Disclaimer: I don't own any of this! Lord of the Rings and everything it contains was originally the idea of J.R.R. Tolkien. Credits for Narnia and everything associated with it go to C.S. Lewis. This was based on the video 'The king, the girl and the lion – Trailer' by Nonokun24 on YouTube. A lot of influence came from – three guesses! – 'A Song of Ice and Fire' by George R.R. Martin, better known from a certain HBO show. Yeah, 'Game of Thrones' is great. I like the books better, though… Anyway, I'll repeat this question whenever I think it's necessary, but does anyone think I should change the rating? Better safe than sorry, and the books and the series are both pretty graphic… The book I got my inspiration from is 'A Storm of Swords', part one: 'Steel and Snow'. Other inspirations: 'Power Rangers SPD' (the 'complete' team-up with Dino Thunder, which also includes Trent and the Black Ranger), and the cinematic ending of 'Omens' in the 'Fall of the Trident' campaign in 'Age of Mythology'. Also, special thanks to my three best friends in the world! I put them in this, and they convinced me to put myself in it. Then a wonderful former class mate of mine, also part of the story. And another friend, who helped me out in creating the slave system. Oh, unless I'm very much mistaken, 'the Year of the Dragon' and 'Fire Cycle' are actual Chinese terms with regards to the succession of the years. A perpetual cycle.
Author's note: I'm so sorry! I'm so incredibly sorry! I know it took me forever… But one: this is pretty long. Two: I've just had exams. Three: I've had some computer problems, so I didn't dare access FanFiction so soon. But I spent my time preparing other chapters, so all I have to do is add author's notes and I can upload quite a lot =)
This is dedicated to my wonderful friends! Thanks, all five of you, and particularly the four who are from now on part of this story!
Thank you, to all readers and reviewers!
I hope you'll enjoy reading!
Prologue
"Thomas isn't the man I was at the time."
Thomas VII Pevensie, Jogun and Knight of the Taisho Clan, waited at the door until he'd be called in. However, he could hear every word.
"A good thing, for if he were, he would become the man you are."
Thomas immediately recognized the voice of the Shifu, the teacher at the Dragon Academy, for beside the common lessons he got extra classes, to learn to mix the Eastern techniques with the Western arms of his ancestors completely.
Hastily the Shifu spoke on: "That is not a problem on itself, quite the contrary. But the times are changing. In 5 years the Year of the Dragon will start, and now is the Fire Cycle."
The Shogun waved that argument aside: "For the 62nd time since the Fall of Rhûn. What makes this time special?"
"It is at the same time the 3000th year of Sauron's tyranny, and the 500th the Pevensies have provided us with Shoguns. And there are other signs. Your son is the 7th of his name, and he has 3 Blood Warriors. Holy numbers. At the Jarw – Rhûnhirrim the Dragon has given the present Shogun a son on his 24th birthday," the Shifu listed.
Thomas could almost feel his father's grim smile as the Shogun said: "My son resembles my brother more than me."
The Shifu reacted: "With all due respect, Your Grace, but you should be proud of your brother. He was a brave and honorable man."
"He certainly was," the Shogun replied. "Liam fought valiantly. Liam fought nobly. Liam fought honorably. And Liam died. The problem is rather that. My brother died when he wasn't much older than Thomas is now."
The Jogun got tired of it and entered.
Thomas bowed. "My lord and father, you had sent for me?"
The Shogun smiled widely and answered: "I have an assignment for you, my son."
"Speak, father, I am your loyal servant," the Knight immediately replied.
The Lord said: "It is my wish, my son and successor, that you shall visit the slave market. You will have money with you to buy."
Thomas' gaze darkened. "Father," he started, in a voice trembling with anger, "it is a disgrace that men of our birth and honor have to allow such a trade."
"I agree," his father answered calmly. "But there is no other way. So we had better learn how to deal with those traders."
Heated, Thomas replied: "Do you wish to learn how a Shogun should treat slavers? Allow me to teach you. It fits that he has every slaver in his lands hanged and thrown with the garbage."
"That is enough, Thomas," the Shogun said softly, but his eyes were narrowed to slits. "You will go to the slave market and show the slavers respect. And you will buy."
The younger noble was furious, but remained silent. He had been commanded – either by his father or by his Shogun – and he had learned to obey. But there were other possibilities.
"Your Grace, you know how little patience I have with those men," he started, at first sight a lot calmer. "And expressing human lives in money I hardly can; only with deep aversion. Send one of my Blood Warriors in my stead. Steven, who is blood of my blood, only few can even slightly understand, which may be an advantage. Rick, who is blood of my blood, will probably be able to control himself far more easily."
His father, who wasn't an unreasonable man, smiled and answered: "You're right. Every one of them is better suit for the task than you are. But you will go."
Thomas didn't understand; something he hated. "But father…"
The Shogun cut him off: "You will go, because you, unlike any of your Blood Warriors, will become Shogun. You have to learn those things. I will hear no more. You will go yourself; you're not sending one of your Blood Warriors."
Thomas bowed. "As my Shogun commands. However, I have one request."
"Speak," ordered his father.
The Jogun said: "I would like to have my sister accompany me. Maybe she can have a calming influence on me."
