#aravis

                         THE SPRING NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                 for: @quecksilvereyesfrom@luxaofhesperides.

my darling, i will be your hearth and home.

cross-posted on ao3 here
Lasaraleen does what she can to be soft in a cruel world; they call her leisurely because they are so used to conflict that they cannot understand someone who chooses not to cause needless pain. She is out of place and worn down by the pain that surrounds her.

Aravis offers her a way out, a new life. All she has to do is be courageous enough to take it.

*

 Lasaraleen is not a warrior. She prevents violence as best she can, trying to settle flared tempers with words, anxiously waiting for a fight to break out while desperately hoping to avoid it. Her hands were never made to hold weapons or spill blood; they call her leisurely, but she thinks herself as soft.

 The world could use a little more softness.

 There is enough hurt and bloodshed and fear. Lasaraleen has lived with it haunting her every step, forever waiting for the next clash, the next cry, the next bellow of a war horn. She sees how the men don themselves in armour everyday even when they insist that they are safe within the walls of the city. She sees how weary travelers are, on edge and never trusting of anyone they come across. She hears her husband, whom she was married off to quickly and without care, speak ill of the Narnian monarchs and call for battle.

 This world will always hurt the people within it, but that is no excuse to allow that hurt to go unchallenged.

 Lasaraleen leaves food and money besides the poor who sit huddled in alleys, she nurses sick birds back to health, she gives medicine to the maids who desperately try to provide for their families. It’s not much, but it’s all she can do.

 It feels like the weight of the world bears down on her, determined to crush her and leave her beaten and broken. Calormen, her beautiful, vibrant Calormen, is stuck in a cycle of pain and denial; everyone ignores the wounds and pretends they’re not rubbing salt into them.

 Another day, another conflict.

 Lasaraleen can do nothing but watch as her world consumes itself in an effort to ignore the pain forced upon it.

 She resigns herself to suffocating slowly as she holds her gentleness like a shield, or a bared neck, when Aravis appears.

*

   Aravis has always been much stronger than her; there’s a fire inside her that burns through even the darkest of nights. Even as a child, Lasaraleen had admired her strong will, her sense of justice, her fearlessness as she chases after her own destiny regardless of how others view her.

 Lasaraleen has always been far too aware of how other people see her, and never had the courage to change.

 Aravis often reminds her of a griffin, or a phoenix; strong and free, wings unclipped and eyes only ever looking towards the future. In her loneliest nights, Lasaraleen thinks of Aravis and her crooked smile and warm laughter. She has missed her friend dearly, more than words can express.

 And then Aravis appears, as though out of a dream, suddenly in the street just in front of Lasaraleen. It feels like a wish come true, seeing her again.

 It takes no time at all to convince Aravis to come with her, to follow her home for a meal and a place to sleep; Aravis looks haggard and tense, on edge, in a way that Lasaraleen has never seen before. It makes the fear well up in her again, threatening to swallow her whole. It doesn’t, if only because she has grown used to the feeling years ago.

 Her husband speaks of attacking Narnia, taking the kingdom of Archenland, speaks of war and years of violence and fear and death. Lasaraleen is not as surprised as she should be; all the signs were there, and she saw them, though she didn’t know how they connected.

 Another day, another conflict.

 Had she been alone, Lasaraleen would spend many nights unable to sleep, fearing the future, throwing herself into helping other even more in what little ways she could. But she is not alone, not tonight; tonight, Aravis holds her hand and says, “I need to warn them. I have to go to Archenland and let them know of what is coming.”

 “You’ll throw away your life here,” Lasaraleen whispers, but what she means is      You’ll leave me forever if you go.  

“Come with me,” Aravis says. She looks into her eyes and Lasaraleen can’t breathe, not when she sees the light in Aravis’ eyes, how determined she is to do good despite how much she’ll risk in the process. She’s beautiful, and Lasaraleen wants to cry.

