A/N: Well, we didn't win anything in NFFR's Revolution Awards. But thank you so much to everyone who nominated and voted for us! :)

In other news, MERRY CHRISTMAS! :DD I hope everyone has lots of fun, lots of laughs, and remembers the real reason for the season.

--

"How is he, Glenstorm?" Enna asked for the umpteenth time.

The centaur gave a long-suffering sigh as he closed the door behind him and flicked his tail a bit more sharply than was necessary. "Just as well as he was five minutes ago, milady. Now, I beg you, sit and rest. You'll aggravate your wound if you keep wringing your hands in that manner."

"When can I see him?"

"Once the other healers are done with him and I have had a chance to bandage your palm."

"Why can't you bandage it now?"

"Because the poultice must be washed off beforehand. Now stop—I beg you, my lady—and sit."

Enna threw herself onto a cot with a pout, massaging her aching hand and resting her sore head against the cool stone walls of the corridor. Already it had been nearly an hour since she and Aramir had returned to the castle, and she hadn't seen him since they whisked him away to tend to his wound. Glenstorm, along with quite a few other Narnians and Archenlanders, were seeing to the many wounded from the earlier battle, and every so often someone would whisk by Enna on their way to or from a patient.

After another twenty minutes or so, a dryad finally came to Enna's cot with a bowl of warm water in one hand and a roll of bandages in the other. "I apologize for the delay, milady," she said. "We must treat the very severe injuries before the less-pressing. You must understand."

"Patience is a virtue," Enna answered neutrally.

The dryad drew a dripping rag from the bowl and began to clean the dried blood from Enna's palm. It stung bitterly, and the action drew fresh blood to the surface of the wound. Nevertheless, it was all cleaned up and bandaged in less than five minutes, and Enna was allowed to stand and flex her fingers.

"How does it feel, milady?" the dryad asked.

"A bit stiff and hot, but otherwise better."

"Good. If the bandages soak through, be sure to replace them."

"Thank you."

The dryad nodded and curtsied herself away from Enna. Just then, Glenstorm passed, and it was only with a supreme effort that she managed to keep her mouth shut about Aramir. He took one look at her, though, and said with a sigh, "You may see him, milady."

"Really?"

"Indeed. But be gentle with him—he is in a good deal of pain."

Enna nodded breathlessly, and as soon as he had nodded and passed by, she made a dash for Aramir's door and rapped lightly on it before pushing it open.

Aramir was resting on his bed, still a bit pale and with his wounded leg swathed in bandages and placed on a few firm pillows, but he had a healthy flush and he smiled when he saw her. "How is your hand?" he asked.

She smiled, closing the door behind her. "Much better. How are you?"

Shifting on the bed and beckoning her closer, he said, "They put some sort of poultice on my leg, and it's quite numb. So quite well, now."

"I'm glad." Enna picked up the stool from the fireside and sat down on it, pulling it as close to the bed as she could manage. "What did they do?"

"Cleaned it up, stitched it up, bandaged it up," he answered with a grin. "What'd they do to you?"

"Washed it, put some ointment on it, and then bandaged it," Enna replied, showing him her hand.

He touched the bandage with the backs of his fingers. "You really didn't need to do that, you know. You could've gotten hurt worse. Or rolled right off that cliff yourself."

Enna sighed and dropped her head, splaying the fingers of her uninjured hand on top of the white coverlet. "What do you think would have happened if I had just stood by? You…You're a strong swordsman, but even you have to admit you were tired and weak. I wasn't about to let Sabsestrin batter you into the ground."

"That's the second time you've saved my life, then," he said quietly, leaning back and resting his head on the pillows.

Enna laughed briefly. "Well, if you're going to take it that way, let me make mention of how many times you've saved mine."

"Bah."

"Don't 'bah' saving lives."

Aramir chuckled and took her hand in his, careful not to press on her bandage. "You've 'bah'ed at much worse."

"I wouldn't dream of 'bah'ing at saving a life, though."

"Would you 'bah' at a goat?"

Enna had to laugh at this. "No…I'd be too much afraid I was telling it something rude or insulting." She leaned forward and brushed her fingertips over Aramir's forehead, pushing stray locks of his hair out of the way.