The older noble thought about that for a while. Then he nodded.
"Permitted. Shifu, send for Maid Mariska."
"Blood of my blood, it does seem wiser to me to let us accompany you."
Thomas shook his head. Rick, with barely 15 years the youngest of the four men, nonetheless was probably more intelligent and methodical than the others. But Thomas believed he had some smart points of his own.
"A large, heavily armed group may attract problems. And I really am good enough to survive until you can come to my aid."
"Let's hope…" responded Jeroen, half jokingly.
He was two years older than, but nowhere near as serious as Rick. The youngest had chosen the bow as his personal weapon – an unusual weapon in the East, but not unique at all. Jeroen's weapons, on the other hand, were unseen. Two sticks, each with steel points on both ends; Jeroen had designed these things himself and trained incredibly hard with them.
Rick tried again: "Blood of my blood, it is extremely dangerous to go on that market without protection. Slavers are not to be trusted. It is known."
"It is known," Jeroen eagerly confirmed.
Steven disagreed: "Slavers are to be trusted, if you line their pockets."
Jeroen proposed: "Blood of my blood, let me handle business for you."
"I too am willing to speak on your behalf," Steven offered as well.
He was with his 21 years the eldest of the company and the only one who had already finished his training. Thomas, who was 19, was in his next to last year. Steven's weapon was the naginata, an Eastern variant on the lance. He was a mystery; none dared to claim they had seen him through.
Thomas shook his head. "My father has decided I should learn to conclude that kind of transactions."
Jeroen still didn't give up: "But surely it isn't your father's intention for you to get involved in a conflict, blood of my blood. Let me go."
"No," Thomas said determined. "Sometimes a Shogun must go alone."
"Alone?" Mariska asked, her eyebrows raised.
She was still younger than Rick by a few weeks. Ever since she had become nubile two years before, the young nobles were lining up to be engaged to her. In the first place she was so popular because her father was Shogun; but there were other reasons.
The members of the House Pevensie, despite the enormous amounts of Eastern blood, had managed to keep their Western appearance; to the young nobles of the Taisho and the neighboring Clans there was something strangely exotic about that. The girl was pretty too. In opposition to her father and brother, who both towered above their Daimyo, she definitely wasn't tall, but she was slim, gracious and shapely.
Besides that she had a pretty face and a lot of love of life. Thomas and their father confirmed it was a pleasure to have her in their house. Mariska was a joyful and kind girl. Today, however, she mostly showed her stubbornness, a family trait.
"Doesn't baby sis count anymore?"
Thomas looked down on here, smiling. "Sorry."
"I bet you are," Mariska said drily. "And why can't they come, while you want me with you so badly?"
"I just said why they couldn't come along, sister dear." Thomas kissed her on the forehead. "Besides, with them along I may think I can risk a confrontation. With you I hopefully feel a little more responsible."
The Maid answered: "You always feel responsible."
Thomas laughed. "I guess I do. On top of that, you have to learn that kind of things too." The Knight sighed; suddenly he looked much older than his 19 years. "Mariska, even if this has a result, it'll mean every once in a long while I'll just manage to be polite to slavers. But when I'm Shogun, I can share that task. You won't like it either, but you can do it. I believe that."
Jeroen stepped forward. "Blood of my blood, your sister's presence is all the more reason to allow us to accompany you."
Thomas looked at him in surprise. His amazement grew even greater as he saw his little sister blush lightly. Now that he thought about it, those two had spent quite a lot of time together…
"No," Mariska said softly. "It would suit you to have faith in the judgment of my brother, who is blood of your blood."
Jeroen stiffly bowed and withdrew.
Thomas smiled at him reassuringly. "Don't worry, blood of my blood. If I run into trouble, I'll call for you."
After that brother and sister went on the market.
Thomas had never been to a slave market before, but he suspected this was an unusual one. The Shogun had told him about it, but it wasn't impossible that the older noble had spared the Knight or hadn't visited enough markets to get a really good idea himself.
The cages the student had expected were there, but only in small quantities; they were also concentrated on three separate spots, which caused Thomas to think it mostly depended on the trader: each trader had his own spot. The five who didn't use cages had told their mercenaries to build fences. Those were low and not too strong, but what these slavers saved on cages they spent on mercenaries; mercenaries who kept a sharp eye on the slaves.
Thomas kept an even sharper eye on the mercenaries. The majority were Khândians, well armed, well trained, experienced and hardened; as a warrior, Thomas immediately knew only few would survive taking them on in battle. But nobles were maybe in the first place, but not exclusively warriors. The Knight had been sent to learn, so he was determined to learn as much as possible.
Some things were already known. Families were usually kept together; that helped to get them to obey. There were those people – only few, but they existed – one could torture as much as one wanted, without breaking them. But when parents heard their children scream, or brothers their sisters, they didn't take long to decide they would do whatever their owner wanted. The tribune for buyers, on the other hand, was a surprise; it did occur, but not that often.
Some customers recognized the son of the Shogun and tried to start a friendly conversation, but Thomas reacted politely but coldly. Most gave up quite soon.
The last one to try started: "My lord. Are you here to sell?"
"No," the Jogun answered shortly. "To buy."