 “Come with me,” Aravis begs. She brings up a hand to cup Lasaraleen’s cheek, sweeping her thumb over her cheekbone. Lasaraleen can’t help but lean into the touch. There is longing in her lungs, drowning her with how much she wants this. The fear is still present, as it always is, but with Aravis by her side, Lasaraleen allows herself a moment of bravery.

 She opens the water-door and says, “Let’s go,” and pulls them both through.

*

 Often, Lasaraleen wonders if she made the right decision. Trying to outrun and army is hard and deeply terrifying. She knows very well that she’s a burden, another person to take care of when Shasta and Aravis are barely getting by with the few supplies they have. She knows Hwin struggles under the weight of another person, that she’s slowing everyone down just by being there.

 But the alternative of staying, of losing Aravis, of waiting for any news from Archenland and being unable to do anything is unbearable. Her whole life Lasaraleen has been unable to do anything but sit pretty. Now that Aravis has given her this chance, she won’t allow herself to regret it.

 Lasaraleen is not a warrior. Aravis is, even more so once Shasta parts from them to reach Archenland faster. She fights off scouting parties and patrols, cuts her way through soldiers who come a little too close to them, destroys what she can of their camps to slow their progress even more.

 She does this alone.

 It hurts to know that she can’t help, but Lasaraleen knows her limits better than anyone and refuses to become a liability to the one person who has never looked down on her. Yes she’s weak and soft, even leisurely as people used to say; her kindness is her greatest strength and Lasaraleen will not let anyone take it from her.

 Lasaraleen is not a warrior. Aravis is; scarred and hurting, tired but enduring. Lasaraleen cannot fight besides her, watch her back, or be her shield in battle. But she can be the hearth Aravis returns to. She can tend to her wounds and mend her clothes, make sure she’s fed and hold her while she sleeps.

 Aravis has no choice but to be hard in order to survive this world. Lasaraleen will be soft for her.

 And as they reach the end of the Great Desert and Archenland comes into view, Aravis weeps lightly in relief and Lasaraleen holds her as Hwin picks up the pace. The soldiers behind them shout as they catch sight of the three of them approaching Archenland, and Lasaraleen holds onto Aravis’ waist tighter, praying desperately to every god she has heard of to see them to safety.

 “We’re almost there,” Aravis whispers soothingly, “We’ll be alright.”

 Lasaraleen manages to nod and tries not to look back.

 The lion is a surprise, appearing suddenly to the side and roaring at them. Hwin startles and runs faster, but the lion is quickly closing the distance between them. Lasaraleen watches, shaking, as it approaches, and sends another desperate prayer for Aravis’ safety. And when it lunges, Lasaraleen gathers up her meager courage and kicks out.

 Her foot knocks into its face and manages to push it to the side so it just barely misses them. The sand beneath them turns into stone and grass, and when she looks away from the lion, who stares after them, unmoving, they are in Archenland.

 A sob forces itself out of Lasaraleen’s throat, and Aravis quickly turns around and cradles her face between her hands. She, too, is shaking.

 “It’s alright,” she says, pressing their foreheads together. “We’re almost there.”

 Lasaraleen nods, biting her lip to force her tears back. As soon as they reach the castle and warn Archenland of the invading army, they can rest. She lets out an unsteady breath, and manages to say, “Let’s go.”

 Aravis lingers for a moment, then pulls back to kiss Lasaraleen’s forehead. “Let’s go.”

*

 Shasta greets them when they reach the castle. He leads them to the throne room and introduces them. Aravis quickly describes the army, their forces, and when they might arrive. Lasaraleen asks for medical aid and asks of setting up shelters for citizens in rural towns fleeing the Calormen army.

 King Lune thanks them for their efforts, sends some of his advisors off to create the shelters and begin aiding citizens seeking safety in the capital, then sends them off to the medical wing.