He blinked rather drowsily up at her, but still managed to grin roguishly. "We'd have to hire a translator."

"If I learned to speak goat, I could be one."

"Then we wouldn't need the translator in the first place."

Before Enna could think of a clever response, the door opened and a faun stuck her head in. Enna started and, freeing her hand from his grasp, drew back from Aramir, blushing and feeling rather that they'd been caught in the middle of some intimate act. "What is it?" she asked, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

"If you please, milady," said the faun, stepping farther into the room, "the Lord Bodmor has been recovered from the battlefield."

"Oh?" said Enna, the pit of her stomach dropping. "And how is he?"

The faun bowed her head. "Not well, milady. I was sent to inform you that unless he survives the night, it is not likely that he will live through his wounds."

Enna received the news unblinkingly. It was only to be expected—after all, Bodmor and Erec were the only members of her family left alive. Why wouldn't he die? It seemed to be only her luck. "I see. Thank you."

Nodding, the faun let herself out of the room and shut the door.

"You should go to him," Aramir said softly.

Enna shook her head vehemently. "I want to stay here, with you. I…I…" She laughed bitterly and said with another shake of her hair, "I don't know Bodmor very well. But I know you. I'd rather stay with you."

He reached up and touched her chin very briefly. "You're the sweetest lass I know, Enna. But I'm very tired…why don't you go to him for just a little bit? I think I'd like to rest."

"That's a good compromise," she whispered.

"Ace. I'll see you soon, lass. Get some sleep yourself."

Enna nodded, then impulsively reached down and placed a shy kiss on his brow, his flesh warm and smooth beneath her lips. "I'll see you soon," she blurted, then practically leapt from her stool and fled from the room. The few healers who were still in the corridors looked curiously at her flushed face, but once she closed the door behind her, they looked away and she was able to pass through unhindered.

When she finally made it to Bodmor's room (she had to stop and ask directions several times), she found the door partway open and the large chamber inside lit with many candles. The fire blazing in the fireplace made the room stiflingly hot, but the man under the blankets on the bed was shivering uncontrollably.

"How does he fare?" she whispered to an Archenlander nearby.

"Very poorly, milady," he answered solemnly.

Enna nodded and approached the bedside cautiously, staring down at the ashen face of her blood father.

He looked asleep, but when she touched the papery skin of his hand, his eyes flickered open and his tongue worked noiselessly before he forced out, "Tell those blasted—healers—to leave us."

The healers did not need being told twice. Within a moment, they were all gone with the door shut behind them, and Enna tentatively drew a chair to his bedside. "Do you need me to do anything for you, Father?" she asked.

He turned his head slowly to look at her. "Did you call…him…Father, Enna?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Vatorian Stalresin. Did you—" He took a breath in a way that looked as though it pained him deeply. "Did you call him Father?"

Enna sat in silence for a minute before answering quietly, "No. I called him…Pappata. Ancient Galmanian for 'Daddy', you know," she added with a wry laugh.

"Was he a good father to you, then?" Bodmor asked.

"Aye," Enna whispered.

Bodmor turned his head back and closed his eyes. "Good. That's all I wanted to know."

Within moments, he had truly slipped into sleep. Enna thought about Aramir and considered returning to his bedside, but she couldn't bring herself to leave her father's yet. Once she was sure he was deeply asleep, she tugged down his blankets and saw for herself the extent of his injuries: thick bandages were swathed around his torso from chest to hips, but dark blood was already leaking through and pooling on the surface. She was no healer or warrior, but she knew that those wounds were not likely to heal.

It was nearing late evening when Enna finally stirred from her reverie. It was Bodmor's movements that brought her to: he was breathing heavily and clutching at his blankets with claw-like hands. Her heart in her throat, Enna forced herself to place her hand on the older man's arm. At her touch, though, his eyes flew open, and he said in a loud, hoarse voice, "Ilsta!"

There was no mistaking her mother's name. "What is it, Father?" Enna asked, sitting up straight and taking his hand. "What's wrong?"

But he made no answer. It took Enna a few long minutes to realize that he never would; he was dead, his face frozen forever in that eerie grimace.

She did not try to close his eyes. Rather, she detached her hand from his stiff one, stood, and left the death-choked room and told a healer, who curtsied and rushed to the master's bed.

