Disclaimer: I own nothing except Ava Rydia, Melody, and the Guardians. Sinaaq is based off somebody that I used to know (see what I did there?), with some creative license. I also do NOT own the quotes from William Shakespeare's play Richard III, nor do I own the modern translation of them.

Note: The point of view will remain in third person, but now the focus will sometimes change from Ava to Sinaaq, depending on the situation. It shouldn't be confusing, but if it is, tell me in a review and I will see what I can do.

Songs for this chapter: He's a Tramp by Peggy Lee, Pokerface by Lady Gaga

Reviews are greatly appreciated as well as inspiring!

Chapter 4: Sinaaq

Ava sat, frozen in place for a moment that seemed to last for hours. Suddenly, without thinking, she punched the man hard across the jaw, knocking him out cold and injuring her hand.

"OW!" she cried, clutching her hand to her chest. "Why did I just do that?" she asked herself.

She stood up, still cradling her hand, and looked around. The palace guards wouldn't be able to hear her if she called to them from here. She looked down at the man and groaned. He would be way too heavy for her to lift; Ava had never been known for strength, but instead for agility, speed, and using her small size to her advantage. As she was trying to think of a way to transport the poacher, she noticed a trail of blood, indicating the direction from which he came, and a few feet away lay a large, circular shield. He must have discarded the shield when he became too weak to carry it. He's lost a lot of blood.

Finding no immediate solution to her predicament, Ava stood up and took a few deep breaths. She turned and opened the door as wide as it would go, then put a small rock in front of it for good measure. Then came her next problem: how to drag the man into the castle and into the infirmary without further damaging his wounds. She chewed on her lip. An idea came to her and she began searching him for weapons. She managed to find a small dagger, which appeared to be for hunting or eating rather than combat, and began hacking away at the fur cloak until she had a scrap big enough to cover the wound. She then proceeded to use the dagger to cut a long strip from her chemise. Unfortunately, the thin material ripped easily, and by the time she was done, her chemise was only brushing the tops of her knees. Now she was quite indecent and very cold.

Ava knelt down and took the strip of chemise, struggling to run it underneath the man at his lower back. Once she did that, she took the scrap of cloak and pressed it to the wound, then bound it in place as tight as she could with the chemise scrap. She then retrieved his shield and slid it under him as best she could. She stood up, took a few deep breaths, grabbed the edge of the shield, and began to pull the man through the doorway. Aslan's mane, he's heavy! She thought.

Inch by inch she dragged him through the corridors towards the infirmary. It seemed like forever had passed by the time she managed to get him there. She was exhausted and the sun was starting to rise.

Ava grabbed an apron and began pulling medical supplies out of draws and off of shelves, setting to work removing the man's clothes and tending to his wound to her best ability. He was a criminal, yes—the murder of a talking animal was the same offense as murdering a human in Narnia—but she wouldn't have him die before giving him a trial and sentence.

The first sense Sinaaq regained, when he came to from oblivion, was pain, but not where he expected. His mind was foggy, and he couldn't remember what events had transpired before he had passed out. He remembered losing a fight with a particularly dangerous wolf; He remembered nearly having his entrails ripped out through his side. He recalled punching the wolf in the snout with one hand while his other hand was shoved in his wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He didn't care that this wolf had escaped; it wasn't the right one anyway. He remembered picking up his shield and retreating. He could vaguely remember getting lost and ending up in someone's courtyard, but his vision had been rapidly failing and he had been unable to see exactly where he was through the darkness and snowfall. He could also recall lying on the cold ground, feeling numb.

Suddenly, as the rest of his senses returned, he was able to remember being startled awake by a young woman…right before she punched him. He made to reach up to touch the place where she had given him a very impressive right hook, when he felt something cold and heavy around his wrist.

Sinaaq's eyes shot open, darting around, taking in every detail of his surroundings. He had been propped into a sitting position in the corner of a cell, his wrists shackled to the wall with long chains. His wound had been dressed and, when he peeled back the dressing for a peak, he found that it had been stitched shut as well. The only source of light came from a small, barred window, too high up for most people to reach. His only article of clothing that had been left on him was his black trousers. He groaned and ran a hand over his face, wincing when he touched his jaw. Thankfully, the woman had not managed to break it.

