Come on, guys, throw me a bone...thanks to those who actually did review...

Disclaimer: Narnia isn't mine.

Chapter 4.

Faolan's massive mansion was located in the heart of Stormness Head. To get there, one had to climb a steep, nearly vertical pathway uneven with sharp rocks, then, once level on the plateau, would be forced to navigate through the labyrinth of canyons and crevices. It reminded Galian much of the canyons he had picked his way through when he and Aoife had run away, how long ago it seemed. Fog descended on him as he rode along, and a chilling breeze blew into his face, biting at his nose, chin, cheeks and ears. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, all the while mentally approving of the location of the manor of such an important man. Very few would be able to navigate pathways such as these; there were even some native Archenlanders who would not have dared it. Unless someone had very good directions, he or she would never be able to find the manor. It was always cold up here, he had been told, amass with foul weather all year long. The pathways, once frozen with ice, would be nearly impossible to climb. The odds of an army attacking Lord Faolan's palace were slim.

Still, Lord Faolan was afraid for his life. He had sent a message to Galian's home in the Dancing Lawn begging him to come as soon as he could. When Galian reached Anvard, people told him how agitated Faolan had been, how easily he could be frightened. He was constantly on edge, always looking over his shoulder. He absolutely refused to eat unless he watched the cook prepare it right before him. He had been walking about with his hand tightly gripping a dagger, though it was a long standing joke among the soldiers that he wouldn't know what to do with it in the event he was attacked.

As Dancer finally reached the top of a small hill, the poor beast huffing and blowing as she walked, the sight of Faolan's castle came into sight. It was made of a darker brown than the mountains, a curious color, Galian thought, and it was massive. It seemed a good deal larger than Anvard, though maybe not quite as big as Tashbaan. Tall towers rose out of the outer walls, and from where he sat Galian could just see the outlines of soldiers on the towers and the walls. There was a moat surrounding the castle, about seventy five feet deep, Galian would later learn, and as he approached all sorts of fairy tales he had once heard, ones where crocodiles or some other horrendous beast lurked in the dark waters, came into his head. Slightly nervous, he looked up to hail the gatekeeper, but to his surprise the drawbridge began to creak and lower just as he was about to raise his voice. He waited patiently until it finally reached the ground, and crossed over while trying not to give too much thought to crocodiles. A small detachment of soldiers was there to meet him, led by a very clean, neat looking man Galian had once met two years ago when Archenland defended itself from Calormene onslaught. The man bowed and bade Galian to follow, the small squad mimicking the movements of their captain. They rode through the streets with haste, and peasants backed out of the way quickly to avoid being trampled. Most of them, Galian saw, had either bales of hay, bushels of sticks, or else baskets full of food in their arms. They were not unhappy looking people, but rather fearful instead. Galian wondered what their leader had told them to make them so afraid.

The manor itself was a sight to behold. Banners of red with the black face of a lion blew wildly in the wind. Tapestries of the same design hung before the main entrance. There was an attempted at a lawn before the main door, but, again, the soil was too rock to support much vegetation. The captain and Galian dismounted, leaving the other soldiers outside. As they walked through the main door, Galian was hit with a rush of warm air, and soon felt invisible ice that had gathered around his aforementioned frozen parts begin to melt. The floors were of a black marble and the walls were white of a similar material. Apparently, Faolan was one given to the arts, as paintings, sculptures, and rare artifacts were spotted here and there. Large doors of dark oak were found here and there along the walls, placed in no particular order, it seemed. The tour guide never stopped at any of these sights, however, but carried on swiftly as though such beauty no longer awed him. Two pairs of footsteps echoed around them, giving Galian the feeling that the manor was much bigger than it appeared. They walked up a twirling flight of stairs, arrived at the third floor which was very similar to the first, and Galian was shown into a library and told to wait patiently until Lord Faolan could join him.