 Aravis, worn down to the bone, falls asleep immediately after getting her wounds rebandaged and drinking a herbal tea to aid her recovery. Lasaraleen sits on the bed besides her, keeping hold of one of Aravis’ hands. Finally safe, she can’t help but curl into herself as she cries, quietly, until exhaustion pulls her into a fitful sleep.

 When she wakes, she’s in Aravis’ lap. Hands comb through her hair gently, undoing old braids and redoing them. She must make some sound, still half-asleep and unable to process much beyond the comforting touch, since the hands pull away. She blinks to clear her eyes and looks up to Aravis, who smiles down at her.

 “Good morning,” she says, tucking Lasaraleen’s hair behind her ear. “How are you feeling?”

 Although she wants nothing more but to stay where she is, Lasaraleen pushes herself up to sit and properly face Aravis. “Better. And you? Does anything hurt?” She reaches out and brushes against the bandages on her shoulder from a sword she couldn’t dodge in time.

 “Nothing hurts. They’ve been taking good care of me. You’vebeen taking good care of me.”

 Lasaraleen’s cheeks flush, pleased, and she takes hold of Aravis’ hand to kiss the palm.

 Aravis looks so gentle; no longer weary or on edge, facing the world alone. Here, with Larasaleen in a quiet hospital wing in Archenland, she’s finally relaxed and at ease. “Narnia has sent aid. I have no doubt that Rabadash’s army will be defeated.”

 “What comes next?”

 “Anything you want. We can go back to Calormen. We can stay here in Archenland. We can travel anywhere we want, do anything we want.”

 “And I can stay with you?”

 Aravis tugs at Lasaraleen’s wrist, pulling her in. “As long as you want. I’ll always want you by my side.” She kisses the corner of Lasaraleen’s mouth, barely brushing against her lips, and Lasaraleen feels her heart leap, flutter, take flight.

 She’s no longer bound to her husband. There are no expectations forced upon her in Archenland. There’s a new life she can live where she doesn’t have to hide acts of kindness or be treated like an ornament for someone’s arm. Lasaraleen can be soft without judgement, can be more than just another pretty face in high society.

 She wants Aravis, in any way she can, wants a life together. Wants home and hearth and heart.

 “Where you go, I go,” she promises. “I’ll be happy as long as I’m with you.”

 Aravis grins, wild with delight and unrestrained. “King Lune has offered us reward for our efforts to help Archenland. Want to see if we can make a life here?”

 “I’d love to.” Lasaraleen is light with joy when she finally kisses Aravis and welcomes the peace it fills her with.

*

 Lasaraleen is not a warrior, and neither is Aravis, not anymore. The worst has come to pass.

 Though Aravis is haunted by nightmares of battle and blood, Lasaraleen is besides her, soothing her fears and holding her steady. The war is over; the wound is finally tended to.

                         THE SPRING NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                 for: @narniadynastyfrom@tiriansjewel.

the honor of love.

setting:Calormen

characters: Zardeenah, Aravis, Lasaraleen

Zardeenah has a way about Her, always watching with a gentle gaze, always reassuring with a tender touch, always guiding with a kind counsel. She dances across the sweltering deserts and through the humid grasslands and into the bustling cities to meet Her kin, her younger brothers and sisters, in the moments of their greatest feeling. As the sun begins its descent into the jagged mountains of the west, so too does Zardeenah begin Her work amongst the cool air of the night and under the soft light of the moon. Tonight, She watches over a young Tarkheena with bright eyes and a girlish naïveté underneath the grown-up refinement she has cultivated in the last few months. This is not the first time She has visited Lasaraleen with a fond catch in Her throat at the heart and passion of Her sister for all things holy, but this is the first time She has visited Her sister to counsel her in the matters of love.

