I have a couple years of old emails and reviews to answer--about 1200, more or less. I'm starting with the old and working my way up to the present day. Like Ron says to the O-Boyz fangirls: "All your questions will be answered."

Ninja Master: will Ron meet the White Witch? Yes. And so will they. And so will you. Become evil? She'll try. She tries that with all the Children of Adam and Eve.

Hermione Solo: you are such a delight. "The Lion! yay! Double yay!" And boo, hiss! As Shakespeare says in Macbeth, act 4 --By the pricking of my thumbs, / Something wicked this way comes. Or someone. Yes. Poor Athalia. Her head's been turned around--and it's not done. Huggle her? You go ahead. I'm sure she needs it.

trecebo, Wolfpack7, screaming phoenix, Bobboky --thank you all.

I've had this chpt done for a while. It's short. I waited, because I wanted to square away Slackjaw. Like Kim, I love the dumb dog. And he just sort of showed up one day in my head. Like Dug--that lovable lamebrain dog in the new Disney Pixar movie, Up And is it just me, or does Alpha remind anyone of Fangdrip?

Y'all have been my faithful readers for years. And I've kept promising you a real Narnia story--with real a real Narnia character.

I don't know if this will really sastify my readers--or just make them want more. I promise you. I'm a' hurryin' on my stories--in my Glacially Slow way.

You Kim Possible fans--I know--not a mention of Kim Possible. Strange for a K.P. fanfic. And just a reference to Ron Stoppable. I beg your patience.

St. Paul says in Romans 7: When I would do good, evil is present with me. When the Lion, Blessed is He, makes a move, someone else is trying to checkmate it.

The book makes reference to Mr. Tumnus's father. I have given him a name in the last chpt.

The appearance of the Queen is based on the description given by C.S. Lewis. The crown of icicles is taken from the movie The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe.

THE LION, THE TREEHOUSE, AND THE NAKED MOLE RAT

chpt. 11

in the house of Jadis

The Dryad entered Narnian air space. The frigid temperatures hindered her passage. She went as far as she dared before materializing again.

There was a gleam in the trees. She made her way through to the clearing.

It was the Lantern. High above her its faint cheery glow softly lit the snow-filled glade. But there was no cheer in the heart of the Dryad

She wanted to weep. She wanted to scream to the skies.

Athalia had desired all her life to see one of the sights of Old Narnia. The vast plain at the Ford of Beruna. The Stone Table, with its laws and Deep Magic engraved. Or even the castle of Cair Paravel.

But here was the monument to Narnia's founding. Jadis had tried to cave the Lion's Head in with a section of iron lamppost from the World of Adam and Eve--or so the story said.

Athalia put her hand on the cold iron pole. There was no sense of life--like when she earlier touched the little birch sapling. It was an artifact of his world--her Ronald--but it had none of his warmth.

The old tales. She did not know any more. What were the truth of the stories of her youth? What was the truth of the secret history revealed to her by her fellow Narnian?

She dare not waken any of the spirits of the trees. On this the stories agreed with what had been told to her. Some of the trees were for the Lion. Some were for the Queen.

It was well-known that a friendly fellow dwelt nearby. Tumnus, son of Rimnok the faun. He often strolled in the woods with his warm scarf 'round his neck carrying his parasol. He was a great poet and player of the flutes. He could charm fire from a cold hearth--or a cold heart. He could bring rest to troubled soul. He was famous for his hospitality. Cakes and tea for all guests. But could even he be trusted?

A troubled soul. That expression had no meaning to her--until now.

Athalia was wrapped in despair. She thought about merely curling up and falling to sleep, letting herself freeze to death. But in the end, it was a vision she saw as she gazed into the light of the lantern. The yellow flame like the yellow hair--the freckles--the honest brown eyes and warm smile. It was the vision of her beloved Prince's face.

The Queen's castle was still many hours' swift walk away. The Dryad folded her arms in an attempt to stay warm. The silky diaphanous gown she wore was hardly enough to ward off the bone-chilling cold. As well as she could on the slippery ground and through the deep snow drifts, she made her way toward it.

There it was--beyond the two hills--like a picturesque little palace. Too large for a house, too small for a castle.

She stumbled into the courtyard. Her feet were numb. Her arms were numb. Her ears and nose burned with the bite of the frost. But the sight that met her eyes filled her with horror.

Statues. Of all kinds of creatures. Dwarves, Talking Animals big and small. Bears, beavers, and birds. Squirrels and salamanders. Unicorns. A Dragon and a Giant. Even other Dryads. Their faces frozen in sadness--even agony.

These were the victims of the Witch's wand. Turned to stone--forever.

Here was a goose and her goslings huddled together--awaiting the death stroke.

Here was a Marshwiggle, staring as though in a stupor.

Stories came flooding back to her memory--stories she had forgotten--other Dryads said the spirits of those made stone haunted the courtyard, never to rest. But worst still was the fate of those who the Witch called "traitor". They were stabbed to death--sacrificed on the Stone Table. Their bodies were devoured by the Witch's Secret Police--the wolves.

Something sharp poked her in the back. Stifling a screech with both hands, she turned. It was the horn of a stone Unicorn.

Here was a Dryad--an Elm Girl, by the look of her. Her hands cupping her face, not daring to behold the White Witch.

Weeping, Athalia began to rebuke herself. She had been played for a fool. Jadis was not Just--or Gentle. Glancing frantically about, she began to leave--

--It was too late. She heard a growl behind her--a stone figure had come to life! She began to sob in terror. "I am sorry--I didn't mean to come here!"

She turned again--it was a huge wolf. She stifled another scream.

More wolves appeared out of doorways. Half a dozen in all surrounded her.

The biggest wolf reared up in the courtyard and the little Dryad yelped in fright. He was as large as the Centaur, Kalderion Goldenmane.

"I am Fangdrip, the Queen's Captain," he said in a horrid growling voice. "State your business, little tree-girl."

"I am the Dryad, Athalia." Her terrified whisper was barely audible.

A trumpet blew. A voice announced. "The Queen of Narnia! The Empress of the Lone Isles! Every head bow!"

Each wolf whined and buried its head in its front paws. There was the crunch of feet in the snow and the swish of a garment. The Dryad lifted her head. She saw a gown of rich material. A jeweled bodice was around the waist. An ermine coat covered the upper body and arms. The person was tall and slender. Fine manicured hands lightly carried a long silver rod ornately carved, like a scepter. It was the terrible wand of the stories--the wand that transformed living things to stone--like the courtyard figures. Long dark hair curled to the waist.

"Lift your face, little one. Would you have your Queen stoop like a kitchen maid? Let me see you." A commanding voice spoke, cold with malice.

Athalia looked up. The face of the Queen was beautiful and terrible. Skin white as snow. Delicate aquiline nose. Chiseled cheeks. Frowning lips red as blood. Frosty black eyes full of disdain. A crown of icicles sat upon the top of her dark hair.

The little Dryad's fear skyrocketed. The stories said that Queen claimed human ancestry. It was also true what the stories said--it was a human face--without a single shred of human warmth, or love, or decency. Not a vestige. Not a hint. Not a trace. The beauty of the face made its evil all the more monstrous. It was the face of she who called herself the Queen of Narnia and Empress of the Lone Isles. It was the face of the White Witch--Jadis.

She tapped under the Dryad's chin with the unholy wand. In a voice as smooth as silk, but filled with serpent's poison, she asked, "And who have we here? What is your errand, Daughter of the Birch trees?"

to be continued

And there you have it, my dear readers. What I have been struggling toward for the past 3 years. With both the Witch and the Lion--now it's finally a real Narnia story.