Instead of waiting to hear the wails of grief or witness the strange busyness that always accompanies a death, Enna went quickly away from the chambers, her boots whispering on the stones as she descended a staircase and pointed her feet towards Aramir's door. She didn't know what drove her there, especially now that she was really and truly an orphan, through and through, and therefore had much to think about and do.

She did not knock on his door, assuming he'd be asleep, but as soon as she set one foot in the darkened room, he stirred. "Enna? Is that you?"

"Aye." She closed the door behind her and poked up the fire before turning to him.

He pushed himself up and braced his back against the pillows. There was a brief silence, and then he said in a very quiet voice, "He died, didn't he."

Enna nodded and went towards the bed. "Quite grotesquely, actually…"

The next thing she knew, she was crumpled on the cobblestone floor, sobbing her heart out against the mattress. It didn't make any sense that she would weep so—she wasn't very sad that Bodmor had died; she hardly knew the man, after all—but all she could think about was the sweet, fat face of her now orphaned nephew, with no memory of any of his doting parents or relatives.

"There, there, lass," came the comforting voice of Aramir in her ear. He lifted her nearly bodily from the floor to huddle against him, shivering almost uncontrollably as he pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed to wrap around her shoulders.

"I'm—sorry," she hiccupped, trying desperately to get a hold of her raging emotions.

"Don't be," he said gently as he tucked the edge of the blanket against her cheek. "You face no judgment here."

So Enna turned her face into his shoulder, his warm and familiar shoulder, and let the tears come.

--

The next morning, the castle servants were particularly secretive, and it came out before breakfast the reason why: a noblewoman of high birth had eloped early the night before with a merchant's manservant, and the girl had written to say that she had wed her man and that her father must approve of the match or lose his only daughter forever. The father, distraught with worry over his daughter's safety, quickly agreed to recognize the union, and a letter stating such was en route. (Enna could not help but smile at her lady-in-waiting's actions—what a little sprite Tamlyn was turning out to be!)

Immediately after she dressed and ate, Enna went up to Erec's nursery, took him from the red-eyed maid, and brought him down to the rest of the castle. At first, she was nervous of how this would be looked upon (and even if Erec would handle it well), but she was met with only smiles, and even King Lune insisted on tickling the baby's fat legs and letting him tweak his beard. Erec in particular seemed to love the colors and smells and noises, and scarcely held still long enough for Enna to shift him from one hip to the other. Windows he especially liked, and could spend many minutes with his nose pressed against the panes and tiny mouth steaming up the glass.

Eventually, Enna managed to bring him to Aramir's chambers, and let the babe sit on Aramir's good leg while she opened the curtains and tidied up the mess left by the healers the night before.

"You look a sight better, lass," Aramir said when at last she sat down beside him. "I think sleep did you good."

Enna placed her hand atop his very briefly. "I think it was your kindness that did me good. I have not wept so long in years."

Erec pawed at Aramir's nose as he said with a laugh, "Think nothing of it. I could hardly have made you cry alone, could I?"

"Nevertheless," she said softly, "I am grateful."

Aramir bounced Erec in his arms, and the baby shrieked with laughter. "Then I accept your thanks, and give you plenty of my own. What if you had not come looking for me last night? I might have bled out, and your—Sabsestrin would have survived to attack us another day." He took her hand. "I am grateful."

Enna smiled at him and touched Erec's cheek with one finger. "Do you realize," she said slowly, almost as much to the child as to Aramir, "that now, with my father dead, you are to receive the crown of Roscommon? There are no other male relatives, besides Erec."

The baby grinned at the sound of his name.

"I have thought of that," Aramir replied quietly. "I suppose I must accept."

"What will become of Erec?" Enna whispered.

Aramir lifted the baby and braced him against his shoulder, where the boy began to gum his tunic. "Your brother asked me to watch over him."

"Will you?"

"Absolutely." Aramir paused, patting Erec's little back rhythmically. "But you, as his blood aunt, ought to have a say in what happens. What say you to…well, what if I said I would treat the lad as my own?"

Enna watched Aramir's motions, a sickly longing feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Do you mean, adopt him?"

Aramir nodded.

"You have my blessing, then, and my gratitude," Enna said, trying to disguise the depth of her appreciation. "I can think of no one better suited to raising my flesh and blood than you."