This is because Lasaraleen’s closest friend Aravis has ridden into Tashbaan atop her kind mare for a visit, and underneath the Tarkheena’s refinement there is also a nervous thrumming in her veins at the fiercely sweet brushes of her friend’s fingertips and a stilting headiness at the affection of her friend’s words and stories. These are all telltale symptoms of love, and Zardeenah has seen them in many of Her siblings before, from the earnest awkwardness of the firsts to the familiar sweetness of the lasts, from young people to the elderly, from the beginning of time until now. This love feels different though; it is stronger, as though it is meant to last throughout time in different fonts and forms, as though it could save a nation from self-destruction. She marvels at the beauty of it all, and wonders what words may reassure Her sister, who fumbles with her hair and jewelry and questions how she should speak to Aravis. 

Lasaraleen turns to Zardeenah and speaks in a frantic way, wondering how on earth she is going to impress her friend, who she is sure is far braver and well-spoken than herself. It is a rare moment of insecurity for Lasaraleen, who is usually bubbly and sure of herself, if a bit childish at times. The setting sun frames her as she paces about in the garden explaining herself in anticipation, and Zardeenah reaches out with a soft hand to calm Her sister, weaving Her sentences in the traditional Calormene verse and breathing a fresh confidence into the Tarkheena. 

“It is an honor to love, and it is an honor to be loved,” she says. “To care so intensely for someone is great evidence of your character. Don’t be afraid to let it grow into something beautiful.”

Lasaraleen smiles, clearly reassured by this advice, and Zardeenah slips away into the night after a warm embrace, just in time to hear Aravis arrive in a fumbling bustle of horse tack and servants, and just in time to see the girls greet one another, blushes flooding across their cheeks and knowing grins and looks threading between them like some sort of precious secret. 

***

Years pass and things change as they often do, childlike infatuation and exploration developing into something deeper and softer, their relationship quiet and trusting as new challenges present themselves. Zardeenah is there through it all, listening to their prayers, their hopes and fears, watching them grow from lanky girls on the verge of womanhood to tall, beautiful young ladies adorned in bright fabrics and dazzling jewelry, their steps graceful and meaningful and their smiles full. Now, the world has changed. Now, it is time for a new chapter. 

Aravis flees. Zardeenah wishes to weep for Her sister, trapped like a caged bird, but instead she holds hope in her heart for Aravis’s future in the North, knowing that all things have their reasons. She follows Aravis on her journey through the sticky summer air as she meets a boy with a noble brow hidden behind the dust and dejectedness on his face. Times will change, indeed. She sends Aravis on a race across the desert, and watches as Azaroth follows close behind. She is going to meet her destiny, Zardeenah thinks.

She turns back to Tashbaan as the night fades, as Aravis and the boy who is called Shasta arrive at the hermit’s. Lasaraleen is sitting in her quarters, a rare, quiet contemplation on her features. The girl so joyous, so frivolous, so gay, given over to pondering. It is a sight Zardeenah is proud to see; a sight Lasaraleen seldom shows anyone. 

“Is she safe?” she asks, a measured hope in her voice. 

Zardeenah nods and takes a brush from the table, sitting next to Her sister and beginning a steady trail through her long, black locks. The gesture has always been one of comfort to Lasaraleen, who loves to braid and style her own hair. She loves to be beautiful. She is beautiful, Zardeenah decides. 

“She has arrived in Archenland,” she replies as she separates Her sister’s hair into strands for braiding. 

Lasaraleen smiles, relief on her features. “I think I always knew she would run further than I would.” 

Zardeenah agrees silently as she begins to weave delicate patterns. 

“But I am glad of it, I think,” she continues. “That kind of wild…freedom suits her well, anyways. It always has, even if it exasperates me sometimes. I hope she finds a true home there.”

“I don’t believe we will need to worry much about that, sister.” 

“No, me neither. Yet, I hope… I hope she remembers that she has a home here, too. She is my dearest friend.” 

Lasaraleen sniffs, her eyes cloudy and her cheeks glistening with a natural kind of adornment, and Zardeenah can do nothing but soothe with Her fingertips and Her words.

