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𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 from Peter's view as he travelled by horseback over the Archenlandic landscape. The pine trees, popping up in lonely groups all around him, spread a fresh scent through the air and it was mixed with the earthy one of the churned soil as the horse's hooves thundered and cleaved through it.

The atmosphere felt thick and heavy as if rain lingered in the air, and the frisk wind gained in strength as well as it howled over the grassfields and the blades of grass waved like a green ocean.

Peter hoped that the rain would hold off for a few more hours since a muddy ground would make it harder to track Rosaleen's footsteps. At times, the trail was already hard to spot but as the mountain range grew taller, he suspected he was getting close to the place she and Lucy had been held captive.

Peter pulled at the reins of his dappled grey stallion to order it to a stop and the horse snorted softly as Peter heaved his shield a bit farther on his back before dismounting. His boots sank an inch into the moist soil and he patted his stallion's neck a few times, his gaze wandering over the landscape.

'It's alright, Atlas. Easy,' Peter muttered in a soothing tone when the horse restlessly thumped at the ground with one of his hooves. Peter crouched down, his hand still sliding over Atlas' grey fur as he did so but then he moved to lean with his underarms on his knees as he observed the tracks; the pit in his stomach ever growing.

It hadn't rained since Rosaleen had arrived at the castle and the droplets of blood could be spotted along the trail, but while Peter could usually tell by the paw-prints if an animal was wounded or not, Rosaleen's footsteps had been strong and unwavering ever since he had followed them from Cair Paravel. Her back had been whipped open but there was no sign whatsoever that she had had trouble walking to the castle, as if the brainwashing had made her unable to feel pain.

'Could her broken mind have made her forget her physical pain?' Peter wondered softly out loud, and Atlas nickered in response. Though the stallion couldn't talk, it always seemed to try to communicate with its master in a way, and Peter smiled half-heartedly before rising back to his full length. He ruffled shortly through his hair with one hand, adjusting the belt of his shield as well around his chest that was clad in a dark red woolen tunic, and he looked at the towering mountain in the distance.

Due to his many hours observing the Archenland's map, Peter still knew exactly where he was, and the mountain called Stormness Head became clearer with every passing mile. His gaze shot between the tracks and the mountain and he hummed.

'We're getting close, Atlas,' he said, turning around to grab the edges of the saddle and pulling himself upon the horse's back. He clacked with his tongue and the stallion jumped into a gallop, but Peter couldn't help but to cast a wondering look a bit further west; into the direction of where castle Anvard lay.

The Narnian army led by Edmund, Susan, Alexander and Seren could arrive at the capitol city any minute now to "spring the trap", and it felt odd to Peter he wasn't there with them, but everyone had agreed they had to find out what had happened to Rosaleen and why. Perhaps it could help them with finding a way to get the old Rosaleen back.

Peter shook with his head to clear his mind from all the worries tumbling through it and he focussed on the mountain again while keeping a close eye on the tracks as well.

A cloud shifted in front of the sun, blocking the light and the vibrant colours of Archenland's nature seemed to dim; the sombre atmosphere amplified when the first droplet of rain fell out of the sky, right onto Peter's cheek. A curse threatened to slip past his lips ─ the rain would wash away Rosaleen's footsteps ─ but then he reached the shadow of the mountain and a man-made opening in the mountainside caught his eyes. He steered his horse towards the spot, casting only a short glance at the trail but Rosaleen had indeed escaped from there.

Though the opening was clearly made by a human ─ or another creature with hands ─, it still seemed to sprout from the mountain itself as the stone structure of the arched gateway was sculpted out of it and with a bit of imagination, it wasn't hard to think of the opening like the mouth of Stormness Head.

Peter pulled his horse to a stop once more, laying his head in the back of his neck to look at the peak of the entrance and a gigantic iron-wrought gate hung at the very top of the arch. It looked like he had found a secret fortress. Slowly, Peter moved his gaze farther down again; the gate was open and he couldn't spot any guards in the darkness laying beyond it. The abandoned fortress would hold all answers though, and Peter slid out of the saddle.

