Bear It Well~Once And Always~4/?

[eenaangel]

~Battle Ready~

Hours later, Willow was numb but able to breathe without succumbing to tears. Edmund had done his best for her (what with no medical experience and a complete lack of anything that would help what were most likely broken ribs) and now he just held her against his chest, arms trying to cradle her as gently as possible (trying being the operative word-the lightest touch against her sides made her screech in pain). She had been in and out of it for what felt like ages. Edmund had taken the time to try and make her comfortable (which wasn’t possible). He had draped the coat across her front so that they both could huddle underneath it. It wasn’t ideal, but it made sitting in that cell tolerable. Her injuries ached horribly and she didn’t want to add frostbite or hypothermia to the list. She suspected that Edmund had given her the most of the coat as she could feel him shiver periodically (she couldn’t confirm it because she didn’t have the strength to raise her head). She knew that she was just slumped against him, a burden on his smaller body. But Edmund wouldn’t let her go, just held her as best he could without hurting her, and muttering a constant stream of apologies through his tears (she wanted to tell him it was okay, but it really wasn’t).

Mr. Tumnus had not returned from wherever the queen had sent him. His absence was a stark reminder of the creatures they were dealing with. The queen was cold as the ice in her palace and had little regard for the life of those around her. The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes, which turned into hours-and still there was no sign of Mr. Tumnus. Willow knew that he had initially frightened her a great deal, but she would give anything to see him being thrown back into his cell. Edmund obviously felt the same way and kept his eyes trained on the small window into the next cell, as if hoping Mr. Tumnus would appear through sheer force of will on Edmund’s part. She thought, that on some level, they both knew what had happened but refused to put words to it (execution was quickly becoming her least favourite word in the English language, second now only to ‘queen’).

Ginarrbrik came sauntering into their cell hours after the assault. It might have been longer (Willow hadn’t seen the sun since she had been in the woods) and while she watched him grin maliciously at her and Edmund, she found herself wondering how long she had been in this cell. It had felt like ages (why do bad times always seem to go by slower than the good times?) but rationally she knew it couldn’t have been more than a day. Did that mean she had been missing from the manor for a second or a decade? There were probably much more important things for Willow to be pondering at that moment, but most of them were too grisly. So she focused on the time issue once again (totally ignoring the fact that she might not be alive to make it home, thus negating the purpose of pondering the time issue).

“Get up!” The command was short and sharp (much like Ginarrbrik himself). Willow eyed the nasty-spirited dwarf warily, noting that his dagger was sheathed but that he had what looked like a whip in hand. Edmund (having learned the lesson of obeying quickly just as harshly as she had) was quick to scramble to his feet. She tried to follow suit, but her injuries made it hard for her to do so. Edmund soon had his hands underneath her arms and very slowly Willow stumbled to her feet. Ginarrbrik smiled another evil smile at their closeness and then proceeded to shove them out the cell door.

Walking was quite the trial for Willow. Putting one foot in front of the other took a lot of energy (and honestly, Edmund was doing most of the work at that point). Every step sent explosions of pain up and down her side, but the crack of Ginarrbrik’s whip not too far behind kept her going. Getting up the stairs was tricky, especially since ice coated each step. Both children slipped and slid their way up into the throne room and finally out the doors to the courtyard.

“Move it!” Ginarrbrik’s voice is no less squeaky (nor any less scary) once Willow finally got free of the castle. She had spent so much time wondering how she was going to get outside again, and now that she was there, she was still clueless about what to do. She cast a confused look around her and couldn’t figure out which way she had come from (the head trauma was probably the reason for that). Not that knowing the way would help her any. Even if she and Edmund managed to escape Ginarrbrik and his knife (unlikely), evade the queen’s clutches (that would be nothing short of a miracle), and somehow made it to the woods, there was always the wolves to consider. They would be found within a heartbeat, and then there would just be beatings.

