"Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red." ― Kait Rokowski

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A/N: I cannot express with words just how much this story means to me, except to say that Tirian has been my favorite character since I was six years old, and I have poured so much of myself into him that the lines between us are rather blurred in my mind. Needless to say, this series contains no small piece of my soul, and I cannot thank you enough for coming on this journey with me! I hope you enjoy!

- Book 1 of 6 -

Trigger Warnings: Blood and gore, major character injury, major character death.

Disclaimer: Tirian, Erlian, Jewel, and Farsight belong to C S Lewis. All other characters belong to me.

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"They are better here, as they are, untamed and errant phantoms of a brilliance whose emanations no one mortal lifetime could ever accommodate in full." — Nick Tosches

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CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING OF THE END

The sun hung low in the sky, beating down onto the pale golden paving stones of Cair Paravel's central courtyard as the last days of June quivered in anticipation of July's heat, and Tirian yelped from his unsteady perch atop a stack of hay bales, leaning precariously to one side as he slashed at his equally precarious sparring partner on the opposite stack.

"Hey!" barked the boy, "I didn't ask you to cut my hand off!"

Tirian steadied himself with a grin as the suspended hay bale shifted under his weight. "This thing isn't even sharp." He waved the wooden practice sword and took his next defensive stance. "Besides, if this was a real fight, I think that means I won."

The other boy squared his shoulders and blew a dark curl out of his face. "Good thing it's not a real fight, then." He calculated for a moment and swung his own wooden blade, sweeping under Tirian's defense and jabbing him in the chest.

"Ay—" He squeaked and wobbled backwards, righting himself just in time to save his balance.

"Hah!"

"Hosha, you little—"

"Boys!" a voice snapped from below, sharp and commanding as ever. "What do you think you're doing?"

They both looked to see a girl striding across the courtyard at a brisk pace, dark hair fluttering over her shoulders, skirts swishing from tightly balled fists.

"Um, having fun?" answered Tirian.

"Why is it," asked the girl, halting several paces away and eyeing their precarious setup with extreme distaste, "That whenever the two of you have fun, somebody almost loses an eye."

"Well it's no fun without the risk," grinned Tirian. "Come on, Mal, you used to be fun."

"No she didn't," muttered Hosha, but Mal ignored him.

"I never did that." She nodded to their shifting towers of hay, and then her eyes fell to the stables behind them. "Jewel! You're letting them get away with this?"

The Unicorn lifted his head from polishing his horn against his creamy white flank, laughter registering as a low knicker. "Do you think I could stop them even if I wanted to?"

Mal sighed, and Hosha shot Tirian a dry look.

"Just because she's nineteen she thinks she can boss us around."

"Well, I'm almost seventeen, that's got to count for something."

By almost seventeen, of course, he meant nearly four months away from seventeen, but less than half a year seemed sufficient enough to qualify as almost.

"And you're the prince," added Hosha.

Tirian giggled. "Oh, yeah, that too."

Mal opened her mouth to say something else, but before she could get so much as a word out, Hosha lunged and slashed Tirian's sword out of his hand, sending the wood clattering to the stone below as Tirian reeled back.

He doubled over, trying in vain to right himself, and just before he fell a new thought occurred to him and he dove for Hosha, snatching the boy's tunic before he could even finish his victory shout and bowling them both over the heart-stopping drop to hit the ground with a thump in a cloud of hay and stable dust.

Tirian was the unluckiest party, breaking Hosha's fall in the heap of limbs that drove the breath from his chest.

He coughed, stray bits of hay in the air poking at his eyes, and shoved Hosha off.

Mal scoffed. "You do know one of these days you're going to get each other killed."

"Well," wheezed Tirian, sitting up and rubbing his ribs indignantly. "That's why we put the hay down."

"I think," said Jewel behind him, "The quantity of hay on the ground is more of a happy accident from the way you've been knocking those stacks around."

Tirian twisted to look at him, but the unicorn just snorted and shook his mane, dazzlingly white in the sunlight, humor playing over his elegant face.

"I still won," said Hosha, picking himself up and brushing straw from his tunic and trousers, bits of it clinging to his dark mop of curly hair, cheeky smile gleaming white against the olive of his face.

"What? I knocked you over!"

"I disarmed you."

"Only because I wasn't ready!" Tirian hauled himself off the ground, shaking the straw from his golden head. "I could still kill you without a weapon."

"Hah! I'd like to see you try."

