Authoress's Note: A thousand apologies, dear readers, for the unpardonable delay in updating. I hope you will enjoy the introduction to the Jewel of Archenland. I should explain that although the ship is patterned after 18th century sailing vessels, its armaments consist not of cannons but of heavy crossbows. It may seem a strange procedure, but none of the Narnia books referenced the invention of guns and I do not wish to break canon by introducing cannons.
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own the Chronicles of Narnia and no copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter the Twenty-Ninth: Underway
4 Fairdawn 2076
Juliana stood at the rail of a Calormene merchantman. The morning dawned bright and hot, the sun's white rays reflecting like shards of glass off the sea's turbulent blue waves. The masts creaked as a light wind filled the ship's broad sails. Raucous laughter fell from the rigging where the southern sailors tended her sails, and the air rang with the harsh cry of hungry seagulls. These sounds were shrill to the once-Archen lady's ears, and the hot wind felt harsh against her pale northern skin. The sun had struck her cheek with the angry red welt of its rays' merciless lash, and the ship's constant motion made the contents of her stomach threaten to escape their natural prison.
"Are you well, young miss?" A voice spoke behind her, and Juliana jumped in fright. "May the gods forgive my imprudence, it was not my intent to startle you," the young man spoke.
"It is nothing," Juliana replied, the perennial guardedness to which she had become accustomed coloring her voice. The speaker leaned against the rail in front of her, and she saw now that the voice belonged to the ship's second mate. Though he was young, his face was dark and weathered from a life at sea. A proud gold earring hung from his left ear, and his scraggly beard wanted trimming. Still leaning nonchalantly on the rail, he turned to look at Juliana. There was a gleam in the back of his eyes that made her uneasy.
"Your ladyship will have made quite a name among my people once we land," he spoke, his humble station providing less flowered language than that of the tarkaans.
"Indeed?" Juliana replied without warmth.
"The serpent-tongued traitoress who lead a high-born prince to his ignoble death at the hand of a woman," he chuckled. "There are many who would pay much for the pleasure of your company- at the end of a lash," the sinister gleam now lit the forefront of his dark eyes and he stroked her hand with calloused fingers. "But, of course, that need not be, should you find one willing to take you as wife, o northern flower."
Green fire gleamed in the once-Archenlander's eyes and she drew her spine straight. "You presume too much to think I would ever take up with the likes of you," she haughtily replied.
"You will think the better of those words, girl," he snarled, gripping her hand like a vise. "Here you are nothing."
"Enough!" The deep, harsh voice of the captain rang out, and the older Calormene dealt his subordinate a blow to the side of his head. "You are as foolish as the ostrich hen to meddle in what you do not know. She is already claimed. Begone!"
The roguish second mate slunk away, and the captan took his place by the rail. "My apologies, lady, at the discourtesy of my crew. I trust they will bother you no more."
"Thank you," Juliana replied, still indignant. "What did you mean by saying that I am "claimed"?"
The captain smiled enigmatically. "That you will discover in due time." He turned away from the puzzled girl to man the wheel.
Juliana passed the rest of the day in her cabin, frightened at the captain's words. By the time the sun began to dip to the west, she heard the cry of "land ho" and a sharp stab of fear shuddered through her heart. Gathering her things, she stepped out on deck. The merchantman had pulled into a wide port, and now all bustled about the deck to bring her into dock.
"Welcome to the Isle of Morvarid, my lady," the captain greeted. "Best of Calormen's sea holdings, how truly spoke the poet who declared her like a gleaming pearl in the azure sea, a beautiful lady within her lover's strong embrace."
Juliana looked to the shore, and could see a tropical island spreading before her, a mass of gleaming white sands and lush green palm trees that waved in the warm breeze. A sweet fragrance wafted on the air, drawn from the many flowers that adorned the island's soft slopes. The shallow turquoise water splashed at the merchantman's prow, and presently she pulled into dock. Juliana turned to see a tall man in a rich red garment and yellow turban waiting at the gangplank. He was no older than thirty-five, and stood with a haughty bearing. A small contingent of soldiers stood with him, their spears bearing a strange crest.
"Is this she?" The man addressed the captain without acknowledging Juliana.
"Yes, o my master," the captain replied. "May my service find favor in your eyes and the eyes of your master."
"They have and shall continue to, providing always that you remember the source of your prosperity," the last sentence was spoken with a slightly threatening edge.