Sinaaq could not remember much about her, for he had been faint from blood loss, though he wished he could. As if on cue, he heard a door opening, footsteps—they were obviously from a small person—keys jingling, then a key turning in the lock to the wooden door of his cell. The door opened, and he froze. There, mere feet away from him, was the same woman who had socked him in the jaw, he was suddenly very sure of it.

She was definitely small, but she was more than skin and bones; she had curves, broad shoulders, and lean muscles, accented by her simple gown. The gown was the same indigo shade as the Eastern Sea, which reflected in her grey eyes and brought out the ivory shade of her skin and the red in her sangria locks, which were pulled back in a long braid that draped over her left shoulder. A silver hair comb, made to look like vines with little pearls on the leaves, kept any stray strands of hair away from her face. Her face was soft, almost like a child's, but held a certain maturity that aged her around her mid-twenties. She had the air of authority that was to be expected from a noble and was not at all intimidated by Sinaaq—not that he was very intimidating at the moment anyway.

Sinaaq blinked and shook his head when he realized he had been staring. The woman, who he now knew to be the advisor to King Caspian X that he had heard so much about, gracefully fanned her skirt out around her body as she sat down in front of him, obviously making a point to stay just out of reach. She never took her eyes off of him.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked. Sinaaq nodded.

"Yes. You must be King Caspian's advisor," he answered.

"I am. Do you have a name, wolf hunter?" she asked her voice remaining emotionless and business-like. She never once broke eye contact. It was almost unnerving. Thankfully, Sinaaq wasn't easily unnerved.

"I do. My name is Sinaaq."

"Sinaaq. Alright then," the advisor said as if trying out the name. "Do you know why I have brought you here, Sinaaq?" she asked.

"I'm sure I could guess, but why don't you tell me and save me the trouble?" Sinaaq answered with a small smirk. The woman raised an eyebrow at him, the way one does when she's trying to say you're a fool for pushing your luck.

"You are here to await trial for the murder of many talking wolves in Narnia. How do you plead?" she responded, her voice growing slightly harder.

"Guilty," Sinaaq answered easily. The woman's eyes twitched, almost narrowing at him.

"You know honesty does not grant you anything?" she asked. Sinaaq nodded.

"Yes, but lying grants me nothing either," he replied.

"That is true," she agreed. She was silent for a moment. Was she trying to think of something to say? Or was she waiting for him to beg for his life? Did they even have a death sentence in Narnia?

"Why?" she asked, her voice softer, though her visage did not change.

"Pardon me?" Sinaaq asked, leaning forward a little.

"Why…did you kill those wolves?" she asked, her voice harsher.

Sinaaq sat there for a minute, thinking about his answer. There were so many ways he could go about it.

"Does it matter why I did it?" he asked at last.

"Maybe," the advisor answered.

"Then it's for me to know and you to wonder about," Sinaaq replied with a cheeky smirk. The woman glared at him as if her eyes could set him ablaze. She stood up, looking down at him, the muscles in her jaw tightening.

"I guess I expected too much out of a common murderer," she said, venom dripping from her words. Sinaaq chuckled.

"Oh, I can assure you, milady, I'm far from common," he said with a smirk. The woman rolled her eyes.

"Lucky for you, Narnia has no death penalty," she said. She turned her gaze to the ceiling and mumbled, "Either let Aslan send lightning to strike the murderer dead or let the earth open wide and devour him." Sinaaq chuckled.

"Toots, you don't know the rules of charity. When faced with bad, you're supposed to turn it into good. And when subject to curses, you're supposed to convert them into blessings," he said in mock admonishment. He smirked as he watched the tiny woman grow more irritated, flexing her fingers like a cat, as if she were ready to rake her nails across his face.

"Villain, you do not know the laws of Aslan or of man," she growled. Sinaaq found her anger to be quite fetching. She was a fiery little thing, though he was not fool enough to think she wouldn't claw his face to shreds for saying so.

"You accuse me so, but would explaining myself really change anything?" Sinaaq pointed out. The advisor crossed her arms, looking much like a petulant child.

"Maybe, but if you killed yourself, it would show that you felt some guilt for killing others," she replied coldly.

Sinaaq didn't know why, but he was slightly taken aback. He hadn't expected her to be so cruel. Then again, in her eyes, he was a murderer and she was being just.

"Let's say I didn't kill them," Sinaaq said, stroking his goatee thoughtfully.

"Then you might as well say they're not dead. But they are dead, and you killed them," the woman replied.