“Do you remember what I told you about love those few years ago?” 

“Yes.” 

“Truths don’t fade even as time passes, Lasaraleen. Your love for Aravis saved her life, I think. And now she is saving our nation. That is a beautiful thing.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she agrees. “An unconditional thing, as well.”

Zardeenah smiles to Herself as She thinks of the two Tarkheenas laughing in the not-so-distant future as they traipse through the Archenlandian hills or the Calormene sands. Separation never truly endures for long between friends or lovers with a steadfast spirit. 

Lasaraleen laughs brightly, her playful mood returning as Zardeenah ties the last of the strands into the braid. 

“I am so proud of her,” Lasaraleen says finally. “She has always been the brave one of the two of us.” 

“Yes,” Zardeenah agrees. “Aravis is carving her path, and you must carve yours. We all must, in the end. Yet, I believe your care for one another has afforded you both such dignity that you won’t have much to fear. After all, it is a special thing to be loved, and in turn to love just as gracefully.”

Lasaraleen smiles, another tear hanging from her eyelashes like a string of diamonds. 

“I understand that now,” she says softly. “Thank you.”

Zardeenah finds herself reaching out to hold Her sister yet again before she must float back into the night to meet her other siblings. Lasaraleen clings to Her, gratitude pouring off of her, and Zardeenah cannot help but feel all soft at the fact that She has helped Her sister. After all, loving her countrypeople is Her honor, just as loving Aravis is Lasaraleen’s. 

                         THE SPRING NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                 for: @oflucyandlorienfrom@noctusfury.

lost & found.

G-rated, K-rated language, one-shot, 2.6k words. Angst, hurt/comfort, romance, and found family.

Set in the Golden Age, after the events of “The Horse and His Boy”.

Cor | Shasta/Aravis, Cor | Shasta & Pevensies, Aravis & Pevensies.

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Summary: The Pevensies have disappeared, and Narnia and Archenland are in an uproar. Archenland offers to help the Narnians search for their lost monarchs. Cor | Shasta reflects on the impact the Pevensies have brought on him and his family, along with their disappearance. Meanwhile, Cor and Aravis also deal with budding feelings towards each other.

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Note to Giftee: So I have to say that I was very excited to have received your request. I’ve been WAITING and WAITING to write a fic for Cor/Aravis, or something in the HHB universe, but between them and Golden Age Pevensies, it was kinda difficult figuring out what to write. But I figured I might as well do both.

What was a surprise was that instead of this remaining a one-shot, this story is beginning to grow into a two-shot, perhaps even a three-shot. So I’ll tag you if I end up working on/finishing those following parts.

Also, sorry for the bad title. For some reason I couldn’t think up anything that could fit this fic. So if you have any ideas, let me know. ^_^

Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this fic and that I was able to incorporate the things you most enjoy. Thank you for the opportunity. ^_^

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It had been a year later, a year since the events of the Battle of Anvard, when Anvard had received the shocking news: the Kings and Queens of Narnia had disappeared during a hunting trip! Vanished! Cair Paravel was in an uproar!

 When Cor — formerly known as Shasta (though still sometimes called that by his more intimate friends) — first heard the news, he was shocked. Took him time to process that, no, he wasn’t mishearing the information just given him.

 Then came the denial. This simply couldn’t be true. Of course they didn’t disappear! They were fine! Perhaps they had forgotten to bring word to Cair Paravel that they were extending their hunting trip. Surely not all of the Monarchs of Narnia could’ve disappeared at once… could they?

 When they had been told that it had been two weeks since they had left on that hunting trip, and that the Narnians were still searching for their Monarchs all throughout the realm, dread seeped in. Accusations of treachery, abductions, assassinations even flew in the air, and their natural enemies, the Calormene Empire and Telmar, quickly fell into suspicion.

 Corin, his brother, was the first to voice out this conviction. “It has to be the Calormenes! It has to be!”

