Yes, after having finished Blueberry Muffin Girl I have decided it is the right time for another round of untimely submitted chapters to a pretty good story. This actually started out as a trial and then turned into a story that I'm halfway done with. Which, usually, would mean that a part should be uploaded quite quickly, but you know me. Unfortunately I have another two weeks or so of exams and then one more week of youngster-care and then I'd be ready to upload more regularly.

So right from the start, I'll promise you nothing. Only, that I'll see this story through. Deal?

Fine :) Enjoy!

He was, still, not sure if that woman could be trusted.

Yes, Lucy trusted her, and Peter did and even more so Caspian and Susan, whom she had saved from the Falling Trees with her abrupt appearance, but Edmund was a little reserved.

Being Cair Paravel's Head Strategist and General, he knew that the easiest way to worm one's way into a group was by doing something good for them – at least half of the group would then be disposed to believe in them, from then on it was a game of charming words.

But she was different.

"Arresto Momentum."

And just like that the Falling Trees above them stopped – Susan, still out of breath, looked around for a second for Caspian, but he was already at her side, clutching her hand, giving it the tight, reassuring squeeze that she needed.

Whizzing her eyes through the density of the foliage, she grew conscious of a young woman, a sight to behold, standing atop of one of the first Falling Trees, her curls riotous around her face, she was wrapped in a black cloak, the kind she hadn't seen before, a cutlass at her hip, gleaming with a red ruby embedded at the hilt and then something that made Susan unsheathe one of her arrows, pointing it straight at the woman, still concentrated on slowly letting the trees down around them as they made their way to safety – a wand was clutched in her hand.

Caspian, next to her, looked at her with a strange gaze, but, Susan figured, he hadn't seen the White Witch back then.

"Who are you?", she asked, her voice strong as still, she neared the witch – for undoubtedly she was one.

The younger woman's gaze flickered to hers for only a second, before her attention returned to her spell, still lowering the gigantic trunks carefully. "Hermione Granger.", she replied curtly and with a soft voice. Soft but strong – and interesting mix.

"Are you a witch?", Susan asked.

The young woman suppressed a smirk – ah, there was the strength and the steel Susan had heard in the voice before. "Can you not see me wield a wand?", she asked in return.

Susan pulled her bowstring tight. "I will ask you, once, in peace: lower your wand and hand it over, come with us to Cair Paravel where we shall decide what to do with you."

The witch, though, was still busy taking care of the Falling Trees. "And who are you to demand such actions from me?", she asked in return – the quality of her voice now steely, stronger, curt, haughty… challenging.

"Queen Susan the Gentle."

An amused smirk adorned the face of the witch who, by now, was staring down the bow of Susan. "The Gentle, aye?", she mocked, lowering her wand, around them the trees came crashing and Susan realized that all the young woman had waited for was for them to be in safety – still she did not set down the bow.

"I will come with you.", the witch, Hermione Granger, said. "But I cannot give you my wand. You will break it."

That… was quite true. "How will we know that we can trust you then?"

The woman tilted her head, smirking. "You just don't then."

Caspian had bound her hands, to which she had willingly agreed and also, just to be sure Susan supposed, wound a leash around her neck – the witch had said nothing, she had simply accepted what was being done to her. She did not want to pose a threat, the queen could tell, but still – better safe than sorry, as the saying went.

As they wandered back to Cair Paravel, she uttered not a word and Susan could see her taking in every detail of the world that was slowly revealed to her. She didn't look like someone who had been around for long and if Susan asked herself if, perhaps, the witch had just come to Narnia.

Her boots were flat, and of leather, encasing her legs as if they were made especially for her and no one else. The trousers, Susan hadn't seen such trousers in what appeared like ages, were of a jeans tissue, ripped here and there, loose on her hips, singed, dirty. The shirt the witch wore was ripped as well, bloodied at some parts – as were the trousers – but definitely… human.

Why would a witch wear human clothes?

And what was it with her ragged appearance?

Now that she could get a better look, she could see the dirty hair, the skinniness of the body, the split lip, bloodied temple, the short, chapped, broken nails, the sunken eyes, and – now and then – the wounds on her arms.

Where did she come from?

She looked like she had fought a war – like she had been right there, in the first lines, battling, killing perhaps, but also defending what was hers to defend.

War was never a noble thing – not if it was waged for love, nor for glory, not even for your country. Susan knew. She knew what war could do to people, what war did to people and it looked as if this witch had many stories to tell and many, many nightmares to have.