"And what if they provoked me?" Sinaaq asked.

"What provoked you was your own bloodthirsty mind. … You killed these wolves did you not?" she replied. Sinaaq nodded.

"Yes, I'll grant you that."

"Then let Aslan grant me that you'll be damned for those wicked deeds! Oh, those wolves were gentle, mild, and virtuous," she lamented. Her stoic façade was gone. Sinaaq had clearly done more than annoyed her. She was angry and mourning the loss of subjects.

"That will please Aslan, who has them now," Sinaaq said, his tone uncaring. The advisor clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. Sinaaq watched her carefully. She was not composed the way he expected an advisor to the king to be.

"They are with Aslan, where you will never go," she said through her teeth.

"Let him thank me, who helped them get there. They're better suited to be there than here," Sinaaq said, gesturing to the raging weather outside.

"And you're not suited for any place except hell," the woman spat. Sinaaq stood up, albeit slowly and painfully, chuckling as he did so.

"Yes, and one other place, if you will hear me name it," he said with a smirk.

"This dungeon?" the advisor asked sarcastically, a hand on her hip. Sinaaq stepped forward until his chains were taught and leaned so that his lips were just a hairsbreadth from the woman's ear.

"Your bedchamber," he whispered huskily. The advisor's jaw dropped and she pushed him back angrily, which only served to make him grin.

"There is no rest to be had in any bedchamber where you are!" she growled, taking a backwards step towards the door.

"Exactly, madam, until I lie with you," Sinaaq said cheekily, smirking more.

The advisor finally had enough and turned to punch, not smack, him across the jaw again, but he grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him firmly, but not enough to hurt her, and kissed her right on the lips. She squeaked and wriggled, but her wriggling only made him hold onto her more. Sinaaq smiled against her mouth when he felt her start to relax—but was startled when she brought her knee up into his groin. He doubled over in pain as the woman twisted out of his grasp. She stomped to the door, opened it, and glared down at him.

"Your vile behavior has only served to condemn you further. You will be retrieved at a later time for your hearing," she snarled.

Sinaaq looked up just in time to see the door slam and hear it lock. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Angering the king's advisor had been good fun. He was usually only that irritating to people he hated, but she was such a vixen when angry, he just couldn't resist. Her lips had been so soft and warm…and though she did not return the action, it had been fantastic nonetheless. He sighed.

"I'm going to pay for that," he mused aloud, running a hand through his hair.

In the castle training room, Ava was busy beating a practice dummy to a pulp. The criminal had been so infuriating! She wanted to throttle him! He was just so…

She growled and threw another punch at the dummy, this time, breaking it and making it fall in pieces on the stone floor.

"Oops," she said as she stared down at the broken equipment, surprised that she had broken it.

Usually, if someone made her angry, beating things up made her feel so much better, but Sinaaq had gotten under her skin and, like a pesky infection, she couldn't seem to be rid of thoughts of him. She growled and kicked the pieces of the broken dummy hard enough to send them flying.

"Whoa there!" exclaimed Caspian, dodging a projectile piece of broken dummy as he entered the room. Ava glanced up at him, then started looking around to see what she wanted to abuse next.

"What has you so vexed?" the king asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Just our new prisoner, the infamous wolf hunter," Ava grumbled in reply.

"Did he say something to upset you?" Caspian asked, concerned.

"Oh, he said many things. All of which were vile and uncouth and crude. I shall be happy to be rid of him," his advisor replied. Caspian raised an eyebrow.

"You know the most likely sentence will be for him to live out the rest of his days in the dungeon, right?" he pointed out.

"Yes, I know that. Still, I cannot help but wish we had a better solution," Ava replied sulkily.

"Did you manage to get an explanation from him? Did he have a reason for his crimes?" Caspian asked.

"He would not say; he decided to be difficult," she answered with a growl. Caspian chuckled, causing her to snap her gaze to him.

"What, pray tell, is so damn funny, Caspian?" she snapped.

"I'm just eager to see what this man is like, despite his crimes. I've never seen anyone vex you this way. Maybe he can give me some ideas," Caspian replied, ducking as Ava plucked a dagger from the wall and threw it at him. Thankfully, she missed and it clattered to the floor, leaving the king laughing as he exited the room. She growled and kicked another practice dummy.

"Stupid criminal. Stupid king. Stupid men!" she grumbled.