A long trip back, indeed, Edmund thought. "Alright now, gather around everyone. It's getting late and there is yet much to do," he said, gaining everyone's attention at once.

Susan stopped fussing over Corin, the twin princes stopped bickering and they all formed a circle around the king.

"The gates close at sundown and we need to leave the city one by one to avoid arousing suspicion.

"Lord Peridan will escort you first, Prince Corin, along with one of Susan's ladies, Mr Tumnus, and a dwarf. I trust you won't cause him any trouble," he threw the prince a warning look that told him they just might leave him if he so much as blinked out of turn.

Corin gave him an embarrassed smile.

"You two will leave separately," Edmund continued, turning to his nephews.

"Sir Threston," he looked at the knight who was hauling trunks of the princes' belongings outside with the help of Becc Stowes and who stopped at the mention of his name, "you and your party will escort the princes down to the ship next. No funny business, boys. You get to the Splendour Hyaline and you do not leave your cabin until we go find you. All of you," he eyed Corin, just in case he hadn't been clear.  

"Your Majesty," Lord Peridan's voice made everyone turn. 

Standing by the doorway with a sweaty brow and a serious look he gave the King a nod. 

"Ah. Just in time, Peridan. Corin, on you go,"

"What, now?!" The Archenlander Prince asked, wide-eyed. 

"Yes, now," Edmund placed a broad hand on his shoulder and led him to the chair where his cloak hung. "There is not a minute to waste. The few servants that were granted to us with this house are in the market helping our men find food and entertainment for that fake party, but that won't keep them away forever. We need to be quick," 

"And discreet," Lord Peridan added. 

Corin looked up from buckling his cloak to find everyone giving him a pointed look. 

"I can be discreet," the Prince said, much too offended by the lack of confidence. 

Edmund looked to Peridan. 

"I Won't let him out of my sight," Peridan reassured the King. 

"I don't need Lord Peridan to play nursemaid," Corin complained. 

"Then don't give him a reason to," Edmund replied. 

Peter sat outside, the wind rustling his hair, mindlessly twisting a knife into his chair's arm. A dent had already formed underneath the tip, but he didn't care. The mindless motion helped him think. 

He stared at the battle map that laid before him, contemplating the best course of action, when someone's hands slid onto his shoulders. He didn't need to look back to know who they belonged to. 

"So, how do you want to do it?" Imira asked.

It was the same question Peter been pondering for the last hour. The one part of his plan he hadn't yet settled on: would someone go with Firestream, or would one of them stay to lead the attack from the cluster while the other lead the troops from this side of the Shribble? And if so; who would do what? 

He had waited until her arrival before deciding on anything for he needed to know if she was up for a fight. But now almost a day had passed and he still hadn't decided on anything. Time was a luxury he didn't have, for the Ettins could attack at any moment now, but it didn't make matters any easier. 

If Imira went with Firestream, she'd have absolutely no backup. If she defended the cluster, she'd have no defences. And if she stayed on this side of the river, she'd be taking on the full force of the Ettin attack. He knew whatever he asked her to do she'd do with a brave face and little to no complaints, but that just made it all the more difficult. 

The plan was complete, it was just this little highly significant detail that now plagued him. Like an itch he could not reach. Whatever he chose, he'd be the responsible for what happened later. And if something happened to her because he made the wrong choice... no, he couldn't allow himself to think that. 

It'd be easier if she had just volunteer for one or the other, but when she left she had asked to know what he wanted before she meddled with his plan. And before Peter could suggest she just choose, she had turned around and strode off. 

This was the one thing Peter did not enjoy about being King: sending people into danger. Especially when people turned out to be his wife and the danger in question turned out to be a horde of angry Ettins bent on killing them all. 

Yes. Definitely the worse part of being High King. 

Peter grunted. "I'm not sure," he said, eyes glued to the map. "If I lead them into the tree cluster then I'll have to wait and stand by for your cue before launching the surprise attack and then you'll take the full heat of that first wave. I don't like the idea of sitting back while boulders rain on you,"  

Imira didn't like it either. She was tired of Ettins trying to kill her and her troops by hurling boulders toward them, but she knew what she had signed up for when she declared she was joining this campaign. "Do you want me to lead the archers into the cluster?" She asked, her fingers working the knots on his shoulders. "Or would you rather I go with Firestream?"

