Quite a long chapter this time, but I hope you all enjoy it. Sorry, it took so long. I've been a bit of a perfectionist for this story, not sure why. Maybe because I've been shipping Cor and Aravis for so long and I want to do it justice. Anyway, we're taking a break from the palace for this one.

The Lone Walker

The ground was wet and the mud squelched under his boots as he made his way along the edge of the path, keeping to the first row of trees, in case anyone from the palace passed on the road. He wore his cloak hood low over his eyes, completely eclipsing his pale blonde hair and his clothes were those of a footman, certainly not those belonging to a prince.

Corin had been walking for the better part of nine hours now. After he'd had that argument with Cor, he'd decided that was it – he needed to make his own way in the world, figure out who in Aslan's name he was and what he wanted to be doing for the rest of his life.

He'd left in the dead of night, moon on his back, and now the sun was beginning to crest over the hills behind him. In the pale light of the morning, he picked out the nearest village, a collection of thatched roofs and grey-brick walls. It was maybe another fifteen minutes' walk.

His leg muscles twanged at the thought and the pain in his feet that he had been ignoring for the last hour or so, surfaced with a vengeance. He grimaced, but pressed on, beginning to regret his decision not to borrow a horse from the stables.

No matter, he'd pick one up in the next village and be properly on his way…

He paused and glanced around him at the empty road and the woods which chorused with the calls of waking birds. On his way to where? He really had no idea. He just knew he didn't want to be in the palace, he wanted to be out here, in the country.

He supposed he could just wander about aimlessly, but that seemed pointless. He looked around himself again, this time noting the spiky structures jutting into the sky in the North. Beyond them lay the land of Narnia. He'd always been fond of the place and in terms of a choice of location, there were certainly worst places to spend one's time.

Nodding to himself, he trudged onwards. Once he got to the village, he would buy himself a horse and head North, at least to Narnia, if not beyond.

-O-

When Corin pushed open the door to the inn and the heat of a warm fire washed over him, his legs almost decided to give out there and then, but somehow he managed to drag himself over to an empty table at the side of the room, near the fire. He pulled out the slightly wobbly wooden chair and sat down. This was the kind of place they used to stay in sometimes, when his father had been alive and they needed to stop off on their journeys about the realm.

A stone lodged itself in his throat and his eyes stung, like someone had raked thorns across them. He stared down at the grooves in the wood grain surface of the table.

"Good morning sir."

Corin jumped, then looked up. At first he just saw the rest of the room, a few people sitting in groups, one person, dressed in a cloak and trying to look as inconspicuous as he did, before his eyes settled on the pot-bellied man next to him.

"Morn –" but the prince's voice came out strangled. He cleared his throat and patted his chest. "Morning," he said. "Bit of a cold."

The innkeeper nodded.

"And what can I get you, good sir?" he asked. He wore a faded cream apron that had probably been white when it was first made.

"The house's most popular dish," said Corin, careful not to raise his head too much, so that the man could not see more than shadows under the prince's hood.

"Very good," said the innkeeper. "A drink."

"Just water," said Corin.

As the man nodded to himself and headed back towards the kitchen, Corin shook his head to himself. Just a glass of water… What was he coming to? Only a few weeks ago, he had drunk himself silly – he always drunk himself silly whenever there was feasting and not too many foreign dignitaries about, who might be offended by his jokes. And he'd always enjoyed himself, even when Cor had rolled his eyes and Aravis had laughed at his antics, much to the crown prince's chagrin. Though somehow, the thought of alcohol, so mixed in his mind as it was with merriment made his stomach turn.

He could find no joy in it, not when his father was no longer there to tut at him and help him up to his room as he slurred his words. His father had always been so understanding of his twins' differences and he had never taken sides.

A tear slipped down Corin's cheek and he wiped it away. He'd cry when he was by himself again, once he'd left the inn.

The innkeeper returned with his food and drink and Corin's stomach growled like the lion himself.

"Thank you," said Cor, stuffing his fingers into the purse on his belt and pulling out a gold coin.

The innkeeper took it and returned a fair amount in silvers and bronzes. After that, he retreated and Corin ate his meal in silence; meals at the palace had always been lively. It took him about ten minutes to clear his plate and he downed his tankard of water in one, before getting to his feet.

The solitary figure in the corner was still sitting there, like a statue, no plate before them, just an empty tankard. Corin made his way to the bar counter, where the innkeeper was busying himself wiping down the crockery.

"Excuse me," said Corin, leaning an elbow against the countertop.

The man spun round, his black hair falling slightly out of place.

"Ah," he said. "What can I do for you now, good sir? A room perhaps?"