"Of course, my lord, of course, as the poets have said-"
"Here is your payment, as agreed in our correspondence," the man interrupted, summarily tossing a bag of coins to the deck and motioning to his soldiers, two of whom marched up the gangplank, took Juliana by both arms, and firmly escorted her off the ship. "Good day," the man brusquely turned on his heel to leave, while the captain managed to scrape a bow.
"Get your hands off of me!" Juliana shrieked as they dragged her off the ship behind the turbaned man. "What in the world is going on? How dare you lay hands upon me!" She struggled to free herself, but the soldiers' hands were like steel pincers. Finally, the man turned around abruptly.
"You will be silent and walk with dignity, or be assured that we will tie you hand and foot and drag you like a swine to market," he stated with leveled tones.
Cowed into silence, Juliana walked with trepidation as they wound their way through the streets to a sprawling palace on a low hill overlooking the sea. They entered the airy white sandstone structure, and the man threw open the gilded doors to a wide room adorned with silks and gold. A wizened man sat on a plush divan and the turbaned man bowed low before him.
"Oh my master, greatest of all tarkaans and all men but the Tisroc (may he live forever), I bring you your prize. Behold, the Archen Traitoress," he waved grandly and the soldiers pulled Juliana into the room and pushed her to the floor in front of the old man, who rose from his divan and smiled sinisterly.
"Well done, best of servants. She will serve my purpose well." He turned and addressed Juliana, "My name is Akram, the Grand Vizier to the Tisroc (May he live forever). You now belong to me."
Many leagues away, a great Narnian oak tree swayed in a gentle wind. Galen relaxed in its branches, his eyes closed, and felt the warmth of a mid-afternoon sun soak through him. He took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. As the misty veil of sleep dissolved, the Narnian oak tree faded into a comfortable bunk built into the wall of a small cabin on board the Jewel of Archenland. Warm and content, Galen let the thought of home linger pleasantly as the ship rocked soothingly back and forth with each wave. The cabin was small, but beautifully crafted. Rich wood panels adorned the walls, accented with a line of carved figures near the ceiling. The carving exhibited great skill and told a story of its own — a great sailing vessel with full sails raced toward a frothing wave, a sea serpent with frilled fins and a long, forked tongue frolicked, and among little otters a mermaid collected pearls. The rosy light of dawn refracted through the thick, diamond-shaped glass of the window that spanned the opposite wall. Galen stood and made up the bunk. Its linens were finely woven and creamy white, the edges embroidered crisply in green and gold. Beneath the bunk, three wide drawers held Galen's clothes. A diamond-paned lantern etched in silver and gold hung from the ceiling by a fine chain. A small vanity with a polished oval mirror, china basin, and matching water pitcher tucked in the corner to the left of the bed. On the opposite side, but nearer the window, a desk was built into the wall. Its slanted writing surface raised up to reveal stationary, envelopes, carved pens, and an inkwell secured in separated compartments. A comfortably upholstered chair and a desk lantern completed the set.
After dressing, Galen stumbled across the cabin (he hadn't quite accustomed to the ship's motion) and opened one of the windows, taking a deep breath of tangy sea air. Far below, he could see the ship's frothy wake lightly churning the blue-green water. The Narnian looked up to see the wide windows of the deck above and, beyond those, a long boom and trapezoid-shaped sail stretching past the stern. Ever so often, a pelican would call with its reedy voice as it flew overhead. Galen smiled contentedly, the ship's gentle rocking drawing his thoughts far away. A soft breeze rustled the white, lace-trimmed curtains. Presently, a light tap sounded at his cabin door. Upon his response to enter, Princess Lyra stepped inside and joined the Narnian at the window.
"The dawn promises a beautiful day, does it not?" Galen greeted.
"Indeed so," Lyra returned his smile. "You seem more contented than I believe I have seen you yet, my friend."
The Narnian smiled and looked out at the sea. "Perhaps I am more contented than I have long been." He paused. "I feel as though the sea has called my heart, and now — at last — to feel each wave draw me ever closer to Aslan's Country," Galen smiled broadly, his blue eyes shining with excitement, "—it is exhilarating."
"I am glad to hear it!" Lyra laughed. Momentarily, she turned towards the door, "Well, Captain Torin has invited us to breakfast, if you can tear yourself away for a few minutes."