As they broke through the thicket, the witch stopped for a second, eyes sweeping over the landscape from the mountain they stood on. Next to her, Caspian stood as well – Susan took the witch in. Her eyes were widened and the queen could see her pulse fluttering, as if she had not expected this.

"This,", she started, catching the witch's attention, "is Narnia. And there," she pointed to the sole castle, almost impossible to see, "is Cair Paravel, where we will take you."

Silently their prisoner nodded, still taking in the scenery. It was a sight to behold, no question – they were mid-summer, the grasses green and high, dancing in the wind, the trees lush with leaves, the sky so beautiful it might as well have been around, the witch looked at the Forest Of The Falling Trees – a sombre spot compared to the rest of the world she had just seen.

"This is your Dark Forest, is it not?", she asked quietly – a non-offensive question, Susan decided to respond.

"It is. Not the darkest place in Narnia, but certainly not one of the places you go often."

Narrowed eyes cut her way. Suspicion tightly in the air, despite the face of the witch being void as a mask – Susan affirmed her own suspicions, definitely a warrior, that trick was pure war. "Then why were you in there?"

Caspian replied for the first time since they had caught the witch. "We were in search of Aslan…"

"Aslan?", the question was silent, almost as if she asked herself whether or not she had already heard the name once.

"The Great Lion. He vanished years ago but someone told us that he might return – we sent out search-parties, but wouldn't let anyone go near the Forest Of The Falling Trees, we went ourselves." Susan supplied.

The tension, while still there, slowly alleviated as the witch – Susan could barely believe it – smiled softly, lowering her head to let the bushy hair hide most of her face, but the queen could still see the tugging at her chapped lips, a secretive smile, a relieved smile. Susan did not question it – and the witch fell silent.

Five days into their travel, they finally stumbled upon Reepicheep – Edmund's most loyal Brigadier. Caspian halted his horse immediately, hoping to not trample the warrior down, even though he knew that the Commander had the quickest feet in all of Narnia, it still wouldn't do to clobber him with horse hooves.

"Your Majesties!", he called excitedly, making his way towards them, but stopping at a safe distance – apparently he was wary of horse-hooves as well. Behind him, the witch carefully lurked forth.

She was a curious being, no doubt – she liked to know about everything and Susan, in her cautiousness, appeared to have not answered every of the carefully asked questions to her satisfaction. For instance, she seemed to not have covered the Talking Animals – although the gasp that Caspian waited for never came, the witch solely observed.

"Reepicheep." The queen greeted. "What has you out here? Weren't you sent to the West?" she asked, willing her horse to calm so that the field mouse could mount and talk to her 'face-to-face', as it did.

"A few days ago, a dove reached us.", the mouse explained, "Aslan has entered the premises of Cair Paravel and the High King has called the troops back."

Only now he seemed to notice the witch behind Caspian's back, her hands around his middle, so as to hinder her from falling off and running, but – as always – she hadn't made a hostile move. "A prisoner, your majesty?" he asked, effortlessly climbing to Susan's shoulders and from there hopping to Caspian's, now indeed 'face-to-face' with their captive.

"A witch." Susan clarified. Reepicheep drew his sword almost instantly – the witch didn't even flinch.

"No need, Brigadier." She said softly, her voice strangely gentle. "I am bound, sir, and the majesties would not have brought me so far if I were a threat waiting to become a menace."

Which was true, but what startled the mouse – Caspian could tell – was the way she addressed him by his title, completely forgoing the underestimating-him-part as so many others normally did. Even he was surprised.

"How do you know of my rank?", he asked, voice hard, having regained his senses. And, even though he could not see it, Caspian knew that the witch was smiling ever so cautiously, her barely-there-smile, the one he'd seen on several occasions, not always, but sometimes it was there.

"Your badges, sir." She replied, her tone still gentle. "I recognize them."

Caspian caught Susan's eyes – a Daughter of Eve, then, and probably from the land that the Kings And Queens Of Old called Great Britain for Caspian knew that Edmund had installed the ranking himself as to bring order to the chaos that had been their militia.

The mouse probably came to the same conclusion, but said nothing, instead hopping back to Susan's horse. "We have been sent out to fetch you, your majesties, and it would be a great honour if you would allow us to accompany you back to Cair Paravel."

Susan smiled, a relieved smile, an honest smile – the kind of smile that he truly loved about her. "On the contrary, Reepicheep, it would be us that would be honoured."

And thusly the mice accompanied them back to their castle.

And there we go, number one :)

Review please!