"Oh," the other responded. "A shame. At the end of the day you would've been the richest of all of us."
The man grinned at Mariska.
Thomas drew his sword. He did have a katana, but more often he used a sword in Western style, like his ancestors.
"I will let that slide one time," the young Knight said icily. "But if anyone ever takes my sister for a slave again, this steel will pass through his throat."
The man paled, slowly stepped back mumbling a thousand apologies and ran off.
After that brother and sister were left alone.
Finally Thomas picked a random stand.
As his father had taught him, he first took the time to extensively study the mercenaries. The trader was one of the five who used fences. He also traded on a relatively small scale; less than a hundred slaves, the Knight estimated, and six mercenaries. But they were Khândians.
Thomas was an Eastern noble, well trained, who had also mastered the Western techniques and wielded sword and shield instead of the well known katana, but Khândian fighters were after Eastern nobles the absolute elite. Outside of the Union and Narnia, at least… But no other Men than Eastern nobles could take Khândians. Six men of that caliber were too many.
Finally he softly said to his sister: "Mariska, keep an eye on the mercenaries. Warn me if they do anything suspicious."
The girl nodded, absent-minded. "Yeah, alright. But Thomas, look there."
The Jogun sighed. He turned his gaze to the human wares. Making up for a lack of quantity with quality seemed to be a habit of slaver's. In majority they were young men or girls; the others were relatives. Many were only children. Relatives were chained to each other; everyone looked healthy.
If the merchant knew his trade, he would make sure they didn't languish too badly; the same was true, albeit to a lesser extent, for the majority of the Masters. But humiliation was almost always there. The ideal was having the slaves themselves believe they were property.
It sickened Thomas. That's why he stayed away from these markets. But now he forced himself to look.
The Knight followed his little sister's finger with his eyes. She was pointing at a young girl, just a child. She sat alone; probably she had been captured during a raid in which her parents had been killed and she was only child. She was naked, like the others; clothes were property, and slaves didn't have property. They were property.
The young noble looked at Mariska again. "Her?"
When the girl hesitated, he elucidated: "You want me to bid on her?"
His sister answered: "Well, we can't afford an entire family. But for her… Maybe…"
"Okay," the boy shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just glad we figured that out. Now you pay attention to the mercenaries?"
"Yes, of course," said Mariska.
Thomas insisted: "Mariska, I'm entrusting you my life at this very moment. You have to promise me to take that seriously."
"I promise you I'll keep a close eye on them," the girl assured her brother.
The Knight nodded. "Okay."
After that he went to stand right next to the fence.
"You!" he shouted at the girl.
The child cringed and looked up.
Thomas smiled at her kindly. "Yes, you. Come here."
The slave shut down her eyes again and crawled towards the noble. The boy dropped to his knees. Calmly, with his kindest smile frozen on his face, he put a hand under the fence and caressed the girl's chin. She was trembling like an aspen leaf.
"Are you scared?" he asked, exactly like he had always asked Mariska when she was little.
The girl answered softly: "Yes, Milord."
The noble nodded. "Understandably."
With a sad smile he added: "Of me?"
The child started trembling even worse. "Milord…"
Thomas said reassuringly: "It's alright. Just be honest. There is no 'wrong answer'. Whatever you say, we won't hurt you."
The slave confessed: "A little, Milord."
The Knight's smile grew a little sadder. "Well… Logical, really. If our places had been reversed, I would probably have been afraid of you. You don't know me; you don't know what kind of person I am. Did I guess right?"
The slave girl answered softly: "Yes, Milord. But… Do you allow this one to speak?"
"Of course," smiled Thomas.
She continued: "This one believes you are… different. Unlike most who come here."
The Knight's typical faint smile for the rare occasion changed to a sincere, broad grin. "At least you make a fine judge of character. If I hadn't been sent, I wouldn't have come. I have asked to be allowed to send someone in my stead. My sister would've bought you; she was the one to point you out to me. Ask her about me if you want; you'll notice I… Certainly, I have my flaws, but I'm not a bad person."
The girl trembled a little less. "This one believes you, Milord, for what it's worth."
The Jogun heard the question she left unspoken: "What is a slave's word to a noble?"
Thomas bowed to her and whispered: "Everything."
The child looked up in surprise, but cringed again. The young man thought he understood.
Softly, he asked: "You have been trained, haven't you?"
The slave answered: "Yes, Milord."
The noble nodded thoughtfully. He had heard about that. But apparently the merchant who had got her trained had sold her too soon.
Obviously slaves' training was also about making them better in what would be expected of them – despite many exceptions the rule was that male slaves were destined for the field or sometimes the mines, and female slaves for the bed – but more importantly, they were also trained to accept their status as slaves. Especially children were trained, because they were easiest to influence.
This girl had been trained to see someone like Thomas – a child of the Shogunate – more or less as a god. Of course she felt uncomfortable about talking to him like this, now that she thought about it for a while. Probably she'd feel uncomfortable talking to him at all.
Not to worry, judged Thomas. Mariska would get her used to it. But for now he'd need to be careful and take it easy. By accident he was pretty good at that.
He asked: "What do you remember about your old life?"
"This one barely had a life before she was taken, Milord. She was only a baby at the time."