Edmund tightened his grip on her arm and attempted to help her move down the steps into the courtyard. She looked down at her feet, glaring at them to be obedient and not slip her up this time (falling on her backside was likely to break something else in her already battered body). She was so intent on making her way through the courtyard without slipping that she passed by it without so much as a second glance. Edmund did not have the same luxury.

There was a horrified gasp and brief tightening on her arms so forceful that it actually hurt for a second. Willow raised her head, confused as to why Edmund had come to a standstill in the middle of the courtyard (especially when Ginarrbrik and his whip were so close by). Edmund didn’t acknowledge her look; he was too busy being terrified by something in front of them. Willow followed his eyes and immediately found what the problem was.

Mr. Tumnus. Or what looked like Mr. Tumnus. There was a statue of a faun, one with an obscene likeness to their former dungeon mate. The curly hair and the beard were the same; the statue even had the same scarf that Mr. Tumnus had been wearing before he had been dragged away. His face was screwed up in agony and his mouth open in a silent scream.

She could lie to herself and say it was just a freaky coincidence. But she remembered her first time in this courtyard (she had thought the statues were too lifelike!) and couldn’t remember seeing this particular statue before. And if the queen seemed scary before, when Willow put two and two together (her brain screaming in protest the entire way) she could honestly say the queen was now more like a nightmare come to life.

Ginarrbrik pushed Edmund, which caused him to stumble into Willow, tearing her away from the sight of poor Mr. Tumnus. She looked at Edmund with wide, disbelieving eyes and all she got in return was terror. His eyes slid past her face, and though she knew that she didn’t really want to (and believe her, she really, really didn’t want to), her eyes followed his. The queen stood silent beside a large white sleigh. There were four reindeer, white as the snow, tethered to the front. Willow felt her heart drop at the vision the queen made (only this lady could make a sleigh seem menacing).

Willow dropped her eyes, unable to lock gazes with the nightmare queen for too long. There was a snort of disgust from somewhere behind her (Ginarrbrik was a jerk) and another sharp crack of the whip.

“When you’re ready, Son of Adam,” the queen announced, her tone regal and ice-cold. She had no words for Willow, eyes running dismissively over the young redhead before she turned around and took her seat on the sleigh.

“Better hurry, before your little playmate gets taught another lesson,” Ginarrbrik hissed from behind them. Willow’s heart froze at the thought and Edmund gulped noticeably. His grip on her arms remained firm and tight and as he guided her towards the sleigh Willow noticed he was angling his body in between her and the queen.

It was a nice thought, but it wouldn’t stop her.

~*~

They slid through the snow and ice at a terrifying speed (were all reindeer this fast or were the queen’s magical?). The queen sat perched primly on the only seat in the carriage part of the sleigh (Ginarrbrik was obviously in the driver’s seat-and cracking his whip mercilessly at the poor reindeers). Willow and Edmund had been tossed in at her feet. The move was done not because of lack of space (because the bench was large enough for all of them). It served a purpose; it reminded them that she was the queen and they were (figuratively-and at the moment literally) beneath her.

Willow huddled on the hard, cold floor of the sleigh with one arm wrapped around Edmund’s waist. He had one arm slung around her shoulders, as gripping her about the waist might have caused her to faint. Breathing was hard, the jolts of the sleigh were agony, and Willow knew that while the queen looked down her nose at the two of them, Willow’s pain amused her to no end.

The fear that had been building since her confrontation with the wolves seemed to have reached its peak. But now there was something new roiling around in the pit of her stomach, combining with the fear in frightening ways. Willow kept her eyes locked on the queen’s, the look in her eyes conveying one part fear and one part hate.

Willow had never hated anything before in her life (she had claimed to hate certain things, but never really put any true emotion behind it). The fear she was familiar with (though the fear usually induced by Cordelia’s presence seemed almost ridiculous in comparison). Willow had spent most of her life being afraid of one thing or another. She wasn’t exactly social-queen material (and she didn’t like the whole having to put other people down thing that went along with it), but usually she had Jesse and Xander to hide behind.

