Heart and Home~ Edmund Pevensie

Chapter 13: The Cold Mother

Amelia remained silent as the guards dragged her and Acmon to the throne room. She made no effort to fight-she was surprisingly calm. Acmon was covered in scratches and wounds from head to toe, but his injuries did not stop him. He was a constant struggle for the ogres that hoisted him on their shoulders. Amelia wished she could fight, but she knew there was no point. There was no one to save her now, and for a strange reason, that was okay.

The moment the large wooden doors opened, the screaming of the witch filled her ears.

"I don't care if the furnaces are down! I expect everything to be on schedule by morning, or there will be serious consequences!" The witch paused and gave a pleading look to the heavens before turning to Ginarrbrik, "Ready the sleigh, we will travel to Aslan's camp tomorrow to reclaim what is rightfully mine! I will not stand for this thievery."

The witch spotted the incoming guards and saw the two prisoners they held in their arms. Immediately her look of anger turned into a look of fury.

She spread her arms wide, as if welcoming them as guests into her prestigious icy hall, but Amelia knew it was far more sarcastic, "So this is the centaur who destroyed all our blacksmiths?"

Ginarrbrik nodded from beside her, "Yes, your majesty, found him surrounded by their burning flesh."

The witch sneered evilly, "Oh how wonderful. We could return him to his heretics tomorrow. Alive... possibly."

Acmon struggled once again as the witch's threat sunk in. Amelia remained quiet, she would not draw attention to herself; especially not when the witch was suffering from the blow of the Narnian attack.

Acmon cried out, "We are not heretics! We are the soldiers who will see your end! You might as well come to peace with it, your highness, your reign will fall like the leaves before winter!"

The witch did nothing but wave her hand. Acmon's guards dragged him away down a side corridor towards the back of the makeshift palace that was situated in the base camp. Amelia could hear him screaming for minutes on end as they punched and kicked him so that he would be silent. A tear silently leaked from her eye as her thoughts travelled to Edmund. Oh how she prayed he was safe.

"And you," the witch sneered, drawing Amelia's attention, "Amelia. The Silvanus. It's high time you and I had a little History lesson."

Amelia was rather confused by the witch's statement. Was she not to be punished for escaping? While she had to admit, History was not the most interesting subject on the planet, she doubted it was boring enough for punishment of such a crime.

The guards followed the witch to her chambers, dragging Amelia along. Every once in a while she heard a manly scream echo down the corridors. Amelia knew that sound. It was the sound of torture, of pure pain, of desperation. What was worse was that the voice was one she knew. Acmon.

The witch's chambers were exactly what Amelia expected. White walls with ice blue ornaments and icy blue sheets. The guards exited the bedroom, leaving the Witch and Amelia behind. Alone.

Amelia stayed stiff with fear. She never took her gaze off the witch, who was calmly strolling around the room - an expression of wonder on her face. Now that was a look Amelia had never seen before.

Before she knew it, the witch had begun speaking, "Long ago, when Narnia was built upon the basic rules and principles of the land, it was said that all the creators gave Narnia a gift, the Silvanus. A spirit of Nature. One that guards all living things and keeps boundaries. It was said that the Silvanus protected the outer edges of the land and kept all unwanted enemies out."

"The Silvanus, however, was a very curious spirit. Unlike Aslan, the spirit was mortal. After every lifetime, it died, and was then reborn into another world. Each time, the Silvanus has had to find their way to Narnia, to take up the position of protecting the lands once more."