Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't... I also don't own the Narnian Calendar. It belongs to Elecktrum who was kind enough to let me borrow it for my story. Her own stories are awesome and you should go read them too.
Summary: A sorcerer challenged by Aslan. Love and friendship alike are tested by his presence. And the Gentle Queen faces her own challenge when the sorcerer's true colors are unveiled.
A/N: If you have not read the first eight stories in the A Light in the Darkness main story arc (Awakened, Shadowed, Revealed, Concealed, Rekindled, Refracted, Reflected, and Veiled), I highly recommend you do so for the full experience. However, I have included a quick summary of the previous stories so if you want to give this one a whirl on its own, you can.
Chapter Eleven: A Foe?
Susan's eyes widened as she realized the only ones here aside from the sorcerer were the guards. She turned to the Centaur. "Lieutenant Darius, was my brother not down here?"
The stern-faced Centaur bowed slightly. "The Just was here but ten minutes past, Your Majesty. Other duties required his presence."
"Thank you." Not daring to look at the sorcerer, she raised her chin slightly then turned, her skirts flaring out as she did so. She would not show him any sign of fear or discomfiture but neither was she foolish enough to linger in a sorcerer's presence.
"Wait. Please wait."
Susan stopped. The nurturing part of her nature warred with logic that she should simply keep going but instead of calling for the guard to unlock the door, she found herself slowly turning around. As she did so, Susan permitted herself to study the face of this bewildering prisoner. The eyes watching her were not glowing red as Edmund had described but were instead a dark brown. His dark hair fell to his shoulders and his swarthy complexion was further darkened by a beard and moustache. The sorcerer was not an unhandsome man. In fact, he was quite easy on the eyes in a rugged sort of way but there was a wildness about him that did not feel human. She almost stepped back when she met his intense gaze once more but instead she squared her shoulders. "Why?"
The sorcerer's mouth twitched slightly almost as if he was about to smile. Then he rasped, "I would ask for the Gentle to show a poor interloper some small amount of mercy."
"It would depend on the mercy."
"Books." The sorcerer's gaze remained intense and his hands came up to grasp the bars of his cell. Susan almost flinched before she reminded herself that there was yet another wall of bars between her and the man. Fortunately, he did not seem to notice her wariness as he repeated, "Books. I would ask that your majesty be merciful enough to allow the return of the three books in my pack. Please."
She stared at him, her hands unconsciously twisting in her skirts. There was something in his gaze that called to her. She gave herself a mental shake. What utter foolishness. Susan allowed just a touch of frost to enter her voice. "You should have asked my brother for these books."
The sorcerer abruptly stepped back from the bars then bowed so gravely that Susan just knew she was being mocked. But he spoke before she could demand the guard unlock the door. "This is true, Queen Susan. However, your royal brother left so quickly I had no opportunity to ask for the books' return."
"Why do you want them?" she asked, now determined that if he made any sign of disrespect or mischief, she would leave him to her brothers . . . as they preferred, anyway. She would not stay if he meant only to attempt to plant doubts through his interactions with her.
"To learn."
Susan blinked then shook her head slightly, a little disbelieving laugh escaping. "And what is you wish to learn, sorcerer?"
He stepped close to the bars again, gripping them tightly. "After a lifetime of living, hunting, and killing in the shadows, I have stepped out into the light but now I must learn what doing so involves in order that I may avoid stumbling back into the shadows out of instinct or fear. The books will aid in guiding me."
She had never heard such a thing stated in that specific way before but something about his words, his phrasing caught her attention. Susan pursed her lips as she weighed the options now before her. If she ignored him now, it would plague her. Before she could second-guess her intentions, Susan turned to the Centaur guard. "Lieutenant Darius, send someone to search the sorcerer's belongings. If there are books, I want them brought to me."
"Yes, My Queen."
As one of the soldiers left to fulfill her request, Susan heard the sorcerer clear his throat. She turned her head to look at him and he bowed his head slightly. "You have my thanks. And my name is Markus."
"Yes, well, I have not yet decided whether I'm going to give them to you." Susan resolutely looked away but not before she saw the slightest of grins appear on the sor- on Markus' face again. No matter how intriguingly he phrased his words, if the books seemed at all suspect, she would order them taken away and inform him that they were to be burned. Which would be their fate if they contained any sort of spells, after Edmund and Kat had the chance to go over them to see how grievous the spells were for the sake of the trial.