A metallic sound rang through the air as he still unsheathed his sword Rhindon despite the abandoned look of the fortress and while taking a deep breath, he stepped underneath through the archway.

The temperature dropped instantly and the shadows slithered around his posture as he took another tentative step. The path went gradually down and Peter descended further and further into the darkness as the tunnel led him till far under the mountain. The daylight faded away with every step he took and when the path stopped descending and took a turn, the light disappeared all together.

Peter needed a few seconds as his eyesight adjusted to the darkness but he still kept going with the sword in one hand while his other trailed over the rocks next to him to make sure he didn't bump against anything.

His heart hammered against his chest but he managed to keep his breathing calm and soft while the adrenaline kept on rushing through his veins.

Every sound he made seemed to bounce off against the stone walls, amplified as it echoed throughout the hallway and he couldn't shake the feeling he wasn't alone down here.

Peter wasn't sure what he was searching for as he made his way through the fortress but his heart ached when he came across the dungeons with several prison cells.

The dry and cold air down here made him shiver and he had to close his eyes for a moment as the imagery of Lucy and Rosaleen being imprisoned taunted his mind. He took a deep breath, promptly turning around and going back the same way he came since there was no blood in any of the cells. Rosaleen hadn't been tortured here.

At one of the crossroads, Peter took a different path than the one that would lead him outside but as he sneaked through the darkness, he hesitated in his step when he saw the familiar orange light of flickering flames at the end of the tunnel.

He strengthened his grip around his sword, his knuckles turning white as the skin pressed upon the bones, and as quietly as he could, he walked farther.

The light of the flames grew brighter and its shadows fell in a dancing manner upon the wall across from the opening. Peter moved towards the opening, pressing his back against the wall and he carefully peeked inside the room. As soon as he did though, it felt as if an iron grip squeezed shut his throat and his hands almost dropped the sword as they struggled to remain their grip.

Inside the round room, near the torch that spread the dancing light, stood undoubtedly Seren. His white clothing was splattered with blood and a rolled up whip hung at his belt while he stared with an unnerving grin at the second person in the room; Rosaleen. Her wrists and ankles were chained up and only her toes were able to touch the ground. She hung limply in the chains and the ends of her blonde hair were drenched in the blood of the gashes on her bare back since her dress only stuck to her body in torn pieces.

Peter couldn't believe his eyes and he had to force himself to gasp for oxygen when he started to realise the cause of his dizziness, and Seren's gaze snapped from Rosaleen to him. The Archenlander's smile grew even wider and he pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against.

'Hello there,' Seren said and with trembling limbs from a held-in anger, Peter stepped inside.

'Who are you? Who is she?' Peter asked in a demanding tone, because Seren was marching to Anvard and Rosaleen was in Cair Paravel, recovering from her wounds. This couldn't be real and Peter tried telling himself that over and over again, but the way her blood still seeped through the scabs of her wounds and dripped onto the floor, made it impossible to believe it wasn't real.

Seren raised an eyebrow and a silver shimmer fell over his eyes. It only lasted a second, but Peter had seen it before when Rosaleen had accused King Lune of torturing her, and a realisation dawned upon him. The silvery glow in Rosaleen's eyes that day hadn't been a trick of light.

'What are you?' Peter rephrased his question and Seren cackled.

'Looks like the High King of Narnia has a form of intelligence after all.'

To Peter's horror, the skin of Seren's face and bare underarms started to move like ripples in water, as if something under his skin wanted to get out. The skin bubbled and sizzled like cooking water, until Peter stared at his very own self.

'I'm Seren, I'm you, I can be whoever I want to be. I'm a Silver Reflection,' the other Peter said as he hooked the whip off his belt in a fluid movement.

Peter tried to shake the perplexity off of him and he barely managed to jump out of the way when the Reflection unrolled the whip with force in his direction. The whip crackled near Peter's face and the gust of wind flew past his cheek but Peter felt his stomach twist and turn when the iron smell of blood reached his nose.

