Alright ya'll, we're close now...Thanks to my reviewers, you guys are awesome! I take each and every one of your responses to heart, and I'll address them all individually at another time.

This chapter is dedicated to God's newest angel, the sweetest old woman I've ever known, who ended her battle with cancer on July 17.

Disclaimer: Narnia isn't mine...

Chapter 14

Both slept fitfully that night. Each had dreams of Calormene soldiers emerging from the tunnel and slaughtering them while they slept. In fact, the nightmares haunted Galian so terribly that he was unable to sleep for the rest of the night, and contented himself with sitting and staring at the entrance to the tunnel, grimacing in pain every now and then, and trying his best not to look at Aoife as she too slept uneasily.

For his nightmares did not consist of murderous soldiers alone. She was there, always, her beautiful, lithe figure silhouetted against all the other evils of his sleep, calming him like no other person had been able to since he was a small boy. Then, in his dream that is, she would be slain, and his world would come crashing down. Each time, as he awoke from his terrible nightmare, he vowed she would never meet such a fate.

It was with these thoughts that he greeted the morning sun. He wasn't able to see it as it rose, as the mouth of the cave looked directly north. Galian rose and hobbled to the entrance, in an effort to scout out the terrain and plan their next move. Before he could reach his destination, he saw Aoife sit up as painfully as he had, and he wondered if his limping, which sounded horribly loud, had woken her.

"Good morning,"she said to him, stretching and rubbing her sore arm.

"I hope so,"he replied, still wary of anything that might go wrong.

"What's our course? Due north?"Aoife asked, joining him at the entrance. He shivered despite the warmth of the air, wishing she wouldn't stand so close to him.

Luckily for he, he was able to hide his emotions well, "Nearly. If we just follow this gorge, we'll come to the river in an hour or two."

"I've heard that before,"Aoife joked, lightly slapping Galian on the arm. He gave her a slight grin, then slowly sat where he was.

"How does your leg feel?"she asked him presently.

"It's terribly stiff,"he remarked, "and a little sore. It will be slow going for me today. And your arm?"

"I can hardly move it. Let's hope you have some friends that live close to the border, Galian. I doubt either one of us could last another day with wounds like these."

And so, with more determination than hope, they set out on their way. They canyon had changed from the desert dust to hard rock, and it was hard going for their already sore feet. Also, it was an oppressively hot day, and though the sun's rays did not burn them directly, it created a stifling heat in the canyon, where no wind would reach, and they both quickly agreed they preferred the open spaces of the desert to this enclosed atmosphere. They also realized how hungry and thirsty they were. Neither had eaten since the night before, when Galian had supped with Pericles and Aoife had been brought a far less satisfying meal in her room. They soon felt the pangs of hunger, but of course there was nothing to do but press on, which they did slowly, as their wounds still burned acidly with each step they took.

And for the next hour or so it was the same; the same dull, brown, rocky landscape, the same heat, same pain, and the same hunger. They wanted so badly to stop, but knew they couldn't. At last, there was a glorious moment when everything turned from brown to green, and their path was littered with small stones and pebbles instead of abrasive rocks. They turned a bend, and suddenly a most delicious noise met their ears: the sound of running water.

There was no mistaking it now. They finally stood on this side of the Winding Arrow, a noisy, hustling river. Although it couldn't be more than three feet deep where they stood now, they both knew that as weak as they were, and owing to the condition of Galian's leg, they wouldn't have a chance of crossing it in that current. However, as she looked upstream, or westward if you like, Aoife noticed a solid looking bridge of oak. She pointed it out with glee to Galian, who regarded it with a mixture of thankfulness and disgust.

"The slavers built it, of course,"he said as they neared it, "it's easier than trying to force a man or horse across the river. I doubt the higher-ups in Archenland know anything of this."