For a moment Tirian had half a mind to tackle him again, but before he could move, an eagle's cry sounded overhead and they all looked up.

A bird's silhouette wheeled black against the azure blue sky, descending quickly, growing bigger until it landed with a flurry of feathers on the remnants of Hosha's haystack.

"Farsight!" cried Mal, and Tirian recognized him the moment she'd said it.

"My Lady," panted the huge eagle, neck feathers sticking up on end, "Your Highness, I bring news from the north, I seek council with the King at once."

"What?" asked Tirian, "Why? What has happened?"

"Giants," said Farsight in his croaking voice, "Giants crossing the River Shribble, due northwest of Owlwood not two hours ago."

"Giants!" cried Hosha. "Moorish giants in Narnia?"

"No, not our moorish neighbors, nothing like I've ever seen before." His wings trembled, claws gripping the hay, and Tirian thought he must have flown without stopping from the moment he spotted them.

"Come on, then," said Mal, "You must tell this to the King, and you must also have a drink if you have come all this way."

Tirian's head spun with the words nothing like I've ever seen before. What did that mean? A thousand questions crowded his throat, but before he could ask any of them, he remembered the King, and without another word he bolted, shooting past them all toward the palace.

He tore across the courtyard and in through the gates, weaving around creatures and through great arching marble doorways until he crashed into the throne room.

"Father!" His voice echoed in the massive chamber showered in low sunlight through towering stained glass windows.

The throne was empty, but the King looked up from the dais where he stood speaking with two other noblemen, and a smile spread across his face when he saw Tirian.

His grey hair and beard did nothing to take away from the life in his eyes, or the vibrance in his smile as Tirian ran up to him and he excused himself from the Lords.

"Father!"

"Yes, what is it, Tirian?" laughed the King, "What is so urgent today?"

"Really, it is," he gasped as Hosha caught up and stopped a few paces behind him, eyes flying to his own father, the Lord Gareth, who now followed the King down to the boys. "Farsight has just come down from the north and seeks an audience with you. He says giants have crossed our border."

The King's expression shifted to one of slight confusion, the ever familiar blue of his eyes reflecting Tirian's like a mirror. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes! Hear it for yourself!"

He turned just as Mal hurried into the room with Farsight and Jewel following close behind.

"My good King Erlian," said the eagle before the question had even left the King's mouth, alighting at his feet and tucking his wings in a short bow, "I have come to warn you of giants at the northern border, crossing the River Shribble in broad daylight. And not any giants my eyes have yet seen."

"What manner of giants were they?" asked the King.

"Smaller—that is, smaller than our own sort—not brutish or hulking. They wore armor of a kind unfamiliar to me."

"Armor," echoed Lord Gareth. "Then they are not simply travellers."

"I fear not," said the eagle, "They had the look of trained warriors to me."

Tirian looked between the bird and his father with wide eyes. "We must do something."

"Hold hard, son." Erlian's eyes were still fixed on Farsight, considering all of his words behind his controlled countenance, brow hard, one finger flicking absently over his lips, the gold of his crown glinting in the late afternoon light. "How many were they, and how quickly were they travelling?"

"Only two, by my count, and their pace was slow but sure. Southward bound, not directly toward the palace."

Tirian resisted the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet.

The King was silent for several moments, and Tirian thought he would explode, until at last he said "Thank you for this message, you must be tired. Please seek any refreshment you desire from the palace kitchens or perches. We will take action at first light to assess the situation and see what business these visitors have in our land."

Tirian felt as if the air had been knocked from his lungs all over again, even as Farsight bobbed his head, spread his wings, and flew from the throne room.

He exchanged a look with Hosha, whose honey-brown eyes mirrored his own bewilderment.

"First light?" he asked before he could stop himself. "Shouldn't we be doing something now?"

Erlian shook his head. "As much as I would like it, we mustn't rush into conflict. Perhaps these giants can be reasoned with."

"Reasoned with? Giants can never be reasoned with!"

"Neither can you, it would seem," chuckled Erlian, "But I must ask you to trust me, as one who has dealt with such threats before."

Hosha sighed audibly, trying too late to stifle the sound, and Gareth clapped his own son on the shoulder.

"You are all too young to remember," said the Lord, threads of grey streaking his brown beard, "What the last war did to this country." He glanced up at Mal. "We've been ten years in peacetime. If another war can be avoided, I believe the King is in the right to move with caution."

In spite of the reason in Gareth's voice, Tirian deflated.