 Others began chorusing this as well. “They’ve been coveting the lands of the North for ages!” cried one of the court elders. “Acquiring the Kings and Queens of Narnia as hostages would be just the sort of bargaining chip they’d need to pressure us into submission!” another wave of shouts and debates issued forth in the king’s court.

 While it had been a year since the conflict with Prince Rabadash — now Tisroc (Emperor or King-of-Kings in the Common Tongue) of the Calormenes since the passing of his late father (though some wondered, even among his own people, whether or not the Tisroc died from assassination rather than natural causes) — and even though Rabadash had more than shown that he was a passive and ‘peaceful’ ruler in the short time of his rule, there had been rumors that Rabadash had been scheming to find solutions to redeem his recent disgrace at the hands of the Narnian monarchs. So this wasn’t a possibility that could be ignored.

 That being said, Cor knew that just speculating on what happened wasn’t going to get them any closer to finding the lost Monarchs of Narnia. His father, who had been quietly observing the pandemonium in his court, seemed to agree with this, as he cleared his throat and ordered for silence. “Please, friends!” he implored, his usual jovial countenance had long past fled. “Now’s not the time for speculation. The larger issue at hand is trying to locate their persons. Should we not instead try to find figure out where they could be and try to bring them back to their respective residence, in a speedy and safe manner?”

 Several of the councilors had the decency to look sheepish or shame-faced at the king’s gentle admonishment. Cor looked at his father thoughtfully. He knew how much the Pevensies meant to King Lune. He saw how they interacted and from what Corin and their father had told them, the Pevensies were like family to Anvard’s royal family. Ever since the Monarchs of Narnia began ruling Narnia, and the first delegation had been sent to Archenland, King Lune and his late wife, who had no children at the time, had practically adopted them into the family and became their foster parents of sorts, and the 'diplomatic missions’ between the two royal houses were more familial visits and holiday repasts in all but name.

 Cor, for his part, despite only having known the Pevensies for a little over a year, had grown to think of them as elder siblings and it was no secret that the Twins — Corin in particular — idolized the Kings of Narnia (the Queens, too) and were always thrilled whenever they came to visit, and vice versa. Naturally, Cor tended to favor King Edmund, the first of the Monarchs that he had met and interacted with in Tashbaan on his Quest to reach the North. Now that he was Archenland’s Crown Prince and Heir, he had a lot of education to catch up on, and the younger of the Narnian kings had been the perfect tutor, patient and thorough. Cor was, in particular, interested in legal administration and law, similar to the Just King himself, and they had many long discussions concerning the matter.

 Aravis, Cor knew, had grown quite attached to the Queen Lucy and they had often gone into the gardens and had done many outdoor activities, as well as telling each other stories and lore from their respective cultures. Being an only child, Aravis never had the benefit of sibling companionship (aside from some cousins), and the Pevensies, Queen Lucy in particular, became a sort of big sister figure for her. And the relationship really improved her mood over this past year. Cor tried not to notice how pretty she looked among the copper leaves — a Queen of Autumn. He tried not to notice the radiant glow on her face, the Spring in her smile, and the chimes in her laughter.

 He tried not to notice a lot of things where Aravis was concerned. It tended to muddle the mind and leave him utterly confused. And warm. Particularly when she smiled at him. (Since when did her eyes shine like the black pearl that he saw a fisherman catch back in Arsheesh’s village?)

 But she wasn’t smiling now. Aravis was sitting next to King Lune’s throne to his right, and worry for her friend clouded her face. Fear, even. The expression made his heart ache, and he had to stop himself from going over and comforting her. Now wasn’t the time or place.

 But what he could do is help his father alleviate the situation. “May I propose something?”

 Cor almost shrunk back against his seat as the whole room — including the Narnian messenger — turned to look at him expectantly. His father most of all (Aravis was also giving him a surprised look, and the boy was trying not to fidget).