They were across the bridge faster than you could imagine, faster than they themselves thought they could walk. Finally, Aoife's feet, for the first time in her life, hit the mossy plushness of the Archenland ground, and, despite all her injuries and weariness, she wanted to jump for joy and dance in celebration. In fact, that is almost what Galian did. The moment his feet hit the Archenland soil, he set off at a run, which of course his leg protested against, and he sank to the ground after limping a good ten feet, though he hardly paid any mind to the pain. It didn't matter now, for all the tears he had cried and all the blood he had shed were well worth being able to set foot in the beautiful northern earth once again. Aoife rushed to help him, thinking he was hurt, and was surprised to see him laughing like a man gone mad, and she saw that the bitterness and weariness that showed in the faces of all slaves was now absent from her friend's, replaced with the carefree and adventurous face of the young boy he must have once been.

"We're home!"he cried in sheer joy, "We made it!"

He jumped up quicker than a man with a lame leg ever had and immediately enveloped Aoife in a tight hug, forgetting about her arm until she winced. But at that moment, neither seemed too worried about their injuries. After all, they had made it to Archenland.

Whether it was a minute or an hour later, they finally continued on their way, though with considerably less caution and fear than they had started out with. The mountains still rose around them, though in a much more attractive way, if you take my meaning. While they were so ugly and oppressive in the desert, now they were clad with more trees than Aoife ever knew could grow in one place, and gave one an daring and bold feeling rather than a foreboding one.

They walked until Galian felt he could walk no more. He sunk against a tree, weary but still ecstatic. He had waited for this moment for eleven years and all the pain he had endured made this homecoming that much more golden. He sat in this dreamy state of elation while Aoife looked about their little campsite, and in no time found an apple tree, and they made a good lunch. Afterwards, though they both knew that at least one of them should keep awake, they both were fast asleep in a few minutes.

It was late in the afternoon when Galian awoke. They shadows had grown longer and the trees looked beautiful in the golden sunshine. However, Galian could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. It was quiet save for the sound of a sparrow or two and the rustle of the leaves in the wind. For one panicked moment, he could not find Aoife, and after he called once or twice she irritably poked her head from behind a tree about nine feet away. He felt a little bothered by the fact that she saw it necessary to distance herself from him while they slept, but shook off the feeling as foolishness, and turned his attention back to his uneasy feeling. Recognizing his mood, Aoife fell silent, waiting for further instruction.

A sound began to erupt over the ridges. At first it reminded them of thunder, then of a stampede. Actually, the latter was more correct. Seemingly out of nowhere, a small herd of horsemen sprang from behind one of the far ridges. Galian was too wary against strangers to trust that they were friends and not enemies. Pulling Aoife along, he jumped behind a large growth of hawthorn bushes, peeking every now and then to see how close the group was and who they were.

The noise of the horses was deafening by the time they topped the nearest ridge, and to Galian's horror, they were slowing down. They stopped at a small pool of water about thirty feet from where Galian and Aoife hid, and to confirm his suspicious, they were slavers.

"Had a good haul this go around,"one belched loudly, "look at 'im, he'll fetch two hundred crescents or I'm a goldfish."

"Not so loud, you fool!" one soft voice rebuked harshly, "we're still in Archenland."

"But, sir, you said no one lived in these parts."

"And no one does, thanks to the rumors of bandits living in the mountains. Still, there might be some idiotic fool without any sense who might have gotten lost down here."

"Sir, may I ask why..."

"No you may not. Now, get on with you, and see to it that everyone's blindfold is still secure and their hands are still bound. If one escapes and runs back to tell the Queen, our lives may as well be over."

The two previous voices must have gone to carry out their duties, for after this nothing was to be heard but murmurs and sharp commands. Aoife, hardly daring to breathe, looked to Galian to learn what his next course of action would be. If she had hoped they would remain fine, and wait until the slavers had moved on, she had never been more wrong in her entire life. One look at Galian's face, and she knew what he meant to do.

"Galian, don't..."

"I have to. I can't just let them take those poor chaps away."

"Galian, you're outnumbered, and wounded besides!"

"I can't let them go, not in good conscience. Not after the life I've lived, knowing that they might live a life similar if not worse."

She knew he wouldn't be deterred, not by any amount of arguing or pleading she had to offer. He drew his sword, and readied himself, his leg already shaking and threatening to give out. Giving a great shout, he leapt from behind the bushes and began his attack.