Erlian cut in again. "I want to protect our people just as much as you do. But it's dangerous to attack a race we've never met before in battle. Even if we left now we would not reach the northern forests until after nightfall, and no advantage can be gained in the dark." He smiled reassuringly. "We'll send out a diplomatic party first thing in the morning, fully armed, in case an agreement cannot be reached."

Tirian sighed, but reluctantly forced a smile back to show that he understood. Or at least, he tried to understand.

"Don't worry boys," said Gareth, "You'll get your chance at valor soon enough. The King and I were just about your age when we fought our first battle, were we not?"

Erlian's mouth twitched. "We were indeed. Though another year or two of training would have done your swing some good."

Gareth laughed and clasped the King's arm. "Far be it from me to challenge your Majesty's perfect memory, though I do recall you made dreadful use of that shield in our first encounter. Lost it in—what was it—less than a minute?"

"Trivial details," chuckled Erlian. "And I beg of you, don't encourage them, our sons will be repeating history too soon for my liking as it is."

Tirian glanced at Hosha, but couldn't seem to muster as impish a grin as he normally would have.

"Well," said Erlian, running a hand through Tirian's messy hair, "It would seem I now have work to do. I'll see you tonight."

Tirian nodded, and watched his father disappear off into another chamber, Gareth bidding farewell to his own children before following, and Tirian couldn't help but feel a bit empty when the door clanged shut behind them.

The day trudged on, afternoon dipped into evening, but that restless energy never left him, even when Hosha tried to drag him back into sparring.

"Ow!" Tirian wrung his hand and shot his friend a look of indignation.

"Well maybe if you would actually focus," snapped Hosha, twirling his wooden sword, the remnants of their hay bales heaped behind him. "Where are you? Weren't you threatening to kill me earlier?"

Tirian sighed. "Yeah but now this is serious. Don't you see? I can't focus, there are giants in Narnia right now and we're not doing anything!"

Hosha pouted, tucking his sword under his arm as he crossed them. "Are you saying I'm not good enough for you?"

Tirian glanced at his friend's pathetic countenance, and despite his best efforts a grin tugged on the corners of his mouth. "You know you look stupid when you do that, right?"

Hosha's pout faltered into a half-smirk.

Without a word of warning, Tirian lunged for him and tackled him to the ground, landing with an oof on impact with his friend's chest as their swords clattered to the stone and Tirian struggled to pin him against the spread of hay cushioning the pavers.

Hosha's leg looped around his, flipping him onto his back with a gasp and a breathless giggle, and Tirian reached up to block his arms, binding them in what might have looked to anyone else like a tight hug.

This rendered Hosha's attack rather ineffective, though through his laughter it took longer than it should have to actually flip him over and pin him to the stone again.

Hosha slipped one arm free and landed a hit to Tirian's stomach, and the tussle went on for several minutes before their hair was sticking every which way and full of bits of golden straw, and at last Tirian locked Hosha in a chokehold until he slapped his arms in surrender.

"Okay," coughed Hosha, "Okay, fine, you win this time. But only because you attacked when I wasn't ready!"

Tirian flopped over onto his back on the bed of straw, laughing as he caught his breath. "Now why do I feel like I've heard that before?"

Hosha sighed, rolling to lay next to Tirian, the straw in his dark, curly hair tickling Tirian's cheek as the sun set, rich orangey pinks spreading over the sky and bathing the sand-colored stone in its rosy hue and long shadows.

A long silence passed before Tirian said "I still think we should do something."

"Like what, exactly?" came Mal's voice from behind them.

Mixed with her footsteps came the clop of delicate hooves, and a moment later Jewel's shadow blotted out the last of the sunlight, neck lowering to nose Tirian's face and nip the straw from his hair.

Tirian sputtered and sat up, shaking his head to brush it out himself, and leaning back to look at Mal upside down as she crossed her arms.

"What would you do even if you could?"

"I don't know…" He shifted and turned to look at her correctly. "Something. There are strange giants inside Narnia's borders and we don't have a clue what they're doing."

"Our fathers will find out in the morning," she said with a shake of the head.

"But we don't even know where they'll be by then!"

"Farsight did say they looked like warriors," said Hosha as he sat up. "That— well, it doesn't seem good."

"Exactly!" Tirian slapped his shoulder. "Thank you!"

Malahki sighed, then motioned for Hosha to get up. "Come on, Mother sent me to collect you for dinner. That's enough of this conversation for today. You can ask Father all about the giants when he returns tomorrow."