She questioned her decision from the moment her orders had been given. What is this were some sort of trick? What then? She probably should have agreed to only inform Edmund of Markus' request. That would have been far more logical. Instead, she had taken it upon herself to prove whether or not the sorcerer was speaking at least a partial truth. She smoothed her hands over her skirts, attempting to hide where the fabric had wrinkled, as she waited, still refusing to look at the sorcerer again. Then the guard returned and three books were placed in her waiting hands.
Two of them were obviously old books. She carefully opened one to the middle. The words leapt out at her. Aslan is not a tame Lion. None can predict where He might go or what He might do or say. However, we do know that He is good. He is trustworthy and even His punishments are tempered by mercy. It is for this reason that we who are imperfect and drift from His ways at times will still be welcomed back to the safety between His paws. In truth, I do not believe that we can ever remove ourselves from His paws after we have known Him, have truly been His. We might feel and act in such a way but He is there, waiting patiently and kindly for us to listen to the whispers in our hearts that nudge us back toward a better, closer walk with Him.
Susan didn't look at the sorcerer, Markus, as she turned back toward the beginning of the book. A single passage might be a trick, no matter how the words resonated within her. But the next page held words that were just as powerful. Does Aslan make mistakes? Can He somehow not know what will happen after a specific event? How can that be? It cannot. He knows all things even though He will not tell us too much of our own story at once or tell us another's story. Nothing can be a surprise to Him for He has already woven the tapestry and composed the song of Narnia. The only differences, the slight changes to His design are those He has permitted because He has given all creatures the freedom of choice. And we creatures are just as susceptible to choosing a path that is not the Great Lion's will as the Sons and Daughters of Adam and Eve and in His love, in His permission for us to make our choices, Aslan allows those decisions to change His perfected design. One day, though, when we go to Aslan's Country, we will see Narnia as He meant for her to be seen, unblemished by evil and unmarred by His stubborn children's determination that their way is better than His. And what a day that shall be, my dear ones.
As she closed the book, Susan's thoughts were whirling. A glance at the other two books proved they too were focused on Aslan and following His ways. Although one of them was unfinished and written in newer ink that had not yet begun to faded with age. It was the first entry in that one that caught her attention. The crisp, masculine handwriting was easy to read. How merciful is the Great Lion? Beyond words. How can it be that He who saw who I was yet offered me a way to escape my deserved fate of separation from Him? I do not understand save for that is it means to have mercy. Once I played with a mockery of redemption but now I understand. Now I truly see what is meant when the Great Lion chooses you to be one of His and you choose Him in return. My heart is raw and it pains me whenever I think of my past but He no longer sees those acts. I must make amends to my living victims because that is the right thing to do but as Oberon has already emphasized I cannot possibly make up for my past deeds to Aslan Himself. And He does not ask for that.
How different He is from Jadis. If I had not already experienced it for myself, I would continue to scoff at this concept. Now is the time, though. Now I must leave behind the shadows of my past, my old world, and my old way of seeing and doing things and step fully into the light of Aslan as I have seen others do before me. I know already it will not be easy. Perhaps it is for this reason that Aslan blinded my magic. Perhaps it was not only so that I would be forced to make my decision instead of continuing to hide but so that I would not feel the temptation to use my magic to get what I want so strongly as to be incapable of resisting. I have spent most of my life waiting and watching and plotting. Now I believe I have entered a new chapter, one where I must first listen and then do . . . according to Aslan's will, not mine. Surrendering fully to His will shall be the greatest challenge but I am willing.
A throat clearing startled her and she turned her head to see Markus watching her once again. He did not speak of how she had jumped. Instead, he fixed his intense gaze on her and held out a hand. "May I have the books?"
Susan felt a blush creep into her cheeks as she hurriedly closed the book that she now suspected contained his personal thoughts. The logical thing to do would be to leave the books there until Edmund could search them. However, she knew her own failings and she was not always merciful when logic dictated it was folly. Perhaps today she should be a little more like Lucy who knew Aslan best of all. She swallowed once, considering her options, but then she turned to the stern-faced golden Centaur. "Lieutenant Darius, unlock the cell door."
"But, Your Majesty-"
She raised an eyebrow, effectively stilling the guard's protest. Still, she was not so foolish as he might fear. "You may accompany me, of course, but I will deliver these to the prisoner. There is nothing here that will cause harm."
The Centaur frowned but he unlocked the outer cell door then handed the keys to one of the other guards for safekeeping before he pushed the door open. Susan noticed Markus seemed amused when the Centaur stepped around her in order to place himself between her and the inner cell. But the amusement faded when he met her gaze. Lieutenant Darius no doubt expected her to use him as a courier but Susan did not. Impulsively, she stepped forward, extending the books toward Markus. "If you truly want to leave the shadows behind, then it would seem these books are the best suited to helping you with that task."