"But you are freeborn?" the boy continued to ask, frowning.
"That is at least what this one heard," the child answered.
The Jogun's frown grew deeper. Usually what the slaves got to hear about such things – if they got to hear it – was the truth; there wasn't really a reason to hide it.
In Rhûn slavery was defended with the Law of Arms. That was a generally accepted principle which stated a man could gain or lose property in battle. It was loosely based on the system that dominated most relations: protection in return for obedience. That implied every bond could be broken; for example, a brother lost his sister if he failed or refused to protect her. That strict interpretation was rarely followed; to the Easterlings it was about the will, which was to be proven by attempts. Whether or not those were successful didn't matter.
If a man could lose something as fundamental as a sister, daughter or wife, why not property? That Law was also one of the few things that did add some nuance to the strict hierarchy in Rhûn. Nobles, too, were subject to the Law of Arms – although, thanks to their better training, it rarely bothered them.
The slavers had 'extended' the Law of Arms a bit, making use of the parallel with personal relations; when a man fell on the battlefield, they stated, not only his land, house, furniture and money became his victor's, but also the family he had been unable to protect, except when an heir did manage to protect his family. Whatever the descent of slaves, according to that logic it didn't matter. A dead noble was just as well defeated as a dead ashigaru – the Easterling foot soldiers, armed with halberds and shields. Nor was there any difference between slaves captured during their lives and slaves born not free.
There was almost never lied about that because everything offered an opportunity to humiliate the slaves. Nobles could be mocked for their downfall, freeborn for what they had lost, those born as slaves convinced they had been condemned from their birth.
But it was very strange. One only very rarely heard someone had been taken as a baby. The slaves who couldn't remember another life were usually born in slavery. But there was a possibility…
"How old are you?" Thomas asked.
"Nine, if it pleases you, Milord," the girl answered.
Thomas smirked. "I don't think whether it pleases me has a lot to do with it. You're nine years old, and there's not much I can do about that, is there?"
"No, Milord." The slave shut down her eyes again. "This one is sorry."
Thomas sighed. He had made a mistake there. "No, I should be sorry."
He caressed her face. That the traders – and undoubtedly her Master(s) too – had spared on purpose. It still had delicate, soft features, where most faces would've hardened due to a harsh life. A sweet, innocent face, the Knight thought. She was a pretty little thing.
"And I am. Really," he added softly.
For a very brief moment he looked at her straight in the eyes, and a glowing red anger flared up inside him. Those eyes contained the story of an utterly destroyed, shattered life. She should have been at home at this very moment, maybe excited about next year, when she'd start at her Clan's Dragon Academy. She should have been cherished and protected. And by the time she had finished her training, she would be a beautiful woman. She would have to find a good man and probably give birth to strong sons and beautiful daughters. That was the destiny of Eastern girls.
How dared they… How DARED those Darklings go against what the Dragon had established! Was it not clear in the Sacred Scriptures? 'And the men among my people will fit themselves either with the sword, or with the spear and the shield, or either with the bow, or with the crossbow and protect their sisters and daughters, and the women will build that which the men fight for.' That's how it was supposed to be, and not else!
Normally Thomas was as calm as could be, but now he was furious. Just in time he got himself back in hand. His blood was a dangerous combination. Apparently General Pevensie, father to Thomas I Pevensie, had also been filled with Divine Fire. Together with the Dragon Fire Easterlings always had in their blood that could produce explosive results. It wasn't that bad with Thomas, but it was unwise to anger him. It bothered him he had to be here anyway. And everything about this place disgusted him.
Mariska nudged him. "Thomas!" she hissed.
The Knight seized for his sword, but his sister stopped him. "Don't! They're not doing anything, not yet at least, but I don't like the looks they're giving us. I think they don't trust you."
"That's mutual, then," Thomas growled, but he kept his hand away from his sword.
The girl looked at him questioningly, but he merely shook his head. Now that his mind was clear again, he started calculating. 9 years… Thomas had only been 10 at the time and Mariska barely 6, but they wouldn't easily forget that day.
"The March on Darklings."
The young warrior rather said it than he asked. It fitted perfectly. After the March had ended in a crushing defeat for the Tenfold Coalition the Darklings had attacked the Clans, which had virtually no soldiers left, killed the old, the sick and the weak and enslaved the others. That was the only time it had occurred on a reasonable scale that freeborn babies were raised in slavery. After that it hardly ever happened again.
The slave nodded. "This one heard her father fell at the March. No one told her what happened to her mother. Apart from that she doesn't know anything about her father either."
The Knight nodded. He looked at his sister for a long time.
Only after he had made sure she could barely hear him and was focusing on the Khândians completely, he spoke. "Maybe your father knew my uncle. At least they were brothers in arms. He didn't survive the March either. Neither his father nor mine wanted him to go, but… that's just who he was. He simply had to fight injustice at every conceivable opportunity."
Thomas had to smile for a moment at the memory, but somewhere deep down he felt miserable. If Mariska had heard that, he had broken her heart. He was talking about uncle Liam with a perfect stranger, while in 9 years he had barely said a word about him in her presence.