 "A proposal, you say, Cor?“ inquired King Lune, stroking his beard out of habit. "Do tell, my boy, do tell!”

 "Why don’t we discreetly send search parties to Narnia to help in the search? I mean, we know that the last place they were last seen was in the Western Woods, right? Let’s start from where we know they could be and then work our way from there. We should be able to find them eventually with added assistance.“

 While there were many who were still reserved doubts, there were others who nodded slow approval and even threw each other hopeful glances and murmurings as they voiced their consent.

 King Lune was looking at Cor proudly. "Hah, excellent idea, my boy! Splendid! You’re picking up a thing or two, it seems.” he turned to the nobles expectantly. “Any objections?”

 One lord tentatively raised a hand. “I do, my lord.”

 King Lune gestured for him to continue. “Speak, then, Lord Galen.”

 Lord Galen turned to Cor, his face the picture of skepticism. “If I am to understand you correctly, you’re proposing to send search parties to Narnia to speed up the search?”

 Cor wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but decided to humor him. “Yes?” he then cleared his throat and emended his reply with a more resolute, “Yes, I am.”

 "My issue with this idea is this:“ continued Lord Galen, "how do we do this, per your suggestion, without attracting the attention of our enemies, such as the Calormene Empire and Telmar. When word eventually reaches them, they’ll chomp at the bit to race each other to be the first to capture Narnia, and indeed Archenland, as well. What say you to this?”

 Once again, Cor felt a multitude of gazes expectantly awaiting his response. He gulped. “Well, I…” from the corner of his eye, Cor could see Aravis giving him an encouraging gesture with her hand, and continued, straightening himself and trying to make his voice sound more confident than he felt. “Obviously, we can’t neutralize completely the possibility that the enemies’ spies will find out eventually…” he looked at everyone in the room, and they nodded their agreement, silently prompting him to continue, “therefore, the only option to counter this is to use that information against them.”

 That got their attention. “How so, Cor?” asked his father.

 "Simple: by making them believe it all to be a cunning ruse,“ Cor explained, beginning to warm up to the subject. "A selected and trusted retinue of Archenlanders ride to Narnia, such as myself, Corin, Aravis, several of the lords, and, of course, various guards and servants, etc, etc, under the guise of having been invited to Cair Paravel for a social event. We will remain for two weeks, secretly helping in the search for the Pevensies, while the festivities and games that will happen in the palace will provide us with a distraction…” he paused, thinking of his next words before continuing. “Meanwhile, the nobles of Narnia and Archenland will provide a double ruse, in which they will hold a 'secret meeting’ while the games commence. They are to drop hints and to make sure that they are overheard, with enough discretion to make it believable; that way when they rendezvous to a vacant room or tent, it’ll spike the spies’ curiosity enough to venture there in order to collect any supposed important information for their masters. Doesn’t matter what the topic’s about, so long as it’s a ruse with some truth implemented in it for validity’s sake.

 "Meanwhile, while all of this is going on, Archenlander and Narnian search parties will search high and low for the Kings and Queens of Narnia as thoroughly and quickly as warranted. I recommend some look-a-likes to play as decoys of Their Majesties, so as to appear altogether present, yet distant, in order to prevent spies from getting too close. Some of them I recommend to join the parties, dressed in the Narnian garb or armor to hide their identities and to keep the ruse alive for as long as possible. In this way, we could use these search parties as mere 'patrols’ to act as if we’re searching and vanquishing any enemy presence in the realm, such as, for example, the Fell-Beasts.

 "This will serve two purposes: One, it will keep the Narnians from panicking and thus increasing the chances of instability in the realm as well as the likelihood of our enemies finding this out and using this to their advantage. This, of course, cannot happen. And two, it will allow us to search for the Pevensies freely without worry of discovery, since it will be known that it’s merely routine patrols and war games in order to bring further stability into Narnia and to increase the bonds between Archenland and Narnia.