Aramir nodded again, meeting her gaze. "Then that is what I shall do wholeheartedly."

Enna placed her hand on Erec's back, the side of her palm resting atop Aramir's fingers. "I shall miss you both."

"You are returning to Narnia, then?"

"Aye."

"When will we see you again?"

Enna paused. She knew that she could not just take her leave of Aramir and Erec for the rest of her life; but returning to Roscommon, even years from now, would sap her emotional strength far too much for her to leave it again. Or what if Aramir took a wife? She would be forced to sit in quiet, condemned silence while they shared marital bliss. "I don't know," she said at last.

Silence reigned for a good while before there came a rap at the door.

"Come in," called Aramir.

A serving maid stuck her head in. "Begging your pardon, milord, but that meeting will begin shortly."

"Have the councilors gathered yet?"

"Not yet, milord."

"Aye. Thank you."

The girl curtsied and shut the door behind her.

"What meeting, Aramir?" Enna asked as he gave Erec back to her and swung his legs over the side of the bed, fully clothed and booted. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Their Excellencies the council wish to meet with me concerning my position as guardian of your brother's estate," he explained, standing slowly and grabbing at the bedpost to steady himself. "I heard them call it an 'interview'."

Enna leapt to her feet, Erec squealing, and fetched for Aramir a knobby walking stick she had seen resting against the wardrobe. "What can they be thinking?" she cried. "Asking a wounded man to leave his bed? They are rogues, all. You can bet that they intend to test your competency and find you inadequate unless you surpass them in all knowledge."

"That is what I fear, aye," Aramir sighed, hobbling a step or two with the walking stick.

"Well, you cannot go alone, that much is clear," Enna said firmly.

"No one else is allowed—"

"Then I shall sit under the desk," she interrupted. "I don't care what those pigs-in-robes decree; I am Endrit's blood sister as much as your dear friend, and I think I have a vested interest in the proceedings of this meeting."

Aramir shook his head good-naturedly. "I thought there might be no dissuading you."

"Which is why you brought it up in the first place. You want me to be there, and I shall gladly oblige. Now, where will this meeting be? I shall put Darling in his nursery and meet you there; if I have beaten the council, we shall find a suitable hiding place for me then."

"It is in Endrit's study," Aramir answered with a laugh. "Now, give 'Darling' to me for a kiss—that's a good lad, there, aren't you?—and begone, and it shall be as you say."

Enna took Erec back, blushing slightly that her private pet name for the baby—he was darling! What better pet name for him than that?—had been leaked in public, but tossed her plait at Aramir once before kissing Erec's cheek for herself and sweeping from the room.

As soon as Erec was settled into his crib for a nap, Enna touched his soft cheek one last time and then hurried down from the tower. It took her several tries to find Endrit's study, but at last she came upon the broad oak door and rapped twice.

"The door's open, Enna," came Aramir's voice.

She slipped in, shutting it quietly behind her. "How'd you know it was me?"

Aramir, sitting at the sturdy, glossy wooden desk with his back to a wall of books, grinned and dropped his head. "I just knew, Enna. I guessed by the way you knocked."

Flattered that he knew her to that extent, Enna began looking around the room. There were plenty of seats, a fireplace—only one window—hundreds of books on dozens of shelves, and a high, vaulted ceiling. "Cozy," she commented, going over to the desk.

"Indeed."

There were papers spread all over the surface. Flipping through them, she found a few lines of a letter to an army acquaintance in southern Archenland, a list of all the livestock born in the village that year, and several stacks of finance records. "I do not envy you, Aramir," she said, her eyes aching just looking at the marching numbers.

"I shall hire a secretary straightaway after this meeting," he answered only half-teasingly.

Enna laughed. "Excellent decision, my lord."

Aramir nodded, and as he straightened his sore leg, Enna walked around the desk and opened the drawers. Inside were more papers, sealing wax and a signet ring, quill pens, inkbottles, and a little box tucked in the back. "Have you looked in here?" she asked, pulling out the box and lifting the lid.

"Aye. I think it…it was a keepsake box."

