The dungeon in the bowels of Cair Paravel was not as terrible as Enna had thought it would be. She had shown no resistance to her sentence, and so was not manhandled all the way to her rather spacious cell. True, it was dark and chilly, as all dungeons tend to be, but thick stone walls on three sides kept out the cold dankness of the earth that encased it, and the straw inside was dry and looked as though it had been replaced recently. A torch blazed almost merrily on the wall in the corridor outside the bars that locked her in.
But Enna was still huddled in the far corner, the straw piled up around her and her hands up over her ears. Minodaurus' men had followed her and Aramir down to the dungeons, and now dull thuds and muffled groans echoed from somewhere down the corridor. They were exacting their revenge on the poor youth, and no one in the castle knew about it.
One of the youth's cries escaped the gag of whoever's hand had been clamped over his mouth, and the pain in it was heart-wrenching. Enna squeezed her eyes shut. But the thuds came quicker and quicker, and Enna's heart with it. They would kill the youth before anyone would know!
She leapt to her feet and hastened to the bars. The face of the gruff dwarf guarding the entrance to the dungeons flashed before her, and she cleared her throat.
"Ahem. Oyez! What's goin' on down there?" The guard's gravelly voice echoed in the corridor, and the thuds stopped abruptly. Enna continued, heartened: "Say—d'yeh hear somethin'? I hear somethin'. I'm goin' ter check on those two Galman'an pris'ners, just a momen'."
There was scuffling and rough whispers, and Enna threw herself into the shadowy corner of her cell just as Destro, Galesh, and a few burly others hurried down the corridor, the youth's limp form between them. Her cell door creaked open, and they tossed the youth in like a sack of potatoes, then slammed the bars shut and hastened away. The youth lay perfectly still on the stone floor.
As soon as the men's scuffling footsteps had faded from earshot, Enna crept from the shadows towards the youth. He was still breathing, she realized after a heart-stopping moment.
"Um…excuse me…" she whispered, not being able to think of anything else to say. "Er…Aramir?"
He did not stir.
A wave of pity swelled in Enna's stomach, and she brushed a few of the dark curls from the youth's brow. A red welt curved from his cheekbone to his chin, and Enna felt sure, with a prickle of horror, that this was the least of his worries.
When he did not respond to her feather-light touch, Enna grew more worried—and more confident in her movements. She stripped the youth's bloodstained tunic off and spread it over some flattened hay, then half-dragged and half-carried the deadweight over to it, resting him on his stomach—relatively unscathed, compared to his chawn-up back. Then she sat back on her heels, absently stroking the youth's fevered temple, as if she could bring him comfort in his unconsciousness. There was a rough-looking blanket in the corner, she noticed, brushing his hair back, and a cup of water from the last inhabitant rested nearby.
Enna got creative.
The blanket looked too scratchy to be of much use, so she made sure the youth was truly unconscious before stripping off her own shirt and quickly replacing it with the blanket, wrapping it tightly, piercing a hole through the layers with a shard of glass found between two flagstones, and then taking one of the leather cords from her hair and threading it through. This she tightened and knotted securely. Now her arms were cold, but her shirt could be put to a much more practical use.
Rips were abundant in the sturdy cloth, and it only took a few minutes to tear it into sizeable strips. Enna took great delight in shredding one of the very last reminders of her life in Sabsestrin's household, and she looked upon the remains with a grim smile.
After glorying in this for a moment, she set to work, dipping the thickest strip into the cup. The water had tasted slightly stale, but was not unusable, so she was determined to make the most of what she had. So she set about dabbing the dried blood from the youth's back.
What lay underneath the thick scabs and deep gouges sickened Enna—white scars crisscrossed the few unhurt areas on the youth's flesh. He obviously was no stranger to cruel whippings, and Enna became so enraged that she accidentally pressed down on a deep gash. The youth stirred and groaned quietly, then opened his eyes and slowly lifted himself to one elbow.
"Oh, please don't do that, you'll make yourself bleed again," Enna heard herself saying, and wondered for a moment where her shyness had gone.
The youth looked in danger of passing out again, so Enna reached out and helped him lower his head to the makeshift pallet. When she began to clean his back again, the muscles in his shoulders tensed visibly, and Enna felt sure he was struggling to keep from crying out. "I'm sorry to hurt you," she whispered sincerely, "but I'm almost done…"
And so not every drop of dried blood was cleaned off before Enna placed the crude bandages over the youth's back, tucking the loose ends securely under his chest. His flesh was warm and firm to her touch, and she wondered briefly if he'd worked on a ship and been whipped in such a manner from a young age.
"How are you feeling?" she asked finally, sitting back and tugging her blanket up higher. "I mean, besides the pain. Any better?"
She could just barely see his bright eyes in the firelight; they were a strange shade of light grey. Almost like the captain's, only his were softer, as the captain's were a hard, steely color. "Besides the pain?" The youth made a strangled sound that appeared to be a weak attempt at a chuckle.
"I see," Enna said, tucking a few stray bits of hair back into her plait. She would have to find a comb before she left Narnia, that was for sure.
The muscles on the youth's back stiffened as he reached a hand up to his face. "What time is it?"
"I don't know," Enna said softly. "They were beating you for several minutes before I—before someone stopped them."
The youth sighed. "I'm glad to be rid of them."
"As am I," Enna whispered.
"I'm sorry I couldn't bring you food," he said.
"Don't be," Enna said, growing increasingly uncomfortable. "Try to rest. You'll heal faster."
The youth closed his eyes, and within moments seemed sound asleep. His gentle breathing was an almost soothing sound in the darkness, though Enna began to regret removing her shirt as her heartbeat slowed and her skin cooled.
After a long while, there came a step out in the corridor. Enna leapt back into the shadows not a moment too soon, for who came down towards the cell but the golden-haired king she'd seen earlier! He carried a bucket in one hand and a torch in the other, and was glancing about uneasily, as if he was wary of being found.
When he caught sight of Aramir lying inert on his makeshift cot, however, the king froze. Enna held her breath. "By the lion's mane," he breathed, then hastily set the bucket down and took a key ring from his belt and unlocked the cell door. Enna pressed herself against the cold stone walls and pulled her blanket higher up her shoulders as the king knelt down beside Aramir. "Excuse me, sire," she whispered as she saw the king's hand move towards the youth's neck, "please, he's sleeping."
The king turned, and Enna nearly forgot to breathe with terror. "I see," he said finally. "I'm sorry. You have obviously taken good care of him."
Enna dared to come out into the pool of light from the king's torch. "The…captain's men were beating him, sire," she said tentatively.
"How dare they!" the king said with wrath in his voice, and he held the torch higher so he could see Aramir's back. Spots of blood were staining the bandages that Enna had worked so hard to arrange there. "I would have the captain thrown into the dungeon for this if I could."
"Can't you?" Enna asked, then immediately regretted being so forward.
The king shook his head. "He is of Galmanian citizenship. I have no authority to do much else than expel him from my ports. In the law's eyes, it is none of my business what he does with his own crew."
"That's terrible," she blurted.
The king nodded mournfully. "'Tis…oh!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Forgive me—I nearly forgot. I've brought you…well, I know that dungeon fare isn't very filling, so I brought you and young Aramir there some food from the palace sup upstairs." As he spoke, he stood and retrieved the bucket, setting sheepishly it before Enna. "Please, don't be too offended. I had to put it in a pail so I could carry the torch in my other hand."
"Thank you, sire," she breathed, and took out a linen-wrapped item. She pulled the wrapping away and took a quiet sniff as the delicious scent of roast chicken filled the air. There was a flask of sweet cider, also, and two gleaming plums nestled beside a basket of fluffy white rolls. "Thank you very much, sire," Enna repeated, this time with a bit more feeling.
Suddenly, the king's eyes fell upon her bare shoulders, and she stiffened. But there was no need for alarm, for they quickly darted to the wrappings on Aramir's back, and Enna could see the king making the connections. "You are cold," he said finally. Enna resisted the urge to nod fervently.
"Aramir's needs surpassed my own, sire," she whispered.
The king stood abruptly. "Wait here," he said in a brisk tone, and Enna couldn't help but wonder where she'd go otherwise. She was locked in a cell. But the king took no notice of this rather ironic command and strode purposefully into the corridor, pushing the door carelessly behind him, so it swung halfheartedly but did not close. Enna stared at the rather enticing opening as his footsteps faded from hearing.
The youth stirred at this moment, and Enna turned and went to his side. "How did you sleep?" she asked softly.
"Ill," he sighed, "but better than I have these past days, many thanks to you." His lips twitched in a slight smile.
She pulled her blanket up higher on her shoulders. "Are you at all hungry? We have some fantastic provisions here…"
"I am not much at all," he said. "But thank you."
"Come, you must regain your strength," Enna pressed, and took out a sweet roll. "Here—have some bread." She waved the warm puff temptingly under his nose, and he reached out.
"All right, all right," he said with a weak laugh, "you have persuaded my appetite." He took the roll and broke off a bit of the fluffy bread.
"Thirsty?" Enna asked, and poured a bit of the sweet wine into the old mug. "Go on, drink."
He downed the roll and wine quickly, then sighed and looked over at her. "You must be an angel, miss."
"A rather disagreeable one, I'm afraid," Enna said with a slight laugh. "And I've never heard of angels having chapped skin and salty hair."
Aramir smiled but did not reply.
The king's step was heard in the corridor again, and Enna pulled her blanket up again as he entered the cell with his arms heavily laden. "Good evening, Aramir," he said when he noticed the youth watching him.
"Aye, sire, and to you," Aramir replied, and struggled to sit upright. Enna put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back to the straw.
"I have brought some things that might come in handy sometime," the king said, almost tentatively, and laid the packages in his arms out before Enna so she could see. There were four thick, warm-looking blankets, several rolls of white bandages, a glass vial with a cork, and what seemed to be a soft tunic.
"I apologize for the shirt," he said guiltily, "but I was trying to hurry and I thought you'd rather pick out your own gown later."
Enna took it and shook it out. The fabric seemed incredibly soft to her calloused fingers, and it was of a sturdy material with no fancy embroidery to irritate her skin. "Thank you, sire," she said, and would have bowed low if her rather immodest blanket had allowed her.
"If you would like to don it now, I think you will find yourself in more comfort," he replied.
She nodded, then gave both the king and Aramir such smoldering glances that the king turned to face the wall and Aramir buried his face in his arms. Giving no thought to anything but getting out of the blanket, Enna turned her back to them, scrambled to untie the cord, and slipped into the tunic and dropped the blanket to the floor.
"You can look now."
The two men turned back, and Enna knelt back down at Aramir's side, gently tugging the canvas strips from his scabbed back. "I'm sorry," she whispered as he hissed in pain. "The king has brought some proper bandages for you."
"And salve," the king said, hefting the phial in his hand.
Enna wiped a dribble of fresh blood from the deepest gash before taking the salve from him. It smelled of almonds and menthol and tingled pleasantly as she poured some into her palm, but Aramir's muscles tensed as she touched his back to apply it.
"Steady, now," the king said, putting his hands on the youth's arms in a bracing sort of way.
Aramir's muscles tensed and slackened as he struggled against the cry of pain that must have been fighting to free itself from his throat, and Enna found herself wincing as she rubbed the salve into the deep gashes on the youth's back.
When she finished, Enna's palms were smeared with minty ointment and blood, and she quickly rubbed them off on the cleanest scrap of canvas she could find.
"You'll feel better in a snap, I'm sure of it," the king was saying to Aramir, who was trying bravely to smile.
Enna took the rolls of bandages and brushed a stray curl from Aramir's brow. "One last time, I promise."
He looked at the bandages and gave a tight-lipped nod.
Enna bandaged Aramir as gently as she could, and once she was done, he actually managed to sit up, though he swayed alarmingly for a moment before straightening and giving a courageous grin.
"That's a boy," the king said proudly, clapping the youth's shoulder. Now that Enna could see them side-to-side, they looked to be about the same age, perhaps, or only a few years apart.
"Thank you, sire," she said, bowing,
"Peter."
"Excuse me, sire?"
"Peter," he repeated. "My name is Peter."
"A noble name, sire."
He opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to change his mind and instead shut it with a sigh. "You two should try to get some rest," he said after a momentary pause. "I've looked into departing passenger ships—"
Enna's heart leapt.
"And the next one bound for a foreign port isn't due to set sail until the next new moon."
"Two months?" Enna gasped, then clapped a hand over her mouth. "I mean—thank you, sire."
"You will be properly fed and boarded upon the termination of your sentences, of course," he continued quietly. "I assure you, you will be most comfortable."
"I think anything is more comfortable than a ship, sire," Aramir said, and Enna smiled.
"Cair Paravel is better than any ship, I swear," said the king with a good-natured laugh. "I'm only sorry you had to spend your first nights down here...good night, then."
"Good night, sire," Aramir and Enna said in unison. And so the king left them.