So now her fear was mutating. She felt useless, she felt hopeless, and out of all that despair came something new. Willow felt hatred. She thought she had known hate before (she was the president of the “We Hate Cordelia” club), but it was nothing compared to this. Cordelia and her cronies had made Willow feel like she didn’t quite measure up. The queen didn’t even bother with that. All she did was make it perfectly clear that Willow’s continued existence relied solely on her own benevolence (of which she had none). It was one thing to be told that you don’t fit in; it’s quite another to be told that your life is worth less than nothing.

It was this belief, the queen’s firm belief that she could end Willow’s life at her flimsiest whim that got the hate-ball rolling. Sure the queen was stronger; sure she was faster and obviously had some sort of dark magic thing going for her. But Willow’s life was her own. She had a family (her parents were almost always absentee, but Aunt Evelyn counted a damn lot-especially in light of recent events), she had friends (what would Jesse and Xander do without her?), and she had responsibilities (like her mother would ever remember to feed Willow’s fish). No one was going to take that all away from her, especially not for the dubious accusation that she had been somewhere she shouldn’t have been.

The queen knew. The smirk on her face and the sudden contemplative look with which she regarded Willow just screamed that she knew. Willow thought her hatred amused the queen even more so than her pain. That train of thought did nothing to calm her down and for the first time in her entirely-too-pacifistic life (Xander’s words-she had been pleasantly surprised to hear that he knew what “pacifistic” meant), Willow considered doing violence to a person. Not the knee-jerk reaction of wishing you had the guts to slap someone (Cordelia) when they deserved it. This was real, honest to God, violence that Willow wished to do. There weren’t words or actions that sprang into her mind; just the roiling rage that desired pain in retribution for all Willow had suffered.

It was a useless thought. There was no way that she could hurt the queen. Even if Ginarrbrik and the wolves weren’t in the picture, Willow didn’t foresee any way of injuring the queen. She was just too tall, too strong, and too inhuman; Willow seriously doubted that there was anything she could do that would even make a dent. But she wanted to (she really wanted to).

The queen shifted and looked straight into Willow’s eyes. Green met green, though Willow felt there must have been some red in hers because the anger she was feeling seemed real enough to burn. A tightening around her shoulders snapped her out of the stare down. She remembered Edmund (did she really manage to forget him for a second?) and she turned her head to look at him. There was the same fear as before, softened by a flicker of concern in his dark brown eyes. He gave the slightest shake of his head and squeezed her shoulders again. For a second she wanted to ignore the plea he was making, but there was a determined set to his chin that Willow couldn’t ignore. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes, leaning against him briefly before straightening.

A disgusted snort caused her eyes to snap open. Both children turned to look at the queen and found her looking annoyed for the first time on this trip. The queen shook her head at the two of them, leaning back against her seat. “You might have had potential,” was all she said before turning eyes forward, effectively dismissing them.

Willow fought back a shiver at her words. She didn’t know what kind of potential the queen was talking about, but just the mention of it caused Willow to feel a stab of fear. She tightened her grip on Edmund and turned her head away from the queen. She was over revenge (as short-lived as the desire had been).

But Willow would do anything for just a bit of salvation.

~*~

If Ginarrbrik didn’t have his knife and whip, and if the queen wasn’t there (looking mighty ticked off), Willow might have laughed. It was obscenely comical the way the sleigh had started to buck and scrape, causing them to pull over. It was hilarious to see the queen first so infuriated by the delay, and then so dumbstruck when she beheld the green grass and the unfrozen river. And it was too damn funny when Ginarrbrik started to complain about the heat, which caused the queen to give him such a dirty look that he had run off in the direction of the sleigh. Honestly, if it wouldn’t result in a beating, Willow would have laughed.

The smirk on Edmund’s face told the same story. Both teenagers exchanged an amused look as they stood on the riverbank, purposefully turning their faces away from the queen so she wouldn’t see their mirth. The queen, with numerous furs strewn around her white shoulders, was seething as she looked upon the all greenery. And while Willow was very confused as to how the seasons changed so rapidly (seriously, from winter to spring in a few hours?), she was chalking it up to weird time fluctuations in this world. It didn’t quite explain the queen’s white-hot anger (she was acting like the weather change was a personal affront), but Willow figured now wasn’t the time to ask for proper explanations.