Indeed it was. There were a few old letters written in an elegant hand, a lock of flaxen hair, and a ring—a beautiful ring, made up of a thin band of gold inset with a single blue stone. "It's lovely," Enna sighed, putting the box down and picking up the ring instead.

Aramir took some of the letters out and flipped through them as Enna tried the ring on. It was a bit tight, but it looked so fine on her callused and weatherworn skin that she had to take it off.

"I think it was your mother's," he told her softly.

She looked at the note, aged and torn, that he held out to her:

"B.,

By the time you read this, I will be halfway to Galma with V. I know you refused to give me a divorce, but law has it that if a woman escapes her husband and marries another on foreign soil, her first marriage is void.

My ring is enclosed in this envelope. Thank you for the lovely times.

I.

PS: Look after Endrit. I have taken Enna."

Enna could not help but laugh. "'Lovely times'. My mother was quite the heartbreaker."

"You must have the ring, of course," Aramir said. "It is yours by right."

As tempting as the offer was, she knew that she could not have that steady reminder of Archenland on her finger for the rest of her life in Narnia. "No," she said quietly. "You should keep it."

She put it back in the box along with all the letters and closed the lid, and that was the end of it.

As soon as Aramir had closed the drawer, there came a brisk knock at the door. Wordlessly, as though they had orchestrated it all beforehand, Enna dove under the desk, pressing her back to the wood panel separating her from the door, Aramir pulled his chair forward, and then called out for the men to enter.

Into the room came a group of several men, perhaps four or five, judging by the amount of noise they made. Enna held her breath as greetings and introductions were made and hands were clasped overhead. Aramir's legs were so close to her that she could lean against them comfortably, but she decided quickly that to do so would jeopardize more than just the meeting.

"Please, gentlemen, sit," said Aramir broadly. "Let us get to business."

The complaint of chair against stone marked their obedience. "Indeed," said the first man, a thin voice that seemed to resonate through tight lips. "There is much to be discussed this morning, and it is in the best interest of all involved to have this…issue…resolved quickly."

Then came the second voice, one more baritone and stern than the previous. "You do realize what is at stake here, of course?"

Enna closed her eyes—the first test. Who knew it would come so quickly?

"Of course," Aramir answered smoothly. "The villagers must have a leader reinstated before difficulties emerge, and the household itself is in need of solid guidance, especially with so much concentrated foreign power under its roof."

"Quite right," said the third voice (a rough one, as though the speaker were slightly ill). Enna breathed a breath of relief—they approved.

"Moving on, then," said the second voice. "For our records…what are your full name, parentage, and places of birth and residence?"

"Sir Aramir Ealion, knight of the Noble Order of the Table of Narnia, son of Aranash Minodaurus, Tarkhaan of Ishfahan, and Falina Hammons. Born in Ilvernarran, Archenland, the home of my mother, transported to Ishfahan, Calormen, shortly thereafter, and resident of the Seacharger after the deaths of my parents."

"What port did the Seacharger call home?"

"Galma."

"Under what command?"

"Captain Argo Minodaurus."

There was a pause. "Your brother?" asked a fourth voice.

"Aye," said Aramir stiffly.

"Alive or dead?"

He paused. Enna bit the inside of her cheek. "Ali—" he began, but Enna thumped his good shin so hard he sucked in a breath, hid the fact with a nervous chuckle, and said, "Dead."

The scribbling of pens continued. "What duties did you have aboard the Seacharger?" asked the first voice.

"I was cabin boy, then acting bo's'n and lieutenant navigator."

"For how long?"

"Cabin boy for eight summers, then bo's'n and navigator for...around six."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one summers."

"What is your citizenship?"

Aramir paused again here, and Enna knew the sudden predicament. He was not Archenlandian! "Narnian," he answered.

There was some muttering. "Are you willing to legally change that status to Archenlander, Sir Aramir?" asked the fifth voice.

"If it would better serve my lords, gladly."

Excellent answer, Enna thought.

Apparently, the councilors thought so too, for the third voice said, "Why do you think yourself capable of taking up this position, then?"

Enna wished she could answer for him; she would list all his exploits and victories, his decent manner, his compassion, his familiarity with servitude, his brains…

"I do not think myself capable," Aramir answered quietly.

Enna froze.

"Really," said the gentlemen, sounding quite astonished.

