Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, nor do I own its characters or its plot lines. All of these belong to C.S. Lewis. Characters such as Sir Steiphen and Queen Anea I have added.

Author's Note: Lo and behold, Chapter Two! A new character is introduced in this story and will later on become rather important in some turning points (his name is actually the chapter title). This isn't one of the more action-y chapters, but hang in there, it will come! So, enjoy! Please review.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~Chapter Two: Sir Steiphen~

"Poor boy Glozelle. Even five lashes is torture, I'm sure. I had to tend to him tonight. Stitches and what not." Nurse put a silver platter holding stew and bread on it in front of Miraz in his roomy chamber. The sky was dark outside the windows, so a high chandelier lighted the chamber. Miraz pushed away the tray, staring glumly at the etches in the table and thinking of the events of the day. Though he disagreed with his father often, he knew that he had been stupid to go out that morning.

Nurse bustled over to him, briefly checking his bruises and then brushing a hand across his forehead. She looked at him with concerned eyes.

"What ails you, love? Be you ill?" She inquired. Miraz turned away.

"I'm not hungry, is all." Miraz grumbled.

The bushy eyebrows of the nurse rose. "Ah. I thought you were more silent than usual."

"It's that brat Caspian!" Miraz finally told the truth, for he knew he could to Nurse and not get in trouble for it. "He was grinning like a Cheshire when they were beating Glozelle." He remembered staring at the boy as the whip fell upon him, looking into his dark eyes that were staring back at him in a strange, animal-like gaze. He seemed in a trance as he was whipped, as if he was trying to escape from the reality that held him. And Caspian laughed at such a thing?

Nurse shook her head sadly. "Poor, poor lad. His life is doomed to torturous tasks in the kingdom, what being an orphan and all." Nurse rose from her kneeling position, whisking herself over to the basin again, the water within it now cold. "Your father wanted to converse with you privately and without the audience of your brother tonight. I suppose he wants to be more social with you? I know you two are oil and water at times..."

Worry crossed Miraz's face. His father? More social? Surely not. He only meant to chastise him further - to tell him that he was a great disgrace to the kingdom and unworthy for being a prince, and to be grateful that he didn't inherit the crown.

"Now, don't fret, child!" Nurse grinned at his worry, trying to cheer him up. "He barely speaks to you, nor you with him! Now put on something more presentable, perhaps your good velvet and that lovely little gold mount?"

Freshly garbed and clean of dirt, young Miraz made his way down the hall, trying to look superior almost, with his chin high and neck long, a hand resting gently and elegantly on a small, gold-encrusted mount adorning his belt, as if trying to show the meager passers-by that he was no trouble-making prince, though his bruises betrayed that thought. He moved along the hall at a sedate pace, taking in the wall tapestries and idling about to stall his visit with his father.

He continued on, fearing what his father would say to him so privately. He found his father to be a stern, powerful figure, albeit condescending, dwarfing even the greatest of his ancestors and casting his shadow on the villagers. He knew his brother would probably be much like his father, inheriting many of his sharp, aquiline features and heir to the throne and the future keeper of the power. For this, Miraz abhorred his brother and at the same time feared him, as well.

He came to his father's great quarters. It mimicked the throne room in some ways, with the pillars and the rich purple velvet, though it was much smaller than the throne room. His father kept a large gray-and-black falcon that he had trained for hunting—he was always very pleased to show it off in a hunting party. It was always perched in his room over by a small window, clicking and chirping as if it were just born, twisting its head round in a stupid fashion..

Miraz peered in. To his surprise, his father stood beside another figure, and it seemed that they had been conversing for a long time. The prince recognized this figure to be Sir Steiphen.

Miraz had known Steiphen's father, the pompous, stout Lord Gordon, who had died but a winter before. Steiphen was quite different from his father. Distinguished, grave, and militant, Steiphen was the commander of the Telmarine Army, though he was only twenty years. He was highly acknowledged by Miraz's father, so it seemed, and thus he had a high position. He was a slim, powerful figure, standing eye-level with the king. Though not as steady-handed and more lenient than the monarch, the fire in his eyes showed that he was not one to be messed with. Miraz listened to their conversation.

"We have no enemies, Steiphen. We are at peace with the other nations." Caspian was assuring Steiphen, though the commander still had a glint of doubt on his face.

He protested. "I beg to differ, your majesty." He said, his voice a murmur. "We have enemies. We always will." He was brave enough to challenge the king by adding: "Not everyone will always agree with you."

Caspian, taken slightly aback, shot him a look. "Who is it then? Who is this—er—great, impenetrable enemy, Steiphen?"

Steiphen sighed at the king's insulting sarcasm, almost stalling, but finally said:

"Terabinthia, your majesty."

"Terabinthia?" The king gave a small chuckle. "Do not be daft, Commander. And you are usually so sensible, too! Terebinthians are numbered. We Telmarines are not. They are a simple people, stranded on their own island, with more horses than people. If ever we needed to seige, we would do so like a cat to a fly!"

Steiphen grew more defiant. Why did the king like him even when he rebuked him so? "But you must be aware, sir, that they have allies—"It was at that moment that Miraz decided to walk in. Both men looked at him, Steiphen with a penetrating glare, Caspian with a look of mild surprise.

"Miraz," the king greeted him.

Steiphen bowed his head a little. "Your highness."

The king turned to the young commander gravely. "We will continue this discussion later, Steiphen, I assure you." Miraz could tell that there was still cold feelings between the two superpowers especially after that conversation.

"Aye, your majesty." Steiphen said rather harshly. "Fare thee well." He fled hurriedly, brushing past Miraz and barely acknowledging him as he exited, tugging on the collar of his leather coif.

There was an awkward moment of silence after Steiphen left. Miraz broke it by saying:

"You wanted to see me, father?"

"—yes." The king almost blurted out his reply. "But first I must tell you that it has nothing to do with what has happened earlier this day."

Miraz looked down at his shifting feet to hide his sigh of relief, waiting for his father to continue.

He did, after some time. "Steiphen, our…good commander, plans to campaign in the mountains in two years or less. He will be gone until then recruiting knights and scouting. You will be two and ten by the time he returns to start the campaign, Miraz."

Miraz gave him a quizzical glance.

Caspian didn't notice it. He was too busy pacing. "That will be the year that you will become a squire, Miraz! Your coming of age, if you will. Now, Steiphen has seen you in the courtyard, drilling with the pages."

"Actually, he's our overwa—"

"Of course, of course. He has a peaked interest in you. He wants you to be his squire."

"But—"

"Think of it as a privilege, Miraz. Steiphen is known for his skill with a blade. Imagine what skill he will pass down to you! You will learn much under him, even learn to be a gentleman, perhaps. You will be disciplined, and grow up to be more respectable, like your brother."

There it was again. Like your brother. Of course, he found someway to tell me that I was a humiliation, telling me to become 'respectable'! Caspian the Ninth was everything but a gentleman. Disciplined? A privilege? Miraz heard that Steiphen would violently drill his squire all through daylight and then beat him afterward. Miraz loathed the day he would have to serve Sir Steiphen. He hated even to be watched by him as he drilled in the courtyard.

The last thing he wanted to be was his squire!

TO BE CONTINUED