As the time for battle drew ever near, Y/N stood on the front line of archers, her leg bouncing nervously as she stared at the vast army readying to charge the infantry below. The White Witch stood, stiff and almost indifferent, on the back of a chariot pulled by two massive white bears. Polar bears, she recalled Peter calling them a few minutes prior. Or had it been an hour ago? Y/N couldn't remember how long they'd been standing here. The breeze ruffled George's gorgeous white mane and Y/N held her breath as the White Witch raised her icy wand and opened the gates of Hell, flooding her monstrous army like a molten river toward Aslan's troops.

Peter looked back toward the archers and gave Y/N a sharp nod, which she promptly returned, understanding what he meant without having to hear a word.

This battle would not be the end of them yet.

They would prevail. There was no other option.