"The cluster's the riskiest position. No river or marsh to offer protection,"

"There are the trees," Imira reminded him.

Peter scoffed. "Yes, all twelve of them,"

"You're forgetting about the Narnian trees,"

"That's because they offer no protection," he replied. "The fight between them and the Ettins will be brutal. They wouldn't be able to protect you and getting close to them would be most unwise,"

True, Imira admitted to herself. She had seen what the trees could do and she had been wise to stay out of her way. The fight here would be as much if not more brutal. She had no desire to get caught up in the middle of it.

Her hands left his shoulders much sooner than Peter would have wanted, and she circled the table. She crossed one arm while the other propped her chin as she examined the map and thought about where they each would be best suited to lead from. 

"One of us should stay on this side to lead the troops while the other launches the surprise attack. It's the only way," she said after having contemplated all the options.

Peter's lips pursed.

"On the risk of sounding like a coward," she continued, "I think I should stay on this side of the Shribble and you should fly to see the grasslands burned. You're the one who scoped them out and knows exactly where and when you want them lit,"

Her eyes darted back to the map.

"Flying up there," she pointed to the location, "to show me now would be risking them spotting us. So, you should lead the second attack," She nodded, and then something clicked. Her gaze became sharper and her eyes darted across the map. She was planning, plotting. Her mind racing.

"I know that look," Peter was no longer playing with the knife but leaning forward, eager to hear what she had to say.

"Yes," a devilish grin grazed her lips. She could almost see it play out. "You take Firestream north and set them ablaze and then take a pegasus and circle around through the marsh. Not just to avoid the exchange of boulders but, if they see you, which they'll likely will, they will pursue you even through the marsh,"

"Where the marshlings await," he stood up and approached the table slowly.

"Exactly," Imira looked up at him.

"I planned to attack from the rear and make my way back to push them forwards, but that might work," Peter said.

"I guess it would depend on how the fighting's going," Imira said. "Your call to make,"

Peter nodded.

"You will stay while I'll lead the archers across the river and go with Firestream," he declared.

She nodded.

"Maintaining the cluster's integrity is a priority," he reminded her. "There aren't many trees there, if our troops there fall too quickly they'll see an opening and escape through it," he pointed with two fingers at an escape route north. "You will need to keep up that front as well. At least until I return. How will you manage that?" Peter waited for her response.

"Some of our ballistae and catapults will fall," Imira stated after giving it some thought. "Whoever finds themselves without a machine to operate can be redirected to the cluster. And once the true fighting begins and the field is on fire," she tapped the spot as she looked at him, "we can have our giants move to defend it. Between the Narnian trees there, our giants, the archers in that station, and the reinforcements, they should be able to hold it. And with the help of the Shribble we should be able to hold our line without them," she continued. "Once you return with Firestream you can even the odds,"

She looked up for his approval and found it in his smile.

"I knew I married you for a reason,"

Her smile reached her eyes. "My battle strategies are what ultimately seduced you, weren't they?"

He chuckled. "Everything else was just a nice bonus,"

"Just nice?" she raised her brows at him.

"Gorgeous,"

She gave him a perfect white insolent grin.

He shook his head at her vanity. "I must speak with Firestream," Peter picked up his knife and sheathed it. "Inform him of what will be done. In case something goes wrong,"

"Do you want me to go with you?" Imira asked as she circled the table to reach his side.

"No. It's fine," he said but noticed her frown before walking away. "What?"

"Not so long ago you needed me to handle him. When did that change?"

Her annoyance amused him. "When you weren't here to persuade him to do my bidding," he said with a chuckle and began to walk.

She followed along, still frowning.

"Oh, don't worry. You can handle the Marshwiggles for me if you want,"

"No thanks, I'm good," was her reply and he could only laugh at it.