"Of course," Galen agreed and turned to follow. The Archen princess exited the cabin and turned to the right. The narrow corridor traversed the stern, intersecting in the middle with a longer corridor that stretched the length of the ship. Two narrow sets of wooden stairs—one at the port end of the corridor and one at the starboard—lead to the top deck. Round portholes allowed sunlight through the corridor, and diamond-paned lanterns hung from the ceiling unlit. Galen occupied the port cabin. As the two walked towards the starboard, they passed the ambassador's cabin, which Lyra occupied, and, beyond that, the captain's cabin at the starboard end. Lyra led the way up the starboard steps and through the door at the top. Galen clumsily followed and found himself in bright sunlight on the top deck. Yards of white canvas billowed overhead, and seamen in crisp tunics climbed aloft to set them.
"Good morning!" A hearty voice hailed from behind them. Galen turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in his mid-thirties standing on the quarterdeck near the wheel. The wind tousled his dark brown hair, and light hazel eyes sparked with mirth.
"Commander Randolph," Lyra greeted, "A pleasant morning indeed!"
The first officer descended the steps to the main deck and swept a bow. "It is a pleasure to have you and your party aboard once again, your highness."
"It is likewise a pleasure to sail aboard Archenland's finest vessel," the princess graciously returned. "May I introduce you to Sir Galen of Narnia," Lyra turned toward her companion.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Galen. Your reputation is most intriguing," Commander Randolph responded, grasping Galen's hand in a firm handshake.
"Likewise, a pleasure," Galen replied. "I am honored to lend my sword in the princess's service during her travels."
"An honor we share, my lord," the first officer bowed. "Captain Torin awaits you in the Officer's Mess, my lady," the Commander turned, "I must attend to my duties, by your leave."
"Of course. Thank you," Lyra inclined her head. Motioning Galen to follow, she turned to the stern and entered a carved door beside the stairs to the quarterdeck. Galen found himself in a familiar room that stretched the length of the stern. Diamond-paned windows spanned the entire back wall, as well as a portion of the sides, and washed the room in the early morning's rosy light, which sparkled off the crystal, china, and white linen adorning the long wooden table. A weathered map hung on the starboard wall and pins marked the ship's course and position. A number of officers clad in cream-colored shirts and breeches with navy tunics and polished black boots sat at the table talking, laughing, and eating breakfast. An officer in his mid-forties with ash brown hair and piercing blue eyes stood from his seat at the head of the table as the two entered.
"Your highness, welcome! It is a pleasure to have you aboard," he greeted warmly, and upon hearing his words the other officers fell silent and jumped to their feet.
"The pleasure is ours, Captain Torin," Lyra responded with equal warmth. "Thank you."
"Allow me to introduce my senior officers. Lieutenant Commander Thomas Barstowe, my second officer," the Captain turned to an officer about thirty years old, medium height, with striking red hair and green eyes.
"A pleasure, your highness, Sir Galen," the commander bowed.
"The Jewel's helmsman, Lieutenant Jacob Finnegan," the Captain continued, indicating a slightly sunburned young man, about twenty-six years old, with sandy hair, light blue eyes, and a smattering of mischievous freckles across his nose.
"My lady," Finnegan swept a bow.
Captain Torin continued around the table, introducing each officer in turn: Lieutenant Claude Durand, the navigator, twenty-seven years old with perfectly brushed dark brown hair and thoughtful emerald green eyes; Lieutenant Charles Stewart, the tactical officer, was also twenty-seven and had jet black hair, warm brown eyes, a strong chin, and a light beard; the Chief Engineer Lieutenant Commander Daniel McLeod, about thirty-two, whose sensitive blue eyes made a striking contrast with his dark brown hair and tanned, slightly weathered skin; the personnel officer Lieutenant Gordon Duncan, a young man in his mid-twenties with medium-brown hair and pale brown eyes; and the records officer, Lieutenant Francis Lee; and the Jewel's staff legal officer, Lieutenant Robert Trevelyan, a young man of twenty-five years with dark hair and blue eyes. Each bowed in turn, and the Princess and Galen returned their courtesy.
"Lieutenant Trevelyan is the Crown Prosecutor's youngest son," Lyra introduced, turning to Galen.
"Indeed a pleasure, Lieutenant," Galen warmly replied. "I have had cause to greatly appreciate your father's work."