“We found the traitor!”

The voice came from behind them, and Willow recognized the rough voice. She groaned and just like that, all her mirth was gone. The queen grabbed Edmund by the back of his collar and pushed him forward. The boy stumbled, losing his grip on Willow for a moment before the redhead hurried to catch up. It caused her quite a bit pain to even attempt to jog, but she wasn’t leaving Edmund’s side (it was their unspoken agreement-they were side-by-side from here on out). The queen said nothing of their closeness, shoving both of them indiscriminately until they came to the clearing where the wolves had gathered. Willow and Edmund shuffled off to the side, Willow feeling a great deal of uneasiness at the sight of the entire wolf pack.

One of the wolves came forward, a reddish-orange bundle hanging from his mouth. Willow gasped when the wolf released the bundle, throwing it at the queen’s feet, where she could see that it was in fact a fox. The creature was winded (obviously being stuck in a wolf’s jaw doesn’t do much for your well-being), but it struggled to its feet before turning its head to gaze at the queen with an unabashedly defiant expression.

Edmund grasped for her hand and gave it a tight squeeze.

“He was gathering troops near the Sharwood Forest,” one of the wolves continued to explain.

The queen scowled and stalked closer to the fox. Her specter was out and hanging innocently by her side. Willow gulped as she eyed the sharp weapon (like that thing could ever be innocent).

“Nice of you to drop by,” the queen began, her voice as cold as ever. “I understand you were so helpful to my wolves last night.”

The fox took a deep breath before raising solemn eyes. Its head tilted just slightly and Willow thought it was odd for him not to give the queen his whole attention (after all, she was likely to hurt it anyway-why rile her up anymore?). “Forgive me your majesty,” he said smoothly, bowing his head ever so slightly (and he had an English accent-what was with all the English accents?).

The queen rolled her eyes, ice-cold façade broken by the look of obvious annoyance on her face. “Don’t waste my time with flattery,” she snapped at the fox.

“Not to seem rude,” the fox interrupted (even though he was totally trying to be rude), “but I wasn’t actually talking to you.” And with that, he turned his eyes right on Edmund. Willow felt Edmund go still, his eyes widening. Seriously, Ginarrbrik and the queen call him a prince and now the fox was calling him majesty? Willow was missing something here.

And so was the fox, if the way he looked at her was any indication (dear God, when will these animals stop with the human-like expressions?). But neither she nor the fox had much time to ponder the situation. The queen was in a rage the likes Willow had never seen. There was a faint red flush to her cheeks, barely visible, and yet wholly frightening. She spared Edmund a venomous glare before turning on the fox yet again.

“Where is Aslan?” she demanded, her voice dangerously low. Edmund gulped, Willow winced, and yet the fox looked completely unperturbed. That was one brave fox (or one dumb fox-time would tell). The lack of response infuriated the queen. She stalked closer to the animal, specter raised threateningly. “Answer me!”

But the fox would not answer. That defiant look was back on his face (why wasn’t he smart enough to be scared?) and when the queen reared back, specter rising higher, Willow squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch what came next.

The fatal strike that seemed imminent failed to come. Willow barely had time to react when she felt Edmund move. But soon the younger boy was out of her grasp and moving to stand between the queen and the fox.

“Wait!” he cried, Willow biting her lip to stop herself from doing the same (what was he doing?). He planted himself firmly in front of the fox, his legs set slightly apart in a defensive stance. “Wait,” he pleaded. “The Beavers said something about the Stone Table and an army.”

The queen lowered her arm. Willow let out the breath she had been holding and even Edmund relaxed. Only the fox was still tense, a look of disappointment on his face as he gazed up at his would-be protector. Edmund cast a nervous glance down at the creature and seeing his expression, Edmund’s eyes dropped to the floor in guilt. He had done it wrong, again, but Willow didn’t understand how. If the Aslan guy had an army, then it wasn’t like the witch could just go traipsing over there armed only with Ginarrbrik and her pack of wolves? Unless the army wasn’t completely assembled and the queen caught them off-guard (Willow was beginning to understand the fox’s disappointment now).