Either Aslan was on his side, or else Galian had been blessed, for the moment anyway, with a ridiculous amount of good fortune. The slavers were ill-prepared, and were more used to beating on defenseless victims than they were at facing real warriors. The nearest three fell victim to Galian, and while there was a moment of mad confusion Galian cut the bonds of four captives before he was forced to defend himself once again. This time, of course, he had help. In no time, all the prisoners were freed and had overtaken their captors. Even Aoife had helped, as wounded as she was, brandishing a large stick as a club. In less than fifteen minutes, thirteen slavers lay dead, and two more were escaping into the forest.

For a moment, Galian was surrounded by several men and women, all wanting to extend their heartfelt thanks. Finally, his leg would hold him no longer, and he pitched forward and fell into someone's arms. There was a moment of mass confusion as everyone tried to help him at once, so that for a few minutes he was horribly jostled around. In the end, Aoife and another fellow managed to control the crowd, allowing Galian a few minutes of breathing space. While he rested, Aoife began to tell a quick version of their journey, ending with Galian's most recent resolution to free the captives. Once again, the air rang with appreciative voices, until they were calmed down by the man who had helped Aoife quiet before. He was obviously someone important, for everyone hushed immediately.

"I think I speak for everyone when I tell you how eternally indebted we are to you, young man,"the man spoke, with a rich dialect only belonging to someone of the nobility, "I am Lord Faolan."

There was a gasp from the crowd, signaling to Aoife and Galian that he was obviously an important man. They tried to act appropriately reverent, but Lord Faolan was not a foolish man, and could plainly see they didn't know him from the lowliest beggar in Archenland. Therefore, he went on to explain, "I am an advisor to her majesty, Queen Eleytheria. Those men, the ones you just defeated, were part of a plot to kidnap me and eventually hand me over to the Tisroc to learn what he could of Archenland. You have thwarted that evil plan, and Archenland owes you very much."

"Think-think nothing of it,"Galian said, awkwardly. He was sizing up this Lord Faolan, and he didn't much like what he saw. While Faolan's eyes held a stern, almost sinister look, the rest of his physique was that of an alcoholic. His skin had an ashy, white color to it, and the lids around his eyes seemed swollen and the eyes themselves were bloodshot. His beard was scraggily, though more complete than the one Galian's face bore, and his black hair was thin and tousled. He wasn't any taller than Galian, and certainly no more aggressive. His words were soft-spoken and slurred, and he talked and walked and probably did everything else with a sort of lazy approach. Galian found it very hard to believe that this man was in on the top secret plans that held Archenland together.

However, at this point, this man was their best friend. After he had seen to it that everyone else was fit and able to find home on their own, he found three abandoned horses of the slavers, and led Galian and Aoife on the road to Anvard, with Aoife holding onto Galian's reins, and he promised the two weary travelers they would receive the best of hospitality.

Galian had many questions to ask, mainly about how things had progressed since he had been gone, "Did you say Princess Eleytheria was now queen?"

"She is, indeed, and never has Archenland been ruled by a finer woman."

"What of her father, King Rordan?"

"He died three years ago,"came the dull, bored answer.

"And his sons? Weren't there two?"

"There were. Prince Eoin, the eldest, was a most adventuresome young man, and a perfect warrior and would have been a perfect king. Sadly, he died from an illness he had contracted on a hunting trip in the Western Wild."

"And the second son?"Aoife asked curiously.

"Prince Gearalt was not as...not as virtuous as his brother. He was killed in a bar fight."

The questions continued, and they were answered, though it seemed Lord Faolan did not relish answering them. His responses were short and matter-of-fact, and once again Galian felt a surge of distrust and dislike for the nobleman.

It was nearly dark when they finally arrived at Anvard. Galian and Aoife could feel their stomachs rumbling, and they prayed Lord Faolan would say something about supper soon. Unfortunately, he didn't. First, he led them to a wise, old centaur who tended to their wounds, a long and painful process. Next, they were given clean clothes, ones that looked and felt nice but made Galian slightly uncomfortable, owing to the fact he had worn so few court clothes in his life. As for Aoife, who had donned many extravagant garments, loved her simple yet beautiful scarlet gown, and at first glance she fairly took Galian's breath away.