Liam had been someone who was easily loved. A cheerful and kind uncle, the one who got family parties going. Besides he was one of the bravest warriors the House Pevensie had ever produced. It was a shame that his talent had graced the world at such a time. Actually Thomas had pictured him as the likely glorious young leader of the revolution which would overthrow Sauron.
That dream came at an end along with Liam when he was butchered along with the Clan militias of the Tenfold Coalition at the assault on the fortress of the Darklings, who had all of the advantage on their side.
Mariska often talked about him, but Thomas avoided the subject. That didn't mean he had gotten over it. He remembered everything.
The Knight, after 9 years, would still be able to recite the quarrel Liam and his brother, only Jogun at the time, by heart perfectly. He often did it at night when he didn't know what path he should follow later. And he could also reconstruct the rest of those last days reasonably well in his memories.
Liam had laughed and smiled and said they'd wipe those Darklings out, just like that. He had made up with his father and brother, but both parties stuck to their decisions. Mariska had assumed their uncle's optimistic vision was right and even the Darklings didn't stand a chance against 10 Clans. Thomas had, however, had a bad feeling about it. He knew that storming a fortress was rarely a good plan. Deep down, he himself thought afterward, he had already realized that time farewell would be final.
Liam had assured them he would be back within a week or two. Ten days later indeed a rider arrived, but it had been a messenger from the Kaito Clan, who brought word that the March had been repelled and that the Clans of the Tenfold Coalition had been wiped out. Mariska, too, understood then uncle Liam wouldn't be returning. Liam of the House Pevensie wasn't the type to return from a defeat.
Thomas himself often thought about those days, but he avoided the subject.
'No, don't think about Liam,' he told himself. He had gotten his anger back in hand, but it hadn't been cooled, and thinking about his uncle wouldn't help him think better of the Darklings.
But despite that logic he noticed to his own surprise he was smiling his faint smile again, and he felt melancholy rather than furious.
The child softly said: "This one is sorry."
The noble shook his head, still smiling. "That idiot… But he was the bravest idiot I ever met in my life. I couldn't have thought of a death better suited for him."
"This one believes he was a great warrior. And a good person."
And in a strange way, those words were exactly what Thomas needed. He decided he liked the girl.
"He sure was," he answered, but before he got any further Mariska nudged him.
For a moment he feared she had heard him, but a look on her face told him she hadn't. If she had heard him, she'd probably be at the edge of crying. However, her gaze was worried and grim.
"What is it?" the noble asked.
"One of them is coming this way. With a whip," his sister hissed back.
Thomas growled and thought it was a good thing his Blood Warriors were close. He thought he knew were this was going.
The Khândian walked past the siblings and stood on the Jogun's other side. Politely but detached he started: "I have followed you… fascinating conversation, my lord."
Thomas growled. If that was good enough for his sister when she came with bad news, it was more than good enough for this mercenary.
The man continued: "I would've sworn she uttered a judgment on your uncle."
Mariska threw a painful glance at her brother.
Thomas simply stared right in front of him and coldly said: "I'm happy my sister does not have your hearing."
The Khândian laughed briefly.
After that he turned to the slave girl: "Does someone think it is hers to judge a nobleman?"
"Of course not, Milord," the girl sobbed terrified. "This one begs for forgiveness."
At least that had one advantage: for a moment Mariska had forgotten all about their uncle.
The Khândian stepped over the fence, kicked a few slaves out of his way and went to stand behind his target. "Your training is incomplete. Actually we should start over. But that decision isn't mine. This on the other hand will help you remember a thing or two!"
With those words he raised the whip, and now he let it fall, hard and mercilessly. The child's heart-rending cry of pain brought back all of Thomas' anger in tenfold. Mariska looked at him imploringly, when she noticed he had already thrown off his cape – an obvious sign.
"Khândian!" he shouted, as he drew his sword. "Try that on me!"
Beneath the cape the Knight was dressed in silvered steel and leather. It was always like that when he left the house; nobles, he thought, were firstly there to fight and so they had to be ready to fight at all times.
His shout immediately had the desired effect: the mercenary left the slave alone and turned to the noble. One on one the Jogun would easily win, and he knew very well, but Mariska brought an expected, but still damn nasty message.
"Uhm… Thomas? Now the other five are coming our way."
Thomas allowed himself a curse. Not that he ever couldn't keep a curse in, but sometimes it did a remarkable lot of good for him. Afterwards it was easier to focus, with a little less frustration, he had noticed. In the given circumstances that was a good thing.
Mariska started: "Thomas, let's change places. I'll take care of the one with the whip. Keep the others at bay, then we can beat them together."
That wasn't good. There already was a plan. On top of that, he was Jogun, not only a son, but the firstborn as well. He determined what was to be done. That was just the way it was. It wasn't that Thomas liked power in itself, but everyone should have the power he was entitled to. Thomas had no intention of bowing to his sister.
Besides, he actually wasn't convinced the two of them could take the mercenaries. Along with his Blood Warriors they could with mock ease. In itself that made for a challenge, but it would be very, very tiresome if they both died. Who was to succeed their father then?
So he briefly answered: "No. You go get my Blood Warriors. I'll keep them busy."
"My plan can work," Mariska insisted with her characteristic stubbornness.