"No," said the prince. "I wonder if you might be able to sell me a horse."

"A horse?" the innkeeper's eyebrows climbed towards the ceiling.

"Yes," said Corin. "I must travel a great distance, but I find myself without a steed to carry me."

The man rubbed his fingers against his chin, which was covered in dark stubble.

"Well now," he said. "I don't have any horses myself, but I can send to someone who does. Go to Farmer Jord. He lives just north of here. He'll certainly have some horses. Whether you'll be able to convince him to part with them is a matter or coin, if you catch my drift."

Corin nodded.

"Thank you for your help."

-O-

The farm was an easy place to find. It was straight off the main road, on the other side of the village and outside, there was a great big wooden sign, stencilled with white lettering read 'Jord's Farm'. The walk had been quick enough and his feet weren't protesting as much as he thought they would.

He turned into the gate and made his way up to the grey-brick farmhouse, with its wooden shutters and ivy growing up one side. He just hoped Jord wasn't out in the fields around the house, which stretched away for some distance, grassland dotted with the white fleeces of sheep.

A whinny drew Corin's attention back to the house, but the sound was coming from a building a few metres away that was detached from the homestead itself. Well, there were definitely horses here. He only hoped that Jord didn't drive too hard a bargain. The prince had taken a fair amount of money with him, but that was supposed to last him for most of his journey so he didn't really want to have to pay through the nose for a horse.

"Should've taken Blackfoot," he muttered to himself.

Not taking a horse had seemed like a good idea at the time, he reminded himself, but it wasn't looking so great now.

Corin walked up to the farmhouse's front door and knocked firmly on the wood.

"Coming, coming," came a man's voice from inside and a moment later, the door swung back and a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and tanned skin stood there. "Yes," he said, eyeing Corin. "Can I help ye, sir?"

"I was sent here by the innkeeper in the village," said the prince. "He said you may have a horse you'd be willing to sell me."

"Ay," said the man. "You've come to the right place, sir. What kind of horse is it that you're looking for?"

"A sturdy one," said Corin. "One that can go long distances."

"Well," said the farmer. "I think I've got just the one for you, if you'll just follow me."

He stepped out of the doorway and pulled the door shut, locking it behind him, before gesturing towards the stable building. The track was mostly just mud, with a few stones trodden in to make it firmer.

"Right now," said the farmer. "If you'll just wait here."

Corin stood outside the stables, whilst Jord went inside. Tapping his foot, the prince glanced around at the fields again. A shadow moved, somewhere in his peripheral vision and he spun round, scanning the yard, the chickens clucking away behind the house and the ivy leaves that rustled in the wind.

A bird cawed on the roof and Corin shook his head too himself – he was getting jittery. He didn't want to be hanging around here for too long. Even though he'd left the note, making his intentions clear, somehow he suspected that might not be enough for his brother.

The farmer returned a moment later, with a majestic creature. A female horse with a piebald coat. She had dark stockings on two of her legs and was about the same height as Corin's mare Blackfoot.

"This," said Jord, scratching the mare under her chin. "Is Patches. She's a good horse, very loyal and she's sturdier than most. She could make the trip to the Narnia border in just less than a day."

"Just less than a day," Corin whistled. "If what you say is true, I'd be happy to buy her from you."

They bartered for ten gold coins, five, eight, back to five and settled eventually on seven, with the saddle and reins thrown in, and a sugar cube. Not cheap, not too expensive for a horse either and Corin still had a fair amount leftover for other matters.

"I'll lead her to the gate for you," said the farmer, smiling brightly as Corin detached his purse from his belt and found seven gold coins. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Corin inclined his head. They walked to the gate and he handed the coins to the man. After counting them, Jord handed the prince his new horse's reins, still grinning. He also gave him the sugar cube.

"Thank you," said Corin.

"No problem," said the farmer. "Have a good day now, sir."

Jord turned back towards his farmhouse, unlocked the door and disappeared into the shady interior. Corin checked the saddle fastenings on Patches, then held his hand out for the horse to sniff, before stroking her cheek. The fur was short and slightly bristly, but smooth and soft when stroked in the right direction.

"Hello Patches," he said. "I'm Corin." The horse whinnied and Corin's mouth twitched into a smile, but it didn't raise his spirits. "Here," he held out the sugar cube. "You have this."

The horse took it almost immediately and chewed on it with her big flat teeth.

"We're going to be just fine," said Corin, more to himself than Patches. "And it's Narnia for us now."

A stone skittered behind him, but before he could turn around, something solid and sharp pressed against his back.

"You're purse or your life, stranger," said a gruff voice.

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