Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't... I also don't own the Narnian Calendar. It belongs to Elecktrum who was kind enough to let me borrow it for my story. Her own stories are awesome and you should go read them too.

Summary: After almost a year of conflict in both the North and the South, Narnia's borders are secured once more. Hope brightens as Narnia prepares for a year of peace. Yet, when shadows from the past threaten, will the light be smothered or shine all the brighter?

A/N: If you have not read the first eleven stories in the A Light in the Darkness main story arc (Awakened, Shadowed, Revealed, Concealed, Rekindled, Refracted, Reflected, Veiled, Unveiled, Eclipsed, and Obscured), I highly recommend you do so for the full experience. However, I have included a quick summary of the previous stories so if you want to give this one a whirl on its own, you can.

Chapter Twenty-Five: In Dreams

"Dejen."

All his training fell to the wayside as he turned and fled from the Voice. He searched for the darkness or a cave to hide in until the Voice left again. Yet, he was followed. Or, perhaps he could not flee because somehow the Voice was surrounding him. Light, blinding, penetrating Light filtered all around him. There were no shadows left untouched, destroyed by the light. The only cave seemed a pool of light. There would be no shelter there. No place to hide.

"Dejen."

Again, the Voice called to him. The instinct to run and the overwhelming desire to fall to his knees warred within him. His body shook with the effort. He forced himself to walk a few more steps but then he stopped as the Voice called him by a different name, the name of his childhood, of the proud warrior who had once-

He could fight no more. He fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground as the Voice called his true name, his lost name once more. The words somehow fell from his lips. "I am he no longer. I am only Dejen now. Honorless, though I am."

"You have done much to strike against your honor," the Voice agreed. Then, a Presence approached, bringing an increase in the light and a sweet perfume. "You have attacked My Chosen. You have sold your life to those who do harm to all who are Mine. You flee from Me."

He shivered as the Presence drew closer. So many battles where he had never faltered and always looked his enemy in the eyes. Yet, now he could not bear to meet the eyes of the One confronting him.

"Am I your enemy?"

He flinched. His heart began to race but he could not remain silent. "I know not."

"Do you not?"

He should run. Flee before it was too late.

"Where would you go? Where would you run to where I am not?"

"You were not there when we needed You."

"I was there."

"Then You are as cruel as the gods of the Calormene. So many innocents died!"

"And they now find peace in My Country. I also protected those who survived, though you have forgotten it or attributed these things to those I moved through to accomplish My will."

"Protection…" he breathed, anger stirring. "Protection? What protection was there when women and children were slaughtered in their beds? They did not deserve to die! Cut down by cowardly dogs."

"They are in My Country," came the reply that was soft and yet loud at the same time. A hint of a roar entered the Voice now. "Why do you flee from Me? Why did you not heed My words? You called to Me and yet fled."

"No."

"You have fled from Me. You have disobeyed My words and turned away from the path I placed before you. You have attacked My Chosen of Narnia and have become a weapon in the hands of those who would harm all who are Mine."

The words rolled over him like the crashing waves of the sea. Yet, somehow, they were still gentle. They did not crash into him with the thunderous force of a storm-fed wild sea. Rather, they rolled over him with the steady warmth of the waves that lapped over the pristine sands of beaches, gentle, steady, and comforting.

His own words failed him. He could not hope to redeem himself.

"No, you cannot." Then the Presence came close, breath warming the back of his neck and the sweet perfume enveloping him, and added with a tender sadness, "Dejen, Dejen, where will you flee if you seek to escape Me? Do you not see?"

He could say nothing. There were no more words. The Presence faded from his awareness, leaving him cold and bereft as he cowered on the ground. Then, as if from a long distance, he heard something. Not the Voice again. A soft, gentle, feminine voice now spoke. "Where can I go that I may hide from Him? There is no place in all the worlds."

He was aware again. Hot lances of pain pierced his consciousness, confirming with brutal efficiency that he still lived. But how…?

"Do not despair, my beloved children. Though we are frail and prone to stray, the Great Lion yet holds us in His paws. We cannot fall from His care once He holds us between His paws. Such is His great mercy and love. Let not our shame and weakness prompt us to flee His presence. Though we deserve it not, He is willing and able to wash us clean once we have confessed our failures to Him. Such is His great mercy and love."