However, in this case, Thomas wouldn't yield to her: "There is only one plan. One vision. I'm your brother, and you'll do as I say."
Actually Mariska would've loved to go up against that, but that logic was also in her education and the situation really was too serious. She bowed lightly; she would obey. Thomas nodded shortly.
The mercenaries meanwhile encircled them. The Knight looked around, but actually, he already knew who would be the first to attack. His long sword was less suited for catching a whip then the katana, but he had practiced on it for a long time and the first strike was parried.
Before the other five had recovered from their surprise, he pulled the man with the whip to him to kick him away again. Only then the Easterling was attacked from the left and the right.
With his shield he deflected the spear points on his left, and the whip, which had shot out of the Khândian's hand and stuck around the noble's sword, flew right because of a swift movement of the long sword. The two spearmen there were also brought to a halt for a while. The last one attacked Thomas in the back, but the latter turned around and deflected the strike of the sword and beat the mercenary back.
However, the men quickly regrouped, and with 6 at the same time they could launch more attacks than Thomas could parry. Finally, the well trained, but inexperienced nobleman was brought to his knees. Two men held his sword in place, while three others put such pressure on his shield that he couldn't use it to push anymore.
Just when Thomas wondered where the sixth was, he already knew. Behind him, the man who had hit the slave came to him, his sword drawn.
For a little while Thomas thought it was over. Now he would have to become and uncle, without ever knowing his nephew.
But suddenly the man stood still. Slowly he fell forward, dropping his sword in doing so.
Only then Thomas saw the arrow in his neck. And then he also saw the archer.
Rick. The blood of his blood.
Mariska had succeeded to execute the plan.
The reinforcements in the form of the three Blood Warriors brought the battle to a quick end.
Rick stayed out of the further developments; he had done enough by saving his protégé's life, he thought. Steven relieved Thomas' right flank; he was careful not to kill anyone, but he did beat three men to the ground. Jeroen too defeated a Khândian and knocked him out.
Mariska, who had come along with the three fighters, leapt. Her brother turned his shield so that she would land on it to pounce again. They hadn't trained together that very much, but they had known each other all her life and so they could easily anticipate each other's moves.
From Thomas' shield the Maid jumped and kicked. The mercenary lost his balance and the Knight immediately attacked. The two of them had beaten the Khândian to the ground in no time.
With his sword on the warrior's throat Thomas asked with his cold despise: "Are you men or snakes, to beat children?"
The man didn't respond. Finally the slaver came to the battlefield. Thomas sniffed in contempt. Such people always did that. They did enter the battlefield, but never before the fighting was done. The merchant looked in shock at the body, as the four men Jeroen and Steven had beaten down got to their feet and went to stand behind him.
"What happened here?" asked the merchant.
Thomas coldly explained: "I was offended by your mercenary's behavior." He pointed at the body. "His comrades came to his aid. With the help of my Blood Warriors and my sister I defeated them. The man whose death I wished now lies dead. Admitted, I may have provoked his attack myself. But he tried to kill me. So Rick, who is blood of my blood, did his duty."
After that he abandoned the mercenary and addressed Rick. "Blood of my blood, I owe you my life."
"It was merely my duty, blood of my blood," the Blood Warrior answered calmly.
"Nonetheless such a service should not remain without reward," insisted the Knight. He put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Go to our armory, blood of my blood. Choose any katana you wish, it is yours. I now only make an exception for my father's, which isn't mine to give, and my own sword. I make this gift to you."
Rick bowed. "The blood of my blood is generous."
Thomas stepped back. "No, I am too close-fisted. Now I'll show how generous I truly should be."
He turned around and walked back to Mariska, towards the slaver. "For to my sister, who warned my Blood Warriors and that way saved my life, I will also pledge a gift."
With those words he grabbed his purse. "Merchant! I want to propose a special arrangement." The noble threw the purse at the merchant. "200 Eastern golden coins, if I'm not mistaken."
The trader quickly counted and then nodded. "What can I do for you in return?"
"Give her to us," Thomas answered shortly and matter-of-factly, pointing at the girl Mariska had chosen. "Forget about the auctioning. Just take the money, give her to us and we're gone."
The merchant didn't seem to trust it fully. "My lord, her training counts, certainly, as does her youth, but 200… That's a virgin's price!"
Undoubtedly he wanted to add something to that, but Thomas had used up his patience for that day. "Enough!" he hollered, in a rare burst of attitude.
More softly he continued: "Enough. I will hear no more. Just keep the money. Consider the surplus as a payment for… quick delivery or whatever you want. Give us her."
The slaver trembled in fear; the five against him had already proven his mercenaries couldn't stop them. He nodded and gestured to one of the five surviving Khândians. The man got a leather rope. Thomas had heard Westerners, especially in Narnia, used something of that kind to keep pets, especially dogs, near.
The Narnian word was 'leash', if he remembered correctly… He had always been good at languages. Yes, it was a leash, definitely.
The mercenary walked towards the child and attached the leash to her collar – the symbol of slavery. The Knight had seen a Ritual of Liberation and knew the most important moment was when the collar was cut.
The girl got up and climbed over the fence. The mercenary led her a short end towards the nobles.