Hosha grumbled something about no fun under his breath as he pushed himself to his feet and followed her.

They made a strange duo, Hosha's broad shoulders and brown hair next to Mal's slight frame and much darker complexion, only the faintest curl touching the tips of her silky black mane. It would have been easy to forget they were siblings, had you known them any less than the entirety of your life.

"Night, Tir," said Hosha with a glance and a wave, picking up their swords as he went.

"Night," said Tirian, and watched them walk across the courtyard in the direction of the city.

He looked back at Jewel, icy blue horn glinting in the dying light like a gemstone casting a prism of color over his soft white face.

"Are you going in too, then?" asked the Unicorn.

Tirian glanced over his shoulder at the palace, where the warm firelit greathall awaited, with its convivial chatter and filling supper, but he found he had no appetite with these thoughts still swirling inside him, this nervous energy in his bones, aching to do something, anything.

"Everything inside me screams this isn't right," he said. "Something about those giants, armed, and only two of them. It sits wrong with me. I can't explain it, but I know it."

"Yes," said Jewel quietly, "I confess I feel the same. But what would you do?" His question echoed Mal's, but this time it was genuine.

Tirian shook his head. "I would find them, at least, perhaps get an idea of who they are. Their manner, their speech, something. I would take anything over not knowing."

Jewel snorted thoughtfully.

"Not that I could get out of here any sooner than my father, anyway," he murmured, every possible scenario running through his mind just as they had for the past hour. "Little chance of securing a horse at this hour without questions."

He stood quickly in frustration, turning to pace.

"What about me?" asked Jewel.

Tirian paused mid-step and turned to look at him. "What about you?"

Jewel swished his tail, tossing his head and pinning Tirian with a deep black eye, an inky well of mystery that only Tirian could see into on occasion. "I am faster than a horse."

"I— what— you mean ride on you?"

"Why not?"

"Well I mean— it's just— Jewel, that's—"

"Not unheard of," said the Unicorn. "Our fathers fought together, after all."

Tirian sputtered. "Yes, but that was war, I don't know if—"

"War or great need, isn't that the tradition?"

Tirian just stared at him, still trying to wrap his mind around the suggestion. No one in their right mind would dare even consider mounting a Unicorn, or any talking horse for that matter, unless they had no other choice.

"Unless you don't really want to go," said Jewel.

Tirian shook his head to clear it. "No— I mean— yes, I do. I can't shake this feeling, and I would tell father except he's already denied it, and I fear what will happen if it's left till tomorrow— I just… you really think we could…?"

Jewel chuckled. "Don't you think I'm the one who would know? It seems like a great need to me. Besides, the King never actually forbade you from going. He only said it wasn't a good idea."

A wide grin split over Tirian's face. "Won't we prove him wrong, then!" He bounced on the balls of his feet and dashed to the fence without another thought, taking down the real sword belt he'd set aside from that afternoon's sparring session.

Jewel set off and Tirian hurried after him on foot, knowing without a word to head for the western gate, racing against the setting sun.

There was no secrecy in their steps. After all, they weren't exactly sneaking out. You couldn't expect to hide a Unicorn or the Crown Prince, the guards would know them on sight, and of course would report their departure to the King the moment the gates closed at nightfall. But he would have found it all out when they returned, anyway, and it set the smallest worry at the back of Tirian's mind at ease, knowing his father wouldn't wonder for long why Tirian didn't come to dinner.

He would be cross, of course, but that was a weekly occurrence, and this excursion was hardly wilder than any of his other adventures.

Except, this time, after walking out through the gates and jogging down the cobbled road into the evening cool, the moment they entered a thicket of young trees, Tirian took hold of a handful of the base of Jewel's mane, and, heart pounding, flung himself astride his friend's back.

"Alright up there?" asked Jewel, shifting under his first rider.

"Yeah," said Tirian breathlessly. He'd ridden dozens of horses, sure, but almost never bareback, and certainly never a Unicorn. Jewel was smaller and more delicate than any of the dumb horses Erlian kept in his stables, yet Tirian felt grander now than he had on any of those occasions.

"Alright then," said Jewel, "Hang on. And don't touch the mane, if you can help it. You humans have knees for a reason."

Tirian laughed, and with a sharp jolt they bolted out into the rolling fields, whipping past sparse trees at a speed that took his breath away, northern winds lashing his face, dark forest approaching on the distant horizon, and the golden light that was the royal city of Cair Paravel disappearing behind them like a star on the sea shore.