The voice. The soft, dulcet tones carried all the marks of a woman's tender care. It reminded him of… No, she died. It could not be here.

Fighting against the pain sinking its long claws into him, he struggled to open his eyes. Only one obeyed, the left. He was too weary and pained to appreciate the irony beyond a brief acknowledgement. She was seated to his left, however. Long dark hair falling loose. Head dipped toward the book held between pale, slender hands. A gown of purple velvet. A low groan escaped him when he tried to speak. The head rose. Blue eyes met his and widened.

He braced for her reaction. Her hatred and her mistrust. Or, would she merely flee the room now he was awake? She did neither. Instead, she leaned forward and touched her fingertips to his wrist. "Captain Dejen?"

Memory flashed. The hood dropping down before his crew attacked him. The words spoken as he lay bleeding and gasping on the deck of his own ship. The plot… The plot. His heartbeat surged as he grasped the Gentle Queen's hand. His lips parted and he forced words past his dry throat. "Danger."

She placed her other hand over his, stroking his fingers, as she shook her head. "No. Don't worry. Our General has assigned guards to keep you safe. There is no more danger. We will protect you."

He wanted to laugh at the young woman. She was elegant and refined but still so delicate compared to him. And yet she spoke of protecting him? Sought to comfort him? He had attempted to kill her and she wanted to comfort him? Aslan's Chosen were strange, indeed. Pain lanced through him when he tried to draw breath and another groan burst free.

The Gentle looked away, calling over her shoulder, "Fetch a healer." Then, she turned back to him, blue eyes filled with a concern he did not deserve. "You must be still. You suffered grave injuries when you went over the cliff."

His mind filled with images, memories of being dragged through the grass and then the mocking order that he was to greet the sea with open arms. Falling. Water everywhere, filling his nose, mouth, and lungs. A flash of silver right before everything went dark and he wandered through the dreaming world.

"Must…warn…danger. Crew…treacher-" He choked then coughed as his lungs and ribs caught fire.

"Shh, it is all right. Here, drink a little of this." A cup was placed at his lips and blessedly cool water soothed the burning in his throat if nowhere else. He tried to open his mouth to once more force the words out, but fingertips pressed against his lips. "Do not try to talk anymore. Your injuries are still too severe." Gentle hands pressed firmly against his shoulders. "Rest. We know about your crew. The five men who attacked you have already fled Narnia."

He grasped her hand and squeezed…that is, he tried to squeeze. His fingers would not obey his commands. Nor would his mouth. Dark hair and blue eyes filled his vision for a moment as the Gentle smoothed her fingers over his brow. Her touch was cool and comforting as she soothed, "Just rest. It is how you will heal. Go back to sleep, Dejen."

Despite the sense of danger, he could not keep his eye open. The vision of a strangely kind woman with dark hair, blue eyes, and gentle hands followed him into his dreams this time. There he apologized to her. She smiled at him.

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"Oreius."

The cry had weakened, barely audible above the noise of his own hooves, the pounding of his heart, and the harsh sound of his breaths. Darkness surrounded him. Where was she? "Alambiel!"

His shout reverberated through the long tunnel. There was no answer. Fear sank its claws into his heart even as he pressed on. He had to find her. Before it was too late.

Suddenly he stood in a different room. This too was dark but in the center was an area cast in the weak light of a wavering torch. "Alambiel. Can you hear me? Where are you? Call to me and I will find you."

Mocking silence was the only answer. Then a dark shadow moved. Cloaked and hooded, the figure passed from the shadows through the circle of faint light. A bloody knife was clutched in the figure's hand. "Where is she?" he demanded. The figure did not seem to hear him but then a dry scratchy laugh assaulted his ears. He lunged at the figure, determined to wrest the answer from its throat. The dark cloak melted into wisps of shadow.

