Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, Miraz, or other characters invented by C.S. Lewis. All belong to said author, who belongs to the Great Author.

Author's Note: Chapter Eight, masterfully and docilely entitled "Steiphen's Camp". Miraz learns more about Steiphen and you learn more about the title of this story thanks to this chapter! So let's give a round of applause to our good ol' buddy Chapter Eight! Whoot! Ok, you probably opened this to read...so...go ahead. Enjoy! Read and review!

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~Chapter Eight: Steiphen's Camp~

They came to a large gorge when evening fell and Miraz felt very far from home, but it didn't touch him too deeply—for it was home he was fleeing from. But looking into the clear sunset, shaded with gray clouds and painted with beautiful pastel colors, there was a little tinge of doubt in his heart. He almost missed seeing the face of his brother! It was what he had known for his whole twelve years, as well as his father's stern eyes, always chastising him day in and day out. It had tortured him, but now, he yearned for it. He yearned to see their faces.

But now, the stern, condescending face of Steiphen would have to suffice.

"We camp here, men!" He called to his squad, and they rested back into their saddles and brought out small tents to sleep in, drinking thirstily from their canteens and refilling them in the gorge's water. Miraz dismounted and looked around at the havoc that had formed in only a few seconds. He met Steiphen's green-eyed gaze and quickly tore away from it as soon as he'd met it. "You'll stay in my tent, Miraz." His voice was hoarse and gravelly. "I need to show you something."

Miraz nodded absentmindedly, the words of his mother still chewing on his head. It was a good thing he had more time to think and be aloof for a while, before going off to real war—Steiphen had said the barbarians were high in the mountains still, that loomed far from the gorge that their camp was being set up by. He would still have time for training, getting a decent sword, learning the tactics of war - and thinking more about his coming treachery. He knew it would rack his brain in the following years.

Steiphen's tent was a large pavilion, with a makeshift table in the center and two small pallets off to the side for Master and Servant. Steiphen set down a large satchel of documents—old and new, sealed and unsealed—onto his desk, and looked as if he was going to sit down on his high-backed chair before Miraz as he entered, but dismissed the idea and began pacing slowly and rhythmically. The documents would have to wait.

"You wanted to see me?" Miraz asked as he entered. He wasn't garbed very finely and looked rather like a peasant, for he'd unfastened his vest down the middle and untucked his tunic. His face was smudged with dirt that the horses had kicked up during their trek to the gorge. His arming-sword was still hanging on the horn of his saddle, which was on his horse outside, though his dagger was still buckled and resting on his hip.

"Yes." Steiphen said curtly, meeting Miraz's gaze again. Miraz tore away again. To Miraz, Steiphen was merely an interference, something that would keep him away from his thoughts and nag him like the hound he was. He wouldn't grow to close to the knight - he knew it wasn't wise. He was confused with Steiphen's character, even after the many years of knowing him. Was he a gentleman, or was he a cruel man who horse-whipped his squires? Miraz could discover nothing underneath the mystery of his eyes, where Miraz often looked to discover a person.

"I want you to know that we are now Squire and Knight, and that, Miraz, is an undying bond."

Miraz. The prince had never heard Steiphen say his name so nonchalantly, handling it loosely like a play-thing, not even adding "sir", "lord", or "your highness" to his name. This must be some undying bond.

Steiphen continued. "Because it is such, I must tell you that…we are like father and son."

This caught Miraz by stark, stark surprise. Father and son? Really? It was that important of a bond? Miraz hoped his paleness wasn't visible to the young Commander, who seemed slightly unnerved himself. He put his hands behind his back and continued pacing awkwardly. He didn't flash his frightening gaze for some while. He was deep in thought as well, though his thoughts were occupied by the matters at hand, not like the wandering, aimless mind of the child standing before him.

"But I must tell you of betrayal, as well."

This shook Miraz's nerves even more. The very matter his conscience had been battling over! What did Steiphen know about betrayal? A little thought rocked Miraz into sheer terror—did Steiphen somehow overhear what his mother had said to him? Did he know of Miraz's whole plot? His eyes were rather suspicious.

"It can happen. I have seen it happen many times, everywhere, to any knight - be it soldier or sergeant. It is quite prominent between Master and Squire. A rash, ambitious squire…or an air-headed master, too full of himself…but usually…it always points to the squire."

Steiphen caught Miraz's gaze sharply again, and this time Miraz felt like he couldn't rip away from it. It was so deep, so sorrowful, so filled with a haunting past that Miraz knew was going to unfold within the hour. It was a side Miraz had never seen in Steiphen - a side of sadness, grief, almost compassion and hope that Miraz wouldn't betray him. But somehow, in some way, those stony eyes told him yes, he would.

"I was once betrayed, Miraz, by my squire. Only five years ago, when you were but a page of eight years old. His name was Garius. Do not take me for a fool, for I was proud of him—he was patient, good with a blade, a model squire any inferior should—should have—looked up to. But he was quite envious of my position, I could tell—how, I do not know, but I could. But one night—"

Steiphen undid the leather ties of his coif for the first time before Miraz, pulling it off to expose his bare neck. From his left ear all the way to his upper right shoulder blade, was the most grotesque, ropey scar Miraz had ever seen, as if it was a stripe left there by a bullwhip. Tears welled in Steiphen's eyes as he remembered the sad day, feeling the long, smooth scar that traveled across his neck.

"One night he tried to kill me. While I was sleeping, he took a dagger to my throat and made his attempt, but his cut was too shallow. I lived. He was hanged for treason only days afterward. If anyone should feel like a traitor now—it should be me. I shouldn't have let them kill him. Prison would've dealt with him—but hanging, far be it from me to have let him hang upon my will!"

Miraz was silent. He didn't know what to say. He'd never even thought of attempting to kill Steiphen, though his thoughts toward him weren't sunny, necessarily—he'd never try to bring him to his grave. But perhaps Steiphen wasn't only talking about Squire betraying Master—but Brother betraying Brother. Was it the betrayed that was the traitor? Or the traitor himself? Or both? Miraz knew the answer: How could the betrayed be the traitor? The traitor was always the one who was the traitor.

So Miraz, though he had not done a thing to his brother yet, knew he was not a brother to Caspian, but a brother to betrayal. As was Vostad. As was Garius. Vostad killed his brother and welcomed his betrayal. Garius did his deed willingly, Miraz knew. And Miraz knew as well...he loved betrayal more than he loved his brother.

All of them—Vostad, Miraz, Garius—were brothers to betrayal.

They were Brothers of Betrayal.

TO BE CONTINUED