"Many thanks," the young lieutenant bowed. "I hope my acquaintance will not sour your opinion," he added good-naturedly.
"Please, sit, your highness," the Captain invited. As soon as Lyra took her chair, the others followed suit. A crewman soon served the newcomers breakfast—bacon with piping hot biscuits, honey, and coffee.
"We were all greatly relieved at your return to Archenland, your highness," Lieutenant Commander Barstowe spoke at last. "I believe I speak for every man aboard when I say my only regret is that I had no opportunity to come to your defense."
"My thanks," Lyra inclined hear head. "I fear, however, that that opportunity may yet present itself in the course of this voyage."
"It will be our pleasure to receive such an honor, my lady," Lieutenant Finnegan responded with a smile.
"Then I am doubly grateful," Lyra replied. "Lieutenant Durand," she addressed the navigator after a moment's pause.
"My lady?"
"How does the Jewel fare this morning?"
"The weather is clear, your highness, and overnight we traversed twenty-eight leagues northeast of Ramstowne. I make our position about seventy leagues from Galma, and if the weather pattern prevails, we should make landfall sundown this evening."
"Excellent," Lyra replied.
"How long will we be staying in Galma, your highness?" The second officer inquired.
"No more than two or three days, I expect. Just long enough to pay our respects and ensure they are honoring last year's trade agreement."
"That is good to hear, my lady," Lieutenant Finnegan responded enthusiastically.
"You are not fond of Galma, Lieutenant?" A smile played at the corner of the princess's lips.
"Not over fond, no, begging my lady's pardon," Finnegan reddened with embarrassment, and his fellow officers laughed with amusement.
"I am not over-fond of Galma myself," Lyra chuckled, "Though I'll thank you kindly not to mention it to its inhabitants!"
Laughter filled the room, and Lieutenant Finnegan reassured the princess he would not be informing the Galman government.
With light conversation, breakfast passed quickly. Upon its conclusion, Captain Torin offered his guests a tour of the ship.
"While your highness has been aboard the Jewel many times, perhaps Sir Galen would appreciate a look around."
"Much appreciated, Captain. Thank you," Galen replied.
As Lyra, Galen, and the Captain stood to leave, the officers rose and Commander Barstowe opened the hatch.
"After you, my lady."
Lyra nodded her thanks and stepped into the morning sunshine. A fresh breeze blew from the southwest, the salt tang mixing with the warm musk of sun-baked wood. The sails creaked as they filled with air, and the sound of men singing wafted from yards.
"Singing?" The Narnian inquired, smiling quizzically.
"Archen sailors often sing while they work, Sir Galen," Captain Torin answered. "The tradition began so long ago no one remembers who began it, but for my part I think voyages would be intolerable if conducted in silence."
"I can well imagine," the Narnian replied.
"Have you any familiarity with sailing vessels, Sir Galen?" The captain inquired as the three ascended to the quarterdeck.
"I'm afraid not, Captain," Galen responded, stumbling up the stairs behind him. "I'm afraid I haven't acquired sea legs yet either."
"I can help with the former, at least," the Archen sailor's ice blue eyes winked with mirth. "We are standing on the quarterdeck—the high stern deck that supports the wheel and navigation equipment. Facing forward, the starboard side is to your right and the port side to your left."
Galen nodded, listening attentively.
"The Jewel supports three masts, the fore, near bow, the main, and the mizzen, nearest the stern. Each mast supports a number of yards and spars—cross beams if you will—which, in turn, support the sails. The fore and main masts can carry up to three primary sails each. The lowest sail carries the name of the mast, and the two upper sails are the top and topgallant, respectively. A number of triangular staysails may be rigged between the masts at need. The mizzenmast differs, as you can see, by carrying a broad trapezoid-shaped lower sail called the gaff sail or spanker. The bowsprit, over the prow, serves as as a secondary mast capable of supporting several triangular jib sails. In class, the Jewel is a heavy frigate. In pitched battle, it is not the match of a heavy warship, but no heavy warship could hope to match us for speed. At full sail in excellent conditions, she can make better than thirteen knots."
"How many crewman does the Jewel require, Captain?" Galen inquired, as the Captain led the two passengers down the port stairway to the main deck.
"She supports a full compliment of 450, including 55 Royal Archen Marines, who serve as the ship's primary fighting force and the princess's security escort on land."