Even the library was impressive to a man of little education like Galian. Books were arranged by color, blue ones in this section, browns in another. There were a few books and papers on one of the several small table in the room, but even this mess seemed to be orderly and intentionally placed. The large door creaked open, and Faolan entered, followed by an older, submissive-looking man. Faolan himself looked as if something hurried him, as if there was something important that needed to be attended to without delay. His voice, when he spoke, was slightly high pitched, no mean feat for a man with a voice as soft and dulled as his was.

"I am grateful to you for arriving early,"he said, shaking Galian's hand after the latter had bowed, "I know it must be a great inconvenience, but I truly felt as if something terrible was about to happen to me if you did not arrive immediately. It's probably just a silly feeling, I know..."

"Feelings like that cannot be ignored, my lord,"Galian told him, "I've found it rather beneficial to heed them in the past."

"Then I hope I have done the right thing. I'm not a military man, good knight, nor am I an expert woodsman. I have grown up in finery like this all my life. I carry a dagger, but I fear I am a novice at swordplay. I haven't the talents you have, Sir Galian, I am unable to observe others as you are."

Galian wasn't sure whether or not he was supposed to feel like a warrior or a rustic, after hearing this speech. Giving himself the benefit of the doubt, he answered, "I am only a very alert man, my lord. I shall do my best to see that no suspicious character run amuck in your land, sir."

They sat at one of the small tables, Faolan's assistant doing so as silently as possible, in fact, Galian had come to wonder if the man was capable of making any noise at all.. After shooting him a curious look, Galian continued, "My lord, I must be honest with you. I battle, it is clear who the enemy is. In a situation such as this, the villain is not conspicuous. He may be a soldier, a nobleman, or a peasant. He may not even be a man at all. It could be a woman, or a dwarf, or a talking beast. I shall do my very best to protect you, my lord, but I advise you to pay attention to any doubts or fears you may have. As I said, doing so could very well save your life. I must say, however, that although the issues I have just outlined are important, I do feel that you have chosen the safest location for yourself."

"Yes, I think so as well. The canyons are difficult to navigate. I have more soldiers guarding my perimeter than the Queen herself. I am the most well protected man in Archenland. Still, I am afraid."

"Enemies will stick out here, sir. I feel confident that you shall be safe. I am worried, however, that my being here will only attract the assassins. They have been following me for quite a while, perhaps longer than I am aware."

"Queen Eleytheria told me of your suspicions. That is part of the reason she wanted you here. She feels she is protecting you as much as you are protecting me."

Galian was taken aback, "I? Why should I need protection, my lord?"

"It is simple. Though no one expects an attack on Princess Delwyn, and much less do we expect the untimely death of Lord Elisud, but in the event such a terrible situation would occur, you are the frontrunner for succession as military advisor."

Galian flushed, "My lord, I know nothing of advising or ruling a country."

"No, but you know a great deal about commanding an army."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?"

"We wished to keep it secret. Should the wrong person hear of this, our enemies would have a greater reason to kill you than before."

Galian shifted uneasily in his chair, his head spinning. He? Military advisor? He could not imagine himself in such a position. Even if he could have had the position without losing his friend, he wasn't too sure he would have wanted it. He was great deal more ill at ease than people knew, especially during battle. He wasn't always so confident, and he oftentimes second guessed himself when making an important decision. During battle, he relied on instinct and prayer to keep him alive. How could he teach that to an army?

Faolan interrupted his thoughts, offering to give him a tour of the castle. It was a perfect maze, and Galian knew that no matter how long he would be there, he would never know his way about. His own room was simple by Faolan's standards, but very lavish to Galian, and he found himself wondering if maybe the bed wasn't too comfortable.