Then, he was on the ground. Kneeling over her. His hands seemed to tremble as he carefully lifted her into his arms. Was she breathing? His hands were covered in blood…hers or his own, he did not know. He ignored the blood as he grasped her wrist. Her pulse was faint. Her lashes fluttered against too-pale skin before they opened. For a moment, she did not seem to see him as she gazed up into the darkness surrounding them. Then her gaze moved to meet his. There was blankness in the blue depths before recognition sparked. "Oreius," came the weak whisper. Her fingers curled around his as she rasped, "The baby… I'm so sorry we're not going-"

"Don't fear," he countered quickly. "Don't despair. I am going to bring you to help. You and the foal will be well. You will see."

But the words seemed a cruel trick as he watched her grow weaker by the breath. He tightened his grip on her hand as he cradled her. "Alambiel. You and our foal will survive this, I promise."

Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Don't make promises you can't keep." A tear trickled down her hollow cheeks. "I love you…I'm sorry. So sorry."

"No." The gruff word burst free as her eyelids fluttered closed once more. "No. Alambiel, look at me. You will live. You and our foal will live."

She did not respond. Then, her fingers went limp as her head came to rest more fully against him.

"No! Alambiel, no! Alambiel!"

Oreius lurched to his feet, gasping. His heart was pounding and his hands itched to draw a weapon. He caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye and whirled to face the threat.

"Oreius."

He stopped short. Alambiel was standing within arms length, watching him with a mix of wariness and concern. He could have struck her. Oreius backed away from her and bumped into the long couch he had been sleeping on. He ran a hand over his face before he could force himself to once more look at his wife. She was still watching him, though now concern alone remained in her gaze. He could have killed her or harmed the foal if he had struck out in his sleep. The thought sent ice flooding through his veins. Shaking his head, Oreius scowled at her. "What are you doing up? You should be resting." He paused as a thought struck him and he looked her over again. "Is something wrong? Do I need to get Tuulea?"

"No." Alambiel moved a little closer and it took all his self-control to resist ordering her to stay back or to push her away. She tilted her head to one side, observing him closely. "Are you all right?"

He would not give her reason to fear him. By Aslan, he refused! Oreius permitted none of his turmoil to show as the terse words slipped past his lips. "I am well. You should be in bed. The foal needs you to rest. You are not resting."

"Neither are you."

He looked away at that. "Go to bed, Alambiel. Unless you need me to bring you Tuulea or food, go back to bed."

"And, will you join me?"

He turned completely toward his desk and reached out to grab a sheaf of papers. "I have an early meeting in the morn. I must prepare."

"By looking at the instructions Tuulea gave me on childbirth?"

The innocent tone didn't fool him. He grimaced as he dropped the sheaf of papers back onto Alambiel's desk where they belonged. However, when he turned to face her, concern still reigned in her eyes. She came toward him and he braced himself. She stopped short when he did so and a flicker of hurt appeared for only a moment before she sighed. "You do this every time."

"What might that be?"

"This." She gestured to him and then waved at the study. "You shut me out when you are troubled. And you have a terrible habit of being quite literal about it. This has been an issue since we were courting and the Redhaven incident." She didn't slow down enough for him to break in as she propped her fists on her hips and glared at him. "Do you even realize how difficult it is to keep my vows to be your confidante when you won't confide in me?"

"I confide in you."

She waved his protest away. "Not when it's something truly troubling you. And, I do not know what exactly has snared you this time but there is absolutely no excuse for you not to tell me. I am your wife. I am supposed to be your confidante. And, don't even think about using the foal as an excuse because I'm pregnant, not dying."

He winced. The faint hope that Alambiel had not noticed died the instant she ceased speaking. Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh I see." Alambiel shook her head and muttered, "Stubborn Stallion." Then, she closed the distance between them and gently rested her hand on his folded arms. He had not even realized he had done so. She gazed up at him. "Clearly there are matters we need to discuss. My feet hurt and I don't want to rest on anything harder than our bed and maybe your shoulder, so we are not going to have this conversation in here."

"Then, you should go to bed and we can find time to talk tomorrow."

Alambiel smirked at that. Sliding her fingers across his skin until she reached his hand, she gave a little tug. "You will come to bed with me and we will talk now."

"It is not necessary."

"You refuse to confide in me?"