 "Naturally, those of us among the royal family must remain in Cair Paravel in order to keep the ruse up, or else it might raise suspicion. And we’ll only be there for two weeks before returning to Archenland. Of course, if we needed more time, we could extend it to a month, and use the excuse of the young Princes — Corin and I — wanting to stay in Narnia a bit longer and the Pevensies having given their permission to do so.

 "That’s pretty much all I can think of at this moment…” Cor finished sheepishly.

 The audience gave a stunned silence before murmuring amongst themselves concerning the plan. King Lune was more ready with his opinion.

 "Excellent idea, my boy!“ praised his father, stroking his beard thoughtfully, a proud smile on his face. Cor looked to Aravis, who wore a stunned expression, before giving him an approving smirk.

 And it was doing some strange sensations in his stomach, and a quick beating of his heart.

 What was this?

 He quick shook himself of this as his father called for attention. His father stood up, his huge girth, as always, making whatever action he did look comical, regardless of the seriousness involved, his normally deep and jovial voice turning most solemn, indeed.

 "Right! If we’re all in agreement, then let us make haste to Narnia and find their lost Kings and Queens. Let us pray that we find them soon and that they’ve not come to harm.” the King turned to the Narnian messenger — a falcon — who was busy combing through his feathers with his beak in preparation for the return journey. “Will this suffice, friend?”

 The falcon, Takar by name, stopped what he was doing to tip his beak and spread his wings in the customary sign of respect by his kind. “Arrah! Aye, King Lune! Takar hath no objections to this scheme. If thou wilt permit me, Sire, Takar shalt fly forthwith through the south-eastern gales, as true and fast as one of yon Queen Susan’s arrows. Thou can rely on Takar to inform me fellow Narnians of thy plan!”

 "The Lion be with you, friend. Safe journey!“

 "Arrah! And to thee, Sire! Mayest the winds favor thy back, and mayest the Great Lion be with thee all thy days!” And with that, the great falcon took off and flew like an arrow from a bow.

 King Lune then turned to his councilors. “And may Aslan be with you all, and I pray that the Monarchs of Narnia will soon be found and restored to their thrones and our hearts.

 "Now let us prepare.”

 The courtiers dispersed to prepare for the coming journey, and just as Cor was going to leave and make his own preparations, Aravis made her way towards him. She gave him a congratulatory smile. “That was well spoken, Shasta,” she said softly, her Calormene accent folding around his old name like a warm blanket. Only in times like this, when it was just them, she would use his old name from their past life, neither of them having quite gotten used to his real name in the past year. It was always a comfort for Cor whenever she said it, her voice like a cool and soothing balm that calmed him whenever he felt the stresses of his sudden heirdom overwhelming him.

 Cor shrugged self-deprecatorily, feeling a little self-conscious. “It was nothing. King Edmund deserves the credit; it’s how he thinks. Whenever one of us visits, he’s sort of been teaching me these kinds of things, along with administration and law. I’ve just been parroting what he said.”

 "But isn’t that where greatness comes — by walking in the footsteps of and learning from those who have walked the paths less traveled?“ she asked him with a raised eyebrow and an inquiring smile. Aravis stared at him thoughtfully, and regarded him for a moment.

 "W-What?” Cor stuttered, not used to the intensity of Aravis’s gaze.

 She simply smiled and began walking away. But before she left, she turned to face Cor, the look in her eyes sincere. “You know, I believe that, when the time comes, you’ll be a great king…,” before adding with a teasing look, “Prince Cor.” With a giggle, Aravis left the throne room for her own chambers to prepare for the journey, leaving Cor to stand there with a flustered and surprised look on his face, before shaking himself and moving on to his own room, deep in thought.

 To him, it was her eyes that Prince Cor found to be the most dangerous feature that made up Lady Aravis — those eyes as dark as black pearls.

 And yet, Cor couldn’t wait to greet those eyes again.