They had dinner in a private banquet room adjacent to Faolan's office. Several individuals joined him here, people Galian knew by reputation but had never met. Most of them were wealthy, well-to-do noblemen, ones that talked more of trade and commerce and complicated political agendas than anything else. They were men similar to Faolan, who was a self-proclaimed aristocrat who worked more with his mouth than his hands. Faolan introduced Galian, and he was greeted with stiff greetings and patronizing smiles. They talked around him the entire meal, not once addressing him. Faolan did not seem to notice, but joined in their talk of international trade with great zeal. Galian was throughly bored before the main course was even served, and the entire time he wondered why on earth he was there, of all places he could be. His mind drifted off to ice-covered trees and snowy forest floors, to the Western Wild, where Ulric was bounding about doing his part to put a stop to evil cults and bloodthirsty assassins. He thought of Aoife and Pericles, alone, taking exact measurements for Diarko Pygors, and he suddenly felt angry and jealous. He thought of his farm, where every precaution was being taken to ensure the ground would be protected from the harsh winter, and the animals were safe and warm in the stables, and he felt a sudden stab of homesickness.

With these thoughts to occupy him, time passed slowly. Soon, his plate was being taken away, several men were lighting pipes or sipping wine. No one seemed to be talking. Galian soon found the reason for the lull in the conversation. A poet came forth, preparing himself to tell the gathering any particular tale they wished. Stories of King Cor, Prince Corin, the four ancient sovereigns of Narnia and other popular ones were told. As was the custom, the host's story was told last. Faolan pondered a moment, then said, in his quiet, slurred voice that seemed to indicate he was entirely back to normal, "Tell me the story of Aneirin."

Every head turned and looked at Faolan curiously. Even the poet seemed to stutter as he replied, "I-I do not know that story well, my lord."

"Very well. I shall tell it. You may go,"Faolan dismissed the poet and stood from his seat, and stood in front of the group of men.

"Most of you do not know the story of Aneirin. It is not a story often spoken of. People fear the idea of the story as much as they feared Aneirin back then. Aneirin lived during the reign of the White Witch. His mother was a naiad and his father was a marshwiggle, a very odd combination indeed. In his earlier years, Aneirin was a coward of a man. Despite all that he had learned from his parents about Aslan, Aneirin willing gave himself into the service of the White Witch. His job was to alert her of any traitors in her kingdom, and at that time, there was very little anyone could do that would not appear to be the work of a traitor, and Aneirin handed over many a life to the Witch.

Unfortunately for Aneirin, the High King Peter and his royal brother and sisters liberated Narnia from the reign of the Witch, a story I'm sure we all know. Aneirin, who had for years openly sworn allegiance to the Witch, and who had made several enemies of the families and friends of those he had sent to the Witch and, ultimately, to their death, was forced to flee north.

It was thirty years before anyone saw him again. By that time, the Royal Four had disappeared, and Narnia was in a state of slight dysfunction. Most of those who might have been able to recognize Aneirin were dead, but even if they had been alive, they wouldn't have known this monster as the same vile, cowardly young man they had once known. His skin was white, not pale, but white as snow, as the Witch's had been. The whites of his eyes were no longer white, but red. He was seen at odd times during the next few years, here and there, never staying in one place, never speaking to anyone. He eventually erected a home on the very edge of the Western Wild, just close enough to Chippingford to wander into town on market days to buy food, but far away enough that no one knew exactly where his house was...or what he was up to.

Eventually, one man found out. He was Areli, a carpenter by profession. Areli had been watching Aneirin for some time, had watched cautiously as the man skulked about the streets of Chippingford, intimidating shopkeepers and buying up nearly every potion in the apothecary. Areli was curious as to what Aneirin was up to, and one day, followed the strange man to his home. They say he waited until Aneirin left his home to fetch some water, then stole into the house from the window. It was a small, one roomed home, with a bed in one corner and a cauldron in another. On the only table were books, some labeled and some not, and scraps of paper with words written hastily on them. Areli picked up one of the journals, and flipped to the latest entry:

On the third day of Greenroof, at the seventh hour: It has failed, again. My quest for long life as my mistress once had has gone astray. I try not to think of how angry she would be were she here. Sometimes it is if I can hear her voice, in the distance. She is angry, she is always angry. Come to think of it, there is not a memory I possess in which she was not angry.