"Whom did you choose to command the ship's marines this voyage, Captain Torin?" Lyra asked inquisitively.
"Lieutenant Colonel Edward Grey, my lady. He will also serve as the Jewel's Chief Security Officer.
"Oh, I am glad to hear it. Colonel Grey is my mother's youngest brother and has been a kind friend to Ayden and I since we were children," Lyra smiled.
"Doubtless the reason he volunteered, your highness," the Captain responded as they walked the length of the ship. Presently, Torin drew to a stop.
"If you would permit me a moment, my lady, the day shift marines are due for initial inspection. It will take but a moment."
Lyra inclined her head in acquiescence as two ten-man platoons filed out of the forward hatches and assembled in tidy rows between the fore and main masts. Each man wore a crisp linen shirt and breeches, tall, well-polished boots, and Archen green tunics with gold trim. Identical, spotless sabers hung at their sides, a quiver was slung across each one's back, and a polished bow stood at rest in their left hands.
Presently, a similarly-dressed man with light brown hair, friendly ocean-blue eyes, and a clear, tanned face slightly lined with the cares of a fortieth year quietly joined the three.
"Your highness," he bowed first to Lyra, "it is a pleasure to have you aboard. Captain Torin, my salutations for a successful voyage."
"Thank you, Uncle Edward," Lyra smiled and curtsied in return and the Captain inclined his head. "Galen, may I present Lieutenant Colonel Edward Grey. Uncle, this is Sir Galen of Narnia."
"A pleasure, sir," Galen bowed, and Colonel Grey bowed politely in return.
"If you will excuse me, my lady," the Colonel turned to his men and he and Captain Torin commenced the inspection. Galen was unfamiliar with the customs and procedures of highly-organized militaries, and the Narnian found himself impressed with the marines' discipline and skill. The precision with which they handled their arms spoke of significant practice and, for some, the memory of battle.
Once the inspection was complete, Captain Torin returned and guided the two towards the bow. Galen noticed a medium-sized crossbow mounted on a revolving stand close to the bow. Two portholes on either side provided a clear field of aim towards the horizon.
"The Jewel is well armed for her class," the Captain began. "This bow chaser, here, is a secondary armament. On the deck below, we keep much heavier bows."
Galen stood near the rail and looked down to the frothing sea below. The salty wind tossed his hair and he could hardly help the sigh of contentment the exhilarating sight produced.
"I think if I should stand here the rest of my life I would never tire of the view," the Narnian exclaimed.
Lyra laughed. "None could fault you for it, either."
Eventually, the Captain led the two through the nearby hatch and down a narrow set of steps to the second deck.
The galley, with its jovial cooks, was placed directly beneath the bow. The crewmen's mess was next, occupying two cabins—one on each side of the galley. Beyond that, the corridor opened into a wide deck. Hammocks were slung from the underside of the main deck, and in them off-duty sailors slept or rested. Portholes with latched cover-plates spanned the length of the deck at intervals. With the porthole covers closed, the entire deck was swathed in dusky twilight. In the dim light of two lanterns hung at either end of the corridor, Galen could see that heavy crossbows mounted to short stands were positioned in front of each porthole, twenty-five per side. Each stand contained a strong crank and cable, which enabled the heavy bowstring to be drawn quickly and efficiently.
"Each bow is capable of firing a number of different kinds of bolts, which are stored below the deck plates," the Captain explained in a soft tone of voice. "Some bolts are tipped with heavy lead heads, capable of damaging an enemy ship's hull or masts. Others may be lit with fire, but we use those only at great need."
"Who mans the bows, Captain?" Galen asked.
"The Jewel has a crew of over two hundred sailors dedicated to handling the sails alone. They are also trained in handling the bows if need be, but generally bowhandling falls to the bowmen. The Jewel has over one hundred. The crew also contains medical personnel, supply personnel, and engineers."
At the end of the corridor, two cabins on either side of the ship served as the sick bay and personnel office, respectively. The chief medical officer, Lieutenant Commander Ian Cameron, stepped out of sick bay to greet them. His strawberry blond hair did not completely obey him, and his twinkling blue eyes belied his thirty-five years.
"A pleasure to have you aboard once again, princess! And a pleasure to make your companion's acquaintance, to be sure," he greeted warmly. After a brief chat, the captain made his apologies and the three proceeded down the aft stairway to the third deck. A long, narrow corridor with many small cabins on each side stretched the length of the ship.