"Indeed," he answered. "I am the same age as my lord Endrit was, but I have half the experience. All I have known my entire life has been hardship and poor masters. I can scarcely read, I am no diplomat, and my only skills rest in my hands. I can carve, whittle, climb ratlines, reef a sail, repair canvas, wield a sword, and ride tolerably well, but I can't do figures, speak foreign languages, direct battle lines, negotiate agreements, or write laws."

He had just ruined any chance of success, Enna realized, resting her forehead against the wood of the desk. No men in their right mind would willingly give him the title of lord and master! Her heart sank—now someone else would be given stewardship of her Darling.

"I see," said the second voice over wild scribbling. "Well, consider this: what do you intend to do, should our master's will and testament be obeyed and you take his place? How will you raise his heir?"

This was the first question that Enna herself did not also know (or think she knew) the answer to. She waited with baited breath, wondering how Aramir would respond.

"My good sirs, I intend to do all that your lord wished me to: raise his son in an upright way and preserve his heritage and inheritance. If you gentlemen approve, I should like to adopt the child as my own, so he does not consider himself an orphan and behave such. When he comes of age, he shall become a page, and then a squire and a knight. Upon his eighteenth birthday, or when he considers himself prepared thereafter, his title and lands shall pass on to him."

There was silent scribbling for a moment. "Who would you page him to?" the first voice asked.

"I would prefer the kingdom of Narnia, for I know the boy will be taught morally and firmly there. If not, to a family in Anvard, so that he may be close at hand to the court of King Lune and learn from their wisdom."

He had obviously thought this out with a great deal of consideration, Enna realized. Even she had not decided where she would like Darling to be paged when he was old enough.

"Is it your intention to take a wife, then, to act as mother to the child?" asked the fourth voice.

Enna nearly gave away her presence by the violence of her reaction. A wife! Aramir could not find a wife—that was her rightful position, and since she couldn't have it, no one else was supposed to!

"Aye," answered Aramir after a pause.

There was more scribbling. "You realize, of course," said the fifth voice, "that this council must approve your selection before the union takes place?"

"I did not, but I thank you for your dedication to the well-being of Roscommon."

Another excellent answer, Enna thought proudly. He was performing above and beyond her expectations, and it made her heart thump a little wildly.

"Very good," said the second voice. "Now, unless any of my esteemed colleagues have any more questions…"

"Nay," murmured the other four.

"Fine, then." There was a rustling of paper. "If you please, Sir Aramir, sign here and here…"

Aramir's legs shifted, and she heard him scratch his name above her head.

"Very good. And here, and here, on this paper, please."

He did so again.

The chairs made loud sounds as they were pushed back, and Aramir grasped the walking stick with one hand and stood up. "Thank you, gentlemen."

"No, no, thank you, milord," said the fifth voice. "It will be an honor for us to serve as your council. If you had said you thought yourself capable, it would have proven you are not. But I think my colleagues and I all agree that you are more than competent to take up the title of lord and master Roscommon."

They have approved him! Enna would have leapt in the air and cried out for joy, had she not been crouched under the desk.

"And it will be an honor to serve with you," Aramir answered, a hint of a smile in his voice (oh, how Enna wished to see it!). "I thank you deeply, and merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you, as well," the men replied, and, one by one, filed out of the study after clasping his hand.

As soon as the door was shut behind the last one, Enna leapt out from under the desk and flew into Aramir's waiting arms, laughing with the relief and joy that crowded her heart. "You've done it! You've done it!"

"How was I?" he asked breathlessly, grinning from ear to ear.

"Marvelous. Brilliant. First-rate. Oh, you make me so proud!"

"I couldn't have done it without you boxing me in the shin," he replied.

"I'm sorry. Really. But it got my point across…"

"Now both legs ache."

Enna grinned, content just to stand here in his arms. "I knew you would be superb."

"Think of it!" he said. "Lord Roscommon!"

Just then, the doorknob turned, and Enna threw herself to the floor just in time to hear it open and the fifth voice say, "Congratulations, milord. I had great faith in you, but my colleagues did not understand…now they do. We do not speak empty words."

"Thank you, Sir Linos. I am deeply indebted to you."

The door closed again, and Enna stood up the last time, took one look at Aramir's red face, and began to laugh.