'What do you want?' he asked as he fought back the gag and raised his sword once more.

The creature tutted, rolling up the whip and putting his hands for a moment in his side in the same way as Peter would do. 'Isn't that obvious? We want to see Narnia perish, to take down its golden reputation. And what's more beautiful than to do it from the inside?'

Then, with the speed of a striking snake, the Reflection unrolled his whip once more and Peter hissed in pain when it tore a gash through his woolen tunic, drawing a bloodied line over his chest and he stumbled back a few paces as it felt as if his chest stood ablaze. He swayed on his legs and the Reflection laughed Peter's own laugh; the sound echoing as if in a nightmare between the corners of Peter's mind.

'I had hoped you'd come,' the Reflection said, withdrawing the whip while Peter gathered his strength and with a fierce yell to channel his adrenaline, Peter charged at his other self.

The Reflection huffed, spinning gracefully out of the way and tripping Peter by hooking his foot around his ankle.

Peter crashed with a thud on the ground, a groan escaping his mouth but the creature waited almost tauntingly until Peter climbed back on his feet.

'We couldn't be sure of course,' the Reflection continued, dodging one of Peter's attacks again. 'But here you are, trying to save the one whose heart you broke. Which reminds me, breaking her mind to get access to her memories was easy: it only took her other lover torturing her. She was weak, not worthy of being a queen. You made the right decision.'

Peter's nostrils flared in anger and his other self smirked.

'I will take your place as High King and you will be your Kingdom's own undoing,' the Reflection said and then his eyes turned into a menacing silver as a deep frown fell between his eyebrows.

'Don't you need access to my memories for that?' Peter asked, trying to get as many answers as he could but the anger that coursed through his veins was on the verge of breaking out.

'Oh but I already know enough about you thanks to Rosaleen. She betrayed you and all of Narnia. Once your kingdom has fallen, she will die like the traitor she is.'

Peter snapped by those words and with a roar, he charged at the Reflection while at the same time, the creature cast his whip onto the ground and drew two sharp daggers out of the back of his belt.

A metallic clang rang through the air as the three weapons collided, with the Reflection holding his daggers crossed at the blades in front of him, but no matter how much pressure Peter put on it, the daggers didn't even move an inch.

Peter clenched his jaw, withdrawing his sword as he simultaneously spun around to catch the expected attack of the Reflection with his shield still strapped on his back. The daggers clattered against the silver-laced shield and Peter kicked backwards, skillfully hitting the shinbone of the creature who stumbled back a few paces by the impact.

Taking advantage of the Reflection's distraction, Peter turned back around and swung down his sword, slicing through the thigh of one of the creature's legs and the crimson blood started to stream out of it.

This time the Reflection hissed in pain and Peter rose back to his full length, letting go off the hilt with one of his hands to punch the creature right in the nose. A satisfying crack sounded through the air and Peter mirrored the smirk from the Reflection before.

'I will hunt down every last one of you,' Peter said while the creature's eyes watered from the physical pain.

'You have already lost,' the Reflection said but his voice got cut off in a sharp gasp as Peter brought up his sword and stabbed his other self right through the ribcage; the point of the sword appearing behind his back and every inch covered in the creature's blood.

With a grunt, Peter withdrew his sword and the Reflection fell in a messy heap to the ground, his once silver eyes glazed over with the stillness of death. The blood spread around the body in a growing puddle and Peter stared with a mix of fascination and disgust at the creature as its death transformed it back to its true form. The creature's skin was scaled like those of a dragon and the edges of finger-broad scales shimmered in all the colours of the rainbow while the center parts of it were silver coloured. The jawline of the Silver Reflection was sharp, almost pointed like a bird's beak and its silver hair flowed like liquid glass around its head. Slowly but steadily, even the pooling blood turned from a crimson red to silvery blue.