In High Narnian, Thomas turned to Rick: "You go and get her. Maybe they'll feel better with you than with me."
Rick understood he didn't mean the mercenary and the slave, but the mercenaries. In the same language the younger warrior answered: "Jogun. The blood of your blood obeys."
The archer stepped forward, but the mercenary obviously didn't feel very comfortable under his cold gaze. Without saying a word Rick took the leash and led the child to his protégé. The latter nodded and made use of the moment the Blood Warrior stood between him and the slaver to give her a reassuring smile.
After that he on his turn passed the leash on to Mariska. "Sister. Accept this gift as a token of my gratitude."
The Maid slightly bowed her head. "You have my thanks, brother."
She smiled at him. Thomas smiled back. Each with the own typical smile. Mariska's wide and cheerful, Thomas' faint and almost melancholy.
Only then the young warrior picked up his cloak.
Before he could throw it on, Mariska asked: "Brother, may I have that for a while? I swear you'll get it back before the day is over."
The Knight was surprised, but handed the cloak to his sister without a word. The Maid carefully draped the wide cloth over the child. Thomas suppressed a grin, but he was overcome by a wave of affection and pride for his little sister.
After that they finally left the market, along with their purchase. Brother and sister walked side by side, with the slave on Mariska's left; after them came the Blood Warriors.
Mariska kindly asked the girl: "How do you call yourself?"
"You may call this one however you like, Mistress," the child answered.
"Yes, but… what is your name?" the Shogun's daughter specified.
"That is unknown, Mistress. This one doesn't believe her mother could pass it on," was the almost mechanical answer.
Thomas and Mariska looked at each other. Probably this was the ideal slave. She didn't have anything of her own. Not even an identity…
"You can give this one a name if you find that easier. No one has before," the slave girl suggested.
Once more brother and sister looked at each other. They silently had a conversation. Thomas almost unnoticeably shook his head. Mariska thought the girl's idea was alright, but the Knight, who had expected as much, pointed out to here she might become even more dependent on them that way. Her name wouldn't really be hers.
It was quite something else when your parents gave you a name, but when you owed your name to someone who had bought you… Maybe this slave didn't see it that way, but Thomas was against it.
Mariska saw the alternative. "Well, consider this your first assignment as my slave. I want you to pick a name for yourself," she told the younger girl.
The slave girl bowed. "This one will try. There is a single word in the Darkling dialect this one likes…"
Thomas grinned. "Thank the gods," he said to his sister, "at least she still has her own opinion on that level: what sounds she likes. It's not much, but it's something, am I right?"
Mariska hesitantly smiled back.
She turned back to the girl: "What word?"
"Naveen, Mistress. That means 'beauty', this one understood." She was obviously trying to suppress a blush, and closely failed. "This one hopes that name wouldn't be too… pretentious?"
Mariska laughed, a clear, cheerful laugh which could've made all of Rhûn burst into laughter in better times. For a moment, it hurt Thomas. The only thing he could do was coöperate in the return of better times. He did know he had to accept things the way they were… But he knew he just couldn't.
He shook that thought off as Mariska decided: "A suitable name. If that's what you want to be called, you're Naveen from now on."
The slave bowed, but Thomas could almost feel a tiny smile. "The Mistress is too good for this one. May she ask a question?"
"Of course, Naveen," Mariska smiled.
"What duties will you impose on this one?" Naveen asked.
Thomas grinned widely. Admitted, that might be a logical question, especially if she had been trained as a bed slave – and she probably had. What could Mariska do with her? Thomas caught himself unable to find the answer immediately himself.
But it was also a tremendous victory. Alright, she had noticed already apparently she did enjoy a certain measure of freedom of speech, otherwise she never would've dared to ask that question, but even then it meant an incredible lot that she did. Slaves rarely asked questions, certainly not about what was expected of them. They obeyed, that was all that was expected of them.
Mariska waved away that question: "Oh well, I can always use a maidservant. To keep me company, help me with my clothes and hair, perhaps with bathing… Nothing hard, I assure you," she concluded reassuringly.
"This one is grateful to her Mistress… and to her Master." Naveen threw a quick glance at Thomas.
He remained silent.
After a minute or something he suddenly said: "I."
All five of the others looked at him in surprise.
"Maybe it'd be easier if you'd refer to yourself as 'I' and 'me' and stuff," the Knight specified.
Naveen hadn't expected that. "Master, this one has learned that the use of these words is the privilege of free people."
"I have heard slaves generally don't try to outsmart their Masters," replied Thomas, with a slightly broader smile to make it quite clear to her she wasn't in trouble.
"This one can try…" The newly appointed maidservant shut down her eyes.
Thomas nodded contently.
That was quite a lot for day one.
(Four years later, in the Shogunate of the Jarw – Rhûnhirrim Clan at the shores of the Dragon's Sea (also named the Glistening Eastern Sea and the Sea of Rhûn)…)
The Daimyo stepped inside.
He had heard laughter and talking before, but now the residents of this Shogunate went silent. The Darkling nobleman took them in.
Shogun Jarw – Tao himself wasn't 40 yet and just as dangerous as ever. His son, Jarw – Kandar, was a thirteen year old boy; his childhood had only recently come to an end. His daughter, Jarw – Karnak, was only 11. No one had to fear anything from her.
