"No, I am not going to the camp, Caspian," declared Amethy, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Your appearance at the camp will definitely scare Miraz and his army," argued Caspian.

Amethy shot a glare at Peter, hoping that he could say something. He was the only one who knew the tension between Edmund and herself, yet he kept his lips tight as soon as the Narnians began nodding simultaneously at Caspian's words.

"Just this time," mouthed Peter, earning a shrug and an eye-roll from Amethy.

Edmund, Amethy, Glenstorm and Wimbleweather trudged across the battlefield towards the Telmarine Camp near the woods. It wasn't a very long distance from the How, but the journey seemed to take eternity. No one spoke, they didn't even mutter a single word, partly because Amethy refused to speak to Edmund, and also because Edmund knew that it wasn't an appropriate time to speak. Glenstorm and Wimbleweather could sense the apparent hostility between the two of them, so they kept their thoughts to themselves. Left, right, left, right, they went, and thud, thud, thud went their constant footsteps.

They each had olive branches in their arms, symbolising peace. Amethy silently prayed to herself that the Telmarines wouldn't be evil enough to murder them before they got the chance to propose the idea. Or perhaps they may have been dumb enough to not know what the olive branches actually represented and shot them, square in the heart.

Miraz watched from the edge of his camp through his huge telescope with General Glozelle at his side.

"Perhaps they intend to surrender," guessed Glozelle.

"No, they are much too noble for that," Miraz replied, his voice superficially wise.

The three Narnians and their king reached - finally - the main tent in the middle of the camp, where Miraz sat comfortably on his chair in front of an elongated table draped with a maroon cloth.

Wimbleweather, Glenstorm and Amethy stopped outside the tent, allowing Edmund to proceed inside to propose the challenge. Unexpectedly, Edmund took Amethy by the arm and pulled her into the tent with him. Ducking under the roof of the tent, Edmund whispered in her ear, "I do not believe a man as short-sighted as Miraz to see that he doesn't stand a single chance in this war can see you from where you are," he explained.

Miraz acknowledged their presence mockingly and waved his hand sloppily to allow Edmund to proceed with the challenge:

"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," he read the whole paragraph out fluently, pausing where necessary and emphasising certain words for much effect.

"Tell me, Prince Edmund..." started Miraz.

"King," Edmund informed, taking a short glance up from the half rolled up scroll.

"Pardon?" asked Miraz, glaring at a smirking Amethy.

"It's King Edmund, actually. Just King though, Peter's the High King..." he stopped his blabbering as soon as Amethy nudged him in the arm. Miraz raised his eyebrow at them.

"I know, it's confusing," Edmund finally finished.

"Why would we risk such a proposal when our army could wipe you out by nightfall?" he questioned smugly, leaning back on his chair, his chin raised.

"Haven't you already underestimated our numbers?" asked Amethy.

"Only a week ago, Narnians were extinct," Edmund reinforced.

"And so you will be again," Miraz spat. "Especially that one beside you. She died eight years ago," he added.

"I regret to inform you that your attempt has failed terribly. And so you will again," replied Amethy, curtseying mockingly. Edmund chuckled a little.

"Well then you should have little to fear," he told him.

Miraz rolled his eyes while laughing a little, "This is not a question of bravery," he said, before returning to his serious tone.

"So you're bravely refusing to fight a swordsman half your age?" challenged Amethy, smirking at Miraz. For once, he bothered to look at her straight in the eye.

"I didn't say I refused, young lady," he cooed, grinning sickeningly. Great! The Telmarines have a paedophile as their King.

"You shall have our support, Your Majesty, whatever your decision," a Telmarine Lord sitting at the end of the table said.

"Sire, our military advantage alone allows us the perfect excuse to avoid..." Sopespian started to negotiate with Miraz.

Miraz stood up abruptly and drew his sword. "I am not avoiding anything," he hissed angrily.

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

"His majesty will never refuse," rebutted Glozelle. "He relishes the chance to show his people the bravery of their new king," he said. At once a deep chuckle could be heard from outside the tent, and General Glenstorm, which had always been known to be serious and proper no matter the situation, had an amused grin on his face.

Miraz pointed his sword at Edmund threateningly. "You had better hope your brothers sword is sharper than his pen," he snarled.

"And you!" He raised his voice, pointing his sword at Amethy this time. Protectively, Edmund took a small step forward. "You had better watch out, young lady. If I win this combat, I will claim the honours of killing you, personally."

***

"You had better watch out, young lady," Amethy repeated in a disgusted tone to Wimbleweather, making him laugh in response in his deep, and loud voice that seemed to shake the ground beneath.

But what, exactly happened eight years ago?

"Such a great reunion, I must say," a low voice rang.

"Did you hear that?" Amethy asked. When the others claimed that they heard nothing at all, Amethy took a few steps forwards to catch up with them. But, she stopped in her tracks again.

"Now, if you don't mind, I want to get on with the sentence. Any last words?" The same voice said smugly. Whipping around and drawing her sword, she held it defensively in a stance to attack, eyeing the trees around her.

"You alright?" Edmund asked her, a confused look plastered on his face.

No, I'm not. And it's partly your fault, thought Amethy. Perhaps it was the sudden movement, or perhaps it was the heat of the sun, the back of her head began to throb. Throb, throb, throb.

It intensified.

Amethy surveyed the trees and turned back around. But before she could take another step, a sharp pain hit her.

She couldn't even make out where it began as it ran throughout her whole body, pulling on her veins and reaching her fingertips, gripping her head tightly, unwilling to let go.

She collapsed.

***