Peter had never seen a creature like this in Narnia, but he snapped out of his wonder when Rosaleen let out a soft groan. The chains rang like bells as she moved and Peter sped towards her, dropping his bloodied sword on the ground to lay his hands gently at the sides of her face.

'Rose,' he said, softly stroking her cheeks with his thumbs as her eyelids fluttered open and closed. She fought to regain consciousness and Peter whispered her name once more as he added, 'I've got you, I'm here.'

Rosaleen's green eyes landed upon Peter when she had finally opened them and tears sprang in her eyes as she let out a choked sob. 'Peter.'

'I'm here,' he repeated with a watery smile. 'Hang on, I'll get you out of these chains.' He let go of her face and sprinted back to the Reflection, his hands flying over the belt until he could unhook the ring of keys.

'I didn't think anyone was going to come for me anymore,' Rosaleen said with a thick and cracked voice, her tears drawing clear lines over her cheeks smudged with dirt and blood as Peter hasted his way back to her.

Guilt pierced through his heart and his fingers shook as he unclasped the first chain of one of her wrists. 'I'm so sorry,' he apologised and the chain clattered with a loud ring on the ground as he moved the keys to the other one, freeing her other wrist as well.

No longer being held up by the chains, Rosaleen collapsed against Peter as there was barely any strength left in her body and Peter carefully wrapped his arms around her to not hurt her any more. He gently lowered her on the ground to free her ankles as well but when she was no longer in chains he hugged her once more as the silent tears kept on streaming over her cheeks.

'It's alright, Rose. He can no longer hurt you,' Peter whispered in her hair and he could feel Rosaleen strengthening her grip around him, another sob ripping through her broken body.

'I cannot believe I was so wrong about Seren,' she managed to choke out between heavy breaths and Peter quickly held her at an arm-lengths distance, shaking his head.

'It wasn't Seren.' He helped to turn around on her spot so that she could see the creature with the silver-scaled skin lying dead on the ground and her cries ceased, the tears drying on her cheeks.

'He called himself a Silver Reflection,' Peter explained and Rosaleen's gaze flickered between him and the creature. 'He said he could take any form he desired. Who knows how many of these creatures are out there. One of them even disguised itself as you and it's in Cair Paravel as we speak.'

Rosaleen wiped with the palm of one of her hands over her cheeks, taking a shivering breath but she flinched as the scabs and the wounds on her back cracked and burned with every movement. 'How do I know you're not one of them?'

Peter turned on his knees to face her again and laid his hands around her face. 'Look into my eyes, it's what gives them away; sometimes a silver glow falls across their eyes.'

The realisation of the truth dawned upon Rosaleen as she remembered flashes of when Silas' and Seren's eyes had had a faint silver flow in them, but Peter's eyes were as blue like the sky as ever and she smiled faintly at him. 'I believe you,' she whispered. 'We have to stop these Reflections.'

Peter nodded, dropping his hands from her cheeks and he moved his arms to wrap one around her back and to slip the other under her legs, and he lifted her in the air with him as he climbed back to his feet.

'We will, but first we have to find Lucy's healing potion and your swords. You're in no shape to fight.'

Rosaleen let out a sound that was a combination of a chuckle and a pained gasp as her back burned and ached with every movement. 'I cannot argue with that.'

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𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋❜𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄─𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 bathed in an orange glow as the setting sun cast her last rays of light upon the land. The waves rolled lazily over the shore and the low tide revealed the seaweed-covered boulders that hid just below the surface during the high tide. The cries of the seagulls still echoed through the salty air every once in a while, but they sounded faint everywhere in the castle; the sound muted by the stone walls and closed windows, and the hospital wing was no exception to this.

The dark outlines originating from the furniture fell over the marble floor in long shadows and the darkness already swam through the air wherever the rays of sunshine could no longer reach the spots. The hospital wing was empty apart from one bed in which Lucy rested. Her eyes moved restlessly behind her closed eyelids until she squeezed them tighter shut for a moment, a spasm running through her body as well, and then she shot upright. Her chest heaved up and down and droplets of