What have I forgotten! The potion I have created is much like that of Queen Lucy's; it will heal any wound I may have. Only, I had thought that Queen Lucy's patients were not so...scaly. It is a side effect, I suppose. I have replicated the contents of her cordial to the best of my ability, using ingredients no decent man ought to use. But, after all, I am no decent man. I want more! I want more than a potion that can heal any sickness and any injury. I want a potion that will save me from injury, make it so that I shall never sustain so much as a bruise. I want a potion that will give me immortality. I shall never stop, not until I have taken the first sip and felt the blissfulness of immortality.

And yet, I want to stop so badly. Each malfunctioned potion makes me sicker and sicker. Physically, I am fine. But her voice is louder with each vial I drink. And not only her voice, but that of my father, of my mother, of those whom I helped Her Majesty to destroy. I see them, on my bed, on my doorstep, and they elude me as I try to kill them once again. The voices...I hear them all the time now. The voices...how to make them stop!

That concluded the entry, save for two words written at the very bottom, in more of a frenzy than the entire paragraph above: The Garden!

And then, Areli heard something clatter to the floor. He looked to the doorway, and there was Aneirin, the pail of water rolling on the floor, water streaming everywhere. Aneirin himself was gritting his teeth and breathing heavily, with his fists clenched, acting remarkably as a hot-tempered person would react to someone who had just made a horrible comment about someone they loved. With a horrendous cry, he drew a knife from his belt and flew at Areli. The other had ducked just in time, and his attacker flew into his own desk, scattering papers and books and eventually crashing into the wall on the other side of the desk. Faster than thought, he jumped to his feet, standing on the desk, looking down on his prey with a murderous gleam in his eye. With an ear splitting cry, he leapt at Areli again, and again the agile man dodged the attack. Instead, Aneirin landed on his own knife.

He attempted a crawl to a chest, located under his bed. Areli beat him to it. He stood in front of the prostate figure, barring his way. Pathetically, the dying man looked at the stranger and croaked, 'Please, I need it to live.'

'It shall only make you more insane,'Areli told him.

'You will let a man die?'

'In exchange for a hundred more lives? Yes.'

Aneirin struggled and cursed, but he was no match for the stronger, healthier man. The last words he said were, 'Damn you...others will...will find my potions. They...they will...damn you...and yours,' he coughed a bit more, then choked, 'A curse upon your house...' And with those words, he died."

The noblemen looked at each other, all on the edge of the seats despite themselves. An old man at the end said, "Why, my lord and host, that is not a horrifying story at all. What happened to all the potions and such?"

Faolan continued calmly, "Areli burnt that house to the ground, and everything in it."

Later that night, when all the nobles were safely tucked away, Galian escorted Faolan to his chambers.

"That was a very interesting story you told, my lord,"Galian said.

"I was surprised at your reaction, Sir Galian,"Faolan said in a curious voice, "you did not seem as enthralled as the others. Most who hear that story for the first time are awestruck."

"My lord, that was not the first time I have heard the story."

Faolan halted for a moment, regarding Galian thoughtfully. Presently, he said, "Then perhaps you know that I left out one very important detail?"

"That Areli took several papers with him? Papers that are said to have ingredients of the potions Aneirin made, as well as directions to the garden from which the seed of the Tree of Protection was taken?"

Faolan nodded, impressed, "Where did you hear that story?"

"From Domus, my lord. He told it to me several times, more to put me on my guard than anything."

"On your guard against what?"

"He never said. He often told me I would have many enemies in this world, and all of them would wear a different face."

"Wise faun, he was."

"Yes, indeed, sir."

They arrived at Faolan's chambers, and Galian bade his employer good night. As he walked away, Faolan called after him, "You know, I underestimated you, young Galian. I'll be sure not to do it again in the future,"and without another word, he closed his door, leaving a perplexed Galian in the hall, staring after him.