They were led up several flights of stairs and through many halls, each filled with human and nonhuman voices wishing passers by a pleasant evening. They turned a sharp corner, and behind the plainest door you can imagine, in the plainest library you can imagine, sat, surrounded by her advisors, her majesty Queen Eleytheria of Archenland.

She looked nothing like Galian or Aoife had imagined. What they had imagined, they weren't sure, but it wasn't the petite, slender woman that looked as if she could be blown away by a puff of wind. Her hair was dark and her face was pale and wise, though shrewd. She wasn't the most attractive woman Galian had ever seen, then again his judgement in that area had been clouded of late due to his infatuation with the young woman by his side now. Upon seeing them, the Queen and her Cabinet stood, and Lord Faolan introduced Lady Aoife, formerly Aoife Tarkheena, and Galian of Narnia.

The Queen spoke in a clear and precise voice, "Lord Faolan tells me you two have quite an interesting story to share. Please, sit and tell us of your adventures."

And they did, though it was Aoife who did most of the talking, as Galian had become strangely tongue-tied. The Queen and her advisors proved to be a good audience, gasping and muttering at the right times. When Aoife had finished, Queen Eleytheria turned to Galian, "How many slaves in Calormen do you suspect are Narnian or Archenlander?"

"Two out of five, I would say. Of course, that's a rough estimate,"Galian said quietly, his throat very dry. He wished he had something to drink.

"Two out of five,"she repeated, "that is entirely too many. Why hasn't this come to our attention before?"

"It would have been impossible to tell that so many were passing beyond our borders,"one of her aides replied sharply.

"Hardly a good argument, Lord Aidan, as you are in charge of the security of Archenland and its people,"she spat, "Tomorrow, I want you to see to it personally that our lower border is properly watched. Understood?"

"Yes, your majesty,"the other replied, sulkily.

"And I want to meet again with you all soon to discuss this matter further. I want to make sure that nothing happens to any more of our people as it has happened to our new friends here. And now,"this was addressed to Galian and Aoife, "I'm sure you are both famished and tired as well. Elisud, would you kindly make sure our two guests are taken care of?"

Galian and Aoife were then put into the hands of one of her advisors, one that had been seated at her left. As strange as it sounds, he reminded Galian of a tree more than anything. He was thin and roundish, not fat, but round, like the trunk of a tree, and nearly as tall. His skin was tan, and his hair, which had the consistency of moss, was short and blond and had a green tint to it that was almost impossible to detect if anyone was looking too hard. Even his arms resembled the branches of trees, as they were so long and almost unevenly proportioned. The second thing Galian noticed was how likeable and jubilant the young man was, as if he hadn't a care in the world. He greeted them at once with a bow, introducing himself as Lord Elisud, military advisor to her majesty, and insisted at once that the trio set off to the kitchen to see what they could scrounge up. En route, he asked Galian about his excursions as a slave-fighter, to which Galian answered with a mixture of pride and embarrassment.

"If you want to know the truth, Master Galian,"Elisud said in his lighthearted voice, "I was there the day you were supposedly killed, with Princess Delwyn and the rest of the northern dignitaries. I thought you were a sloppy fighter myself, but I suppose I was wrong, eh? It was really a very brilliant move, very brilliant indeed. What do you say to a friendly little fencing match, as soon as you're well? I'd like to see how good you are for myself."

Galian agreed, though he wondered how long he was to stay in Anvard, for his heart yearned for home. He resolved to stay at least a fortnight, hoping he would be healed by then, and then make as quiet a departure as possible, for he felt all this formality was pompous nonsense and it didn't really suit him. For the moment, however, he enjoyed lighthearted conversation with his new friend, and the three sat laughing at Elisud's stories until Aoife and Galian were no longer able to hold their eyes open. They walked slowly back to their rooms, discussing how wonderful it was to be there, and when they had finally reached their apartments, Aoife, surprising herself and Galian, stood on tiptoe, and gave Galian a light peck on the cheek, wishing him goodnight. Galian stood rooted to the spot for a moment, touched his cheek where she had kissed him, and thanked Aslan for small miracles.