He opened his mouth to respond and then shut it. There was no way to refuse without dealing her a hurt she did not deserve. He hated and dreaded the thought of causing her alarm with his night terrors or, worse, harming her the next time one took hold of him. But all of that was not enough to warrant hurting her tender heart with his refusal to confide in her as his Aslan-given confidante. Before he could change his mind, Oreius allowed her to seize his hand properly and followed as she led the way back to their bedchamber.

He had hoped that she would be weary enough to lie back down and sleep without a discussion (it would not have been the first time she had fallen asleep directly after indicating she wanted to talk). Instead, Alambiel sat so she was behind him. Her cool touch was more welcome than he was willing to admit as she began massaging his temples. She didn't say anything right away. In fact, several minutes passed as she massaged his temples then his scalp without speaking. The silence remained unbroken until she reached his neck then her quiet request filled the air between them. "Why do you stay away?"

"Dreams."

She kept massaging his neck as she repeated, "Dreams? Of what kind?"

He didn't want to tell her. He could not tell her everything. She did not need those concerns added to the ones she already bore. Alambiel kneaded his shoulders as he tried to find a way to reveal what she desired without mentioning the deaths he had witnessed or the fact that her Monster still haunted his dreams at times. She struggled enough with her own fears and memories regarding the Monster that she did not need his as well.

"Is it the campaign still?"

She had ceased massaging and wrapped her arms around him. Oreius reached up to touch the hand resting over his heart. "No, not the campaign. Not anything that has happened."

"Something you fear will happen?"

"Yes."

She pressed her lips against the back of his shoulder before she spoke again. "To our foal? Or, to me?"

He dragged the unwilling word free. "Both."

Alambiel slipped her arms from around him. He could not blame her even as the absence of her warmth struck him to the core. The covers rustled as she slipped around him. Reaching out a hand, she braced it against the center of his chest and gave a tiny push. "Lie down."

When she pushed a second time, he obeyed the command. She kept her hand on his chest as she lay beside him, tucking herself between his side and his arm. Resting her head on his shoulder, she gazed up at him. "I fear it too. What could happen to me, to our foal. If we lose another, my heart will break. I know yours will too. Yet, after all we have endured, Aslan has given us another chance at this happiness. We must treasure it more than we fear it. I choose to trust. Aslan does not break His promises." She smiled. "We are going to have our foal, colt or filly. We will even keep tradition and have our little one in the heart of your herd."

He curled his arm around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer, as he ducked his head to brush a kiss against her temple. "It is difficult to believe dreams when a star chooses to lie in the arms of a Centaur and speak truth…and hope."

She laughed softly. "I have almost forgiven you now." Her amusement faded though as she met his gaze. "Please do not shut me out again."

"I will do my best not to, though I may forget at times." He hesitated and then added the truth, "I only pulled away because I feared offering you upset would cause harm to you and the foal."

"Shutting me out upsets me." Her lips quivered as she added very softly, "Promise me you will not go back to sleeping in the study every night until the birth."

"That I promise."

"Good." Her lips quivered again as mirth danced in her eyes. "Else it would be very awkward to explain to Alcippe why you are staying in your study when I'm at our cabin giving birth."

He had to chuckle. "Minx, you would get me in trouble with the Matriarch."

"Only if you do something stupid enough to deserve it. Like spending all your time in your study and missing important discoveries."

"What might those discoveries be?"

She grinned at him. "Well, one of them you missed due to your recent choices in sleeping arrangements. Fortunately, for you, I am still willing to let you discover it." Before he could question her further, she grasped his left hand and drew it toward her. She rested his hand on her lower ribs. "See if you can discover it, Chuisle."

The last remnants of the night terror lost power as fear and dread were displaced by curiosity and then awe. He ran his hand over her stomach. It was no longer flat. There was a…a bump. A small but detectable bump. Their foal's presence. Oreius could not speak for a long moment as he tried to process the change. It was still early enough that Alambiel's clothing did not betray the presence of their foal, but he could feel the change. He looked at his wife and she smiled as her hand covered his. "This is our hope."

He could only agree. "Yes. Yes, it is."

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A/N: Please Read and Review!