The queen had stepped back from the fox, the icy smirk on her face once more. The altercation with the fox had nearly caused her to come undone. It was obvious the queen wasn’t used to such blatant disrespect (especially when it was bound to end badly-fatally badly). And this Aslan guy had her all riled up; that much was obvious. But now that she had the information she needed, it seemed she had collected her wits once again.

“Thank you Edmund,” the queen murmured, her voice laced with false gratitude. “It is good for this creature to see some honesty. Before he dies!”

The strike was fast as lightning. Edmund barely had time to shout “No!”, Willow barely had time to scream, and the fox barely had time to rear up on his hind legs before the queen plunged her specter down into his chest. The effect was instantaneous. Within a blink of the eye, the fox was encased in a smooth gray coat of stone. Willow choked on her own screams, eyes wide and disbelieving (that didn’t just happen-it couldn’t have just happened!). Edmund was hysterical, trying to run to help the fox, but it was all over. He was gone.

Edmund turned on the queen, tears and anger on his face. The queen raised her hand, and as quick as before, she had struck him straight across the face. Willow made to go forward, to help Edmund, but Ginarrbrik was suddenly there, pushing her roughly backwards. She lost her footing and went tumbling down. The jolt caused stabbing flashes of pain to start traveling up and down her sides, another reminder of the queen’s cruelty. Edmund was trying to go help her, but the queen stopped him by savagely grasping him by the chin. She forced him to look into her eyes, her face a cold mask once more.

“Think whose side you’re on,” she advised him quietly. “Mine, or theirs?” She turned his face, pointing to the stone fox with her specter once more. Edmund said nothing, only took deep breaths as he tried to come to grips with what just happened. The queen released him and he stumbled back away from her. He reached Willow’s side and began pulling her back to her feet, not even acknowledging the taunting Ginarrbrik was tossing his way. Willow felt him shaking, knew when he pulled her up and into an embrace that it afflicted his whole body. He held her now looking for comfort because he had just witnessed his first death. And she wished she could help him, but she couldn’t (this was her first too).

“Gather the faithful,” the queen commanded. Willow started at her voice, only belatedly realizing that the queen was not speaking to them. The wolves had gathered closer, faces fierce as they listened to their orders. “Bring them to the forest. If it is a war that Aslan wants,” her arm shot out once more and a stone butterfly soon fell heavily to the ground. “Then a war he shall get.”

She turned on her heel, effectively dismissing her minions. The wolves took off without a word, loping off into the surrounding trees in search of the ‘faithful’ (Willow was pretty darn sure she didn’t want to meet all those creatures who were faithful to the nightmare queen). The queen neared the two huddled teenagers, her eyes no longer amused, calm, or icy. Now those green eyes raged with a terrible fury. Edmund pulled Willow closer, no longer mindful of her injuries as he had been before. She whimpered, just once, and then bit her tongue to stop any further noise.

“Edmund,” the queen growled. “You have been very naughty, keeping secrets from me. I believe this warrants some punishment, don’t you?”

Her eyes were on Willow now. Willow’s heart stopped beating for a split second; she knew what was coming next. A nod from the queen had Ginarrbrik tearing Edmund from her side, his knife pointed menacingly into Edmund’s back. The queen didn’t bother watching them walk away. Her eyes still on Willow, the queen extended her hand wordlessly. Willow wanted to cry when Ginarrbrik stepped forward, his whip in his hands.

“It is important that children are punished for their mistakes,” the queen murmured, a motherly tone to her voice that sounded just so terribly wrong. “You understand, don’t you Willow?”

The fear was overwhelming, and yet there burned, somewhere deep inside, that flicker of hate from before. The queen smiled, genuinely pleased for a change.

“And there it is again,” she said, musingly. “If Edmund can restrain himself from any further misbehavior, we just might have something here.”

And then the whip came down.

~*~