His callused fingertips just barely brushed against hers as he accepted the books. Susan repressed a shiver. It was not attraction she felt, no, the queer feeling he gave her was something else, something different . . . it was the sense that she was dealing with someone who was not what he appeared. Not suitor or diplomat. Those were two breeds of men she knew how to handle quite well. Not even soldier. Instead, she was looking at a man who should be her enemy, should be treated with utmost caution and the logical thing to do was to leave him to her brothers, and yet . . . she was here. What was she doing?
She withdrew her hands almost too quickly and the sorcerer had to scramble to catch the last book ere it fell. Something in the way he looked at her changed. "Lilly."
Susan blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Markus withdrew his arms so he was now completely in his cell and turned slightly away from her. "Thank you for your kindness, Queen Susan. These will help to while away the hours until my next interrogation."
She hesitated, the words to confront him over the deception hovering on her lips, but she did not speak them. Instead, she ran a critical eye over his bare cell. "No sheets?"
Lieutenant Darius shifted on his hooves but it was the sorcerer who replied, "The better to prevent a premature hanging, Your Majesty."
"Oh." She turned to leave then turned back again. "But you will need something to write with if you wish to continue making notes." Without pausing to consider her actions, Susan turned to the lieutenant. "See that he is provided with ink and quill for an hour each day. They can be brought in and then carried out with his evening meal."
He did not want to agree. She could see it in his eyes but, unless Peter himself negated it, her order would be obeyed. The Centaur bowed gravely as he intoned, "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Thank you."
She didn't acknowledge the sorcerer's whispered words. Instead, she gathered her skirts primly and swept out of the cell. She had so much more to do today that it would be irresponsible to spend any more time down in the dungeons. As she waited for the door to be unlocked, her thoughts turned again to a specific passage from Markus' books. Does Aslan make mistakes? Can He somehow not know what will happen after a specific event? How can that be? It cannot. But how could one know for sure that an event was Aslan's will and not someone else being allowed to follow through on their decision? She wasn't sure. That disturbed her greatly.
Hurrying up the stairs leading away from the dungeon and back into the bright, airy, people-filled corridors of the Cair Paravel she knew so well, Susan wondered if she had made a great mistake in not doing the logical thing where the sorcerer was concerned. Still she forced him from her mind as she threw herself back into the safe familiarity of her self-assigned tasks as hostess and Queen. Although she did promise herself that she would not venture into the dungeons again.
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33 Sunbend 1009
This was the anniversary he had been dreading for there was no joy in it. But he dared not mention it. Still, Oreius was grateful that Alambiel was sitting in the chair tucked into the corner of his study…even if she was muttering as she sorted through a fresh batch of letters. He focused on the reports from the scouts he had sent to scour the sorcerer's trail even if it was over a week old. But he still fought the urge to question his wife as she muttered, "Death threat. Death threat. Marriage proposal. Witch. Marriage proposal. Death threat. Marriage proposal…how many times are you going to propose?"
The sheer exasperation in her tone made him look up. Alambiel was scowling at a thick parchment. It was her expression that prompted him to ask, "Who is it from?"
"My own personal Mr. Collins, that's who. How many times am I going to have to tell this man no before he understands?"
"Who is Collins?" Oreius frowned, struggling to recall any former hopeful suitor of Alambiel's by that name.
For some reason, she smiled. "Mr. Collins is an obnoxious character in a story, Kentauri. He was completely oblivious to the firm refusal of an offer of marriage. This is actually the second Mr. Collins for me. Count Antti was the first. This is," she looked at the parchment again, "Lord Barin of Archenland."
Oreius raised an eyebrow. "Could he have misunderstood your refusal?"
"How thick do you have to be to misunderstand a note that read, and I quote, 'I'm married, you idiot?'" Alambiel lowered the parchment then held it out to him. "Here you get to answer this one."
"Why?"
Alambiel gathered all the letters she had discarded onto the floor to her left and then placed them on top of his papers. "Actually, I think you should do your "I'm overprotective, especially of my wife" thing and you can answer all these marriage proposals as gruffly and stern and threatening as you want in order to make them leave me alone."
"Alambiel, I would-" He cut himself off as a knock sounded. "Come."
The door opened to emit one of the pages. The Faun bowed. "General Oreius, the High King requests your presence in the dungeons unless you cannot leave your current duties."
Oreius nodded curtly. "Please inform the High King that I will be there shortly."
He was already halfway out of his study when Alambiel called, "Does this mean I have to answer my own letters?"
"Yes." Then he hurried out of their quarters, his mind already