"These cabins provide officers quarters, as well as quarters for higher ranking enlisted personnel, such as the marine sergeants and the master sailors," Torin explained. The Captain opened a starboard hatch near the aft end of the narrow corridor. Stepping inside, a warm, comforting musty smell enveloped them. Shelves containing hundreds of books lined the walls. A comfortable chair sat near the diamond-paned window, and a small folding desk was built into the wall beside it.
"A library!" Galen exclaimed.
"My favorite spot on the ship," Lyra's eyes twinkled.
"I seem to remember a plucky little lass who could hardly be convinced to abandon the library to return to her cabin at night." The Captain smiled fondly.
"I cannot promise to have grown out of that trait, good sir," Lyra returned mischievously.
Finally, beneath the crew quarters was the hold, which held a great stock of all kinds of food and supplies. Barrels of wine, cloth-wrapped cheeses, smoked meat, barrels of flour, and casks of milk and butter in a wooden tray cooled by seawater lined the hull of the ship. A narrow plank ran the length to enable access, and more hammocks were slung from the deck above to accommodate off-duty sailors.
After returning to the main deck, the Captain took his leave.
"Thank you for the tour, Captain," the Narnian bowed slightly. "The Jewel is a beautiful ship and I look forward to the voyage ahead."
"As do I, Sir Galen," the Captain inclined his head. "By your leave, my lady," the Captain bowed, and at Lyra's nod of thanks, he returned to the quarterdeck.
Overhead, a cheerful chanty wafted from the mast-tops.
What does one do aboard a ship, my lady?" Galen inquired.
"Stay out of the way, primarily," the Archen princess laughed. "Come on, there's a reason I love the library best of all."
The day passed quickly, and the purple twilight found Galen perched in the bow of the ship, his eyes searching the far eastern horizon. The brisk wind filled the sails and made the timbers creak as the ship glided through the darkening water. Galen shivered, and pulled his cloak closer around himself. Leaning back, he settled into a seated position on the deck as it sloped to meet the rail. The gentle rocking motion reminded him again of Narnian trees swaying in the wind. The thought brought a certain melancholy. As eager as he was to seek the East and fulfill the great task entrusted to him, he remembered with a twinge of sadness all that he left behind—perhaps forever. The Narnian took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Far off in the west, the last golden rays of sunlight bade farewell, and to his right, bright Spearhead, the North Star, pierced the growing darkness. Galen pulled his little flute from his bag and slowly began to play a haunting melody. A hush fell upon the water as the honey-thick notes weaved their way among the spars and sails. Not quite a lullaby and not quite a lament, it evoked the dreamless, somber sleep of one who carries an old and familiar sorrow. As the last note died away upon the wind, Galen looked up to see Princess Lyra wiping away a tear.
"'Tis a sad tale your flute tells tonight, my friend."
"Indeed," he smiled a trifle, and replaced his flute in his bag. "It seemed to fit the dusk tonight."
Lyra took a seat next to him in the bow, leaning on the rail and looking towards the horizon.
"I do not look with excitement towards the coming days," she sighed.
"Indeed? Why not?"
"Diplomacy has never been my favorite pastime, and I little like the Duke and Duchess of Galma. I would love to skip such visits and sail straight for the East—to find the adventure Aslan has set us upon. Alas."
"Our adventures will begin soon enough, I warrant," Galen smiled. "If there is anything I can do to assist in the coming days, I trust you will call upon me?"
Lyra nodded gratefully. "At least Galma is a beautiful island. I do look forward to seeing it in that respect."
"Land ho!" A cry rang from the crow's nest. The two friends jumped to their feet, and surely enough a low purple hill rose from the mists on the horizon.
"We'll make harbor in a few hours, I should think," the princess remarked. "We should be disembarking first thing tomorrow." She stood. "I believe I'll get as much sleep as I can before then. Good night, Galen, and sleep well," she bowed slightly.
"Thank you, my lady, you as well," the Narnian replied with a smile. The Archen princess turned and made her way to the stern, where she disappeared below deck.
Turning again to the horizon, Galen took a deep, contented breath. "A few more minutes would not hurt," he smiled.
Authoress's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Any comments you have would be appreciated. I will try my best to update in a more timely manner (i.e. before 2022).