All three turned to the uninvited – and obviously unwelcome – guest. The Shogun reached for his sword.
"What are you doing here?" he asked shortly.
Just as unkindly the Daimyo answered: "Delivering a message."
"Then tell me. And after that, get out of my house!" the higher noble barked.
The Daimyo narrowed his eyes to slits. "As you wish."
However, he did get a little more cheerful once he started the actual message: "Your Eastern Fleet has orders to set sail, Admiral. Your heading: straight west. You're going back to the Lone Islands."
"And what am I going to do there now?" the man asked, irritated.
"Apparently Arwen has lost her daughter," the messenger grinned.
"Oh, poor woman," Kandar reacted spontaneously. "Father, there must be something we can do to help her. Send me to find that girl." He knelt. "Father, I'm no longer a child. It is time for me to gain some experience. Only two ar-quan or five Daimyo, or even only about twenty of my own friends at the Dragon Academy, and I promise you I won't disappoint you."
"You haven't even told him…" the Darkling started, but he quickly quieted down when there was a sword on his throat.
"And you're not going to tell him anything I didn't," the Admiral hissed.
After that he put his katana away again and turned to his son.
"Get up," he ordered.
Kandar obeyed.
"You are brave and fierce, and you have honor, my son. But there are some things you didn't think about. For example, how will you get the girl home?"
The boy answered: "We can bring her over land to almost any land in the West. That will take time, but we can get there safely."
His father continued to ask: "And how will you find the mother?"
"Ask. In the Common Tongue. Maybe some help from the daughter," Kandar again had an answer ready.
The Admiral smiled. His son was clever enough. He would manage.
"Then there still is another problem," he mentioned nonetheless. "Maybe the Westerners won't accept our help."
"A mother accepts all help that offers her a chance of seeing her daughter again," Kandar handily parried.
"Well… She may fear you won't keep your word," the Shogun said carefully.
He expected a fierce, indignant response – and of course it came.
"We won't keep our word? We, the nobles of the East? No one has the right to accuse us of disloyalty! The Easterlings who didn't fulfill their oaths, died while trying!"
The man calmed his son and said: "These people do not know us. They make mistakes. They do not understand us. We do better to avoid them."
Kandar growled, but didn't say anything anymore.
The Daimyo spoke again: "The girl would have set sail with her eldest brother, an entire host of protectors and a group Imperial Marines for the Lone Islands. You know what to do."
The Admiral didn't show anything, but inside he was boiling. Now he had to take the field against a nine-year-old girl. But what could he do?
The Darkling was looking at the girl, grinning. The man seized for his sword, and that wasn't just because she was his daughter. She was a child. The way that scum was looking at her… He looked like a jackal trying to figure out the fastest way to get easy pickings. Actually the Admiral could've killed the messenger at that moment. But with Sauron around…
His son was young and fierce and didn't feel those scruples. The boy put his arm around his sister's shoulders and set a foot forward. Earlier, that would've been enough, but no more. He had started the Second Cycle of his life; he wasn't a child anymore. But his sister was. Now it was at least partially his responsibility to protect her.
He took a step forward, clawed his hands and growled like a Tiger – the Tiger that lived inside him. That would probably have been comical, if it hadn't been so lifelike. The noble stepped back.
The Shogun laughed. "Very good, my son. Very good. You see? Those Darklings aren't so very dangerous after all. In any case, they're at least as easily scared as others."
The boy smirked, but the Daimyo wasn't exactly pleased.
That didn't improve when the Admiral addressed him: "Are you still here? You've delivered the message, I have to take the Fleet to the Islands, I get it already. Now get out of my house!"
The Darkling was furious, but didn't dare provoke the man any further on his own terrain.
Once he was gone, Jarw – Tao called: "Targutai!"
Targutai, uncle to Kandar and Karnak from their mother's side, stepped forward; he had heard everything.
"My Admiral," he bowed.
The Shogun ordered: "Take supplies aboard and get the men together. We sail with the tide."
Targutai, also Captain of the Dragon Galley, the flag ship of the Eastern Fleet, bowed again. It had been ebb only a few minutes ago, so he should have hours.
"Two ar-quan stay here, one to lead the garrison and one to guard the Shogunate, along with five Daimyo to assist them. Tell the others to say their goodbyes," Tao instructed further.
Targutai nodded. But when the noble had turned around again, he asked: "Admiral? When you say 'say their goodbyes', do you mean say goodbye as in 'see you later'? Or do you mean say goodbye as in 'goodbye'?"
The Shogun stood silent for a while.
When he opened his mouth, Targutai said: "Wait. Don't answer that."
Author's note: Well, I personally feel good about this. Whether you agree or disagree, let me know!
Coming up next on the 'The King, the Girl and the Lion' saga: We get back to the heroes we know from the prequel and meet some of those introduced in this prologue. East and West will meet at the cross point: the Lone Islands. What have the Easterlings been doing there? And why are Lucy and Peter headed there? And most importantly: what will happen when they meet?
Please remember Supreme Arcanite Magician's story on here! And do check out the trailers by Nonokun24 and EdwardElricGirl200 on YouTube!