(A/N: I LIVE!! Whew…it's been a VERY long few months, eh? School has just been so stressful and time-consuming lately that I have had hardly any time at ALL to even read, much less write. But I've been trying to catch up, and have made some heartening progress in all five of my current projects—not including, of course, the A Time for Us oneshots I've promised people. I'm so sorry about the delay! But here's a rather brief chapter, to hopefully slake your thirst.)

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Enna lifted her head groggily and spat bits of straw out of her mouth, wiping her face with her sleeve and stretching. Spears of sharp bedding jabbed her in every location imaginable, and she began to feel distinctly like curling up again and never waking up. But the chill air, throbbing temples, and highly disagreeable sleeping area convinced her otherwise, and she managed to drag her body into what was more or less a sitting-up position.

"I see you're awake," said Aramir from his side of the hay mound.

Enna ran the unnecessarily long sleeve of the soft tunic over her eyes and began to pick the leftover bits of straw from her hair. "In a manner of speaking, yes. How long did I sleep?"

"I have no idea, really," he said apologetically. "A few hours, I'd guess."

Enna nodded silently and began to loosen her plait. But this determined to be a task worth several hours and a few different comb sizes, so she did it up again and tied it firmly, making a promise to herself to wash it properly once she had the chance.

Aramir's voice broke the silence of the dungeon. "King Peter's been by already. Fine chap—brought us breakfast, too."

"Really? Breakfast?" Enna echoed breathlessly, then quickly clapped a hand over her mouth.

But Aramir didn't seem to notice—what seemed to Enna—her continuing odd talkativeness, and nodded towards another bucket nearby. "He said it was fantastic fare today. Take a gander, if you want."

Enna stood stiffly and went towards the pail. Under the linen handkerchief, she found a large loaf of soft white bread with a little glass pot of ruby red jam. Ah, Rosandrine, Enna thought, lifting it out with a twitching of her lips. There was a jug of cool water, too, and two boiled eggs alongside a napkin wrapped around what she assumed to be knives or other utensils.

"Aramir," she said after a moment's concerned pause, "how come you haven't eaten yet?"

"Wasn't hungry."

She looked up suspiciously, and then felt her heart contract with sympathy. Aramir was stretched out on his stomach with his face hidden in his arms. Though he'd tried to disguise it with a woolen blanket, she could see plainly the dark blood staining his bandages.

"Aramir," Enna clucked, and tugged the napkin out of the pail. Two knives and a phial clattered across the flagstones. Her heart leapt at the sight of the king's salve, and she snatched it before crawling over to Aramir's side.

He stirred at her approach and hastily attempted to sit up, but she caught his warm shoulder and forced him none-too-gently back to the straw. A groan of pain escaped his throat, and she bit the inside of her lower lip firmly as she began to peel the soaking bandages from his torn skin.

Under the smears of blood, however, Enna could see that what the night before had been deep, dark gashes were now puckered and shallow. As she dabbed the blood from his skin, the white scars that marked previous scourgings became clearer, and her stomach clenched with pity.

"Tell me," Aramir said suddenly. "What was it that made you stow away on the Seacharger, anyhow?"

Enna froze for an instant, casting about for a good excuse, then continued cleaning the youth's skin. "That, sir, is none of your business."

Aramir took the hint and fell silent; Enna poured the piquant salve onto her hands and worked it gently into his wounds. The poor youth had a hard time keeping his cries of pain mute as she rubbed raw skin and tender bruises, and his kept his hands clenched in the straw.

Finally, Enna wiped her hands clean and found the other roll of white linen bandages. They'd gotten stuck under a little mound of hay, and as she picked the bits from the fabric, she asked Aramir how old he was.

"Twenty, miss, or thereabouts," was his answer.

"'Thereabouts?'" Enna echoed.

Aramir did his best to shrug. "I know I was born on April the twelfth. Just which year is beyond me—all I know is I'm between twenty and seventeen summers."

Aramir was surprisingly young for a sailor, Enna thought to herself as she smeared some of Rosandrine's jam on a hunk of white bread for him. He ate the food gratefully as she re-bandaged his back, and for a long while, the only sound was that of chewing, the occasional chink of utensil on flagstones, and the crackling of the torches in the corridors.

Finally, Enna worked up the courage to ask the tow-headed young man lying nearby, "Aramir…why…why do you—where did all those scars on your back come from?"

"The captain," he answered matter-of-factly, and ate his egg.

Questions began popping up in Enna's mind, and she took a steadying breath. 'Twould serve no good to get overwhelmed. "How long have you been sailing?"

"About ten years, or so."

"Where did you live?"

"My blood's Calormene and Archenlandian, by my parents raised on the isle of Galma."

Enna scarcely suppressed a shudder at the mention of her old home. She thought she'd left it all behind, and yet this doe-eyed youth watching her so calmly had grown up there, too. "I see. And what about your parents?"

"My mother and father took ill with fever when I was about six."

"Oh." He didn't need to say any more; already, Enna was full of pity for him.

"And yours?" he asked then.

Enna's tongue stopped working quite suddenly. "Er…um…my…my—f-father died when I was very young, and my mother wed his brother when I was nine." Enna took a breath and swallowed hard—she scarcely knew Aramir, and yet here she was, telling him things she never dared to think about, herself. She twisted her tunic in her hands and shifted to face away from him. It was getting rather cold.

"Thank you, miss," Aramir said after a moment's silence.

"My name's Enna," she replied, and was instantly regretful for her rather sharp tone.

"Thank you, Enna."

Enna passed her sleeve over her eyes, trying to rub away the ache that had settled behind them, and let out a sigh. The hay mound looked suddenly inviting again, and she stumbled over to curl up in it. It had scarcely entered her mind that she hadn't eaten any of the king's breakfast when she curled up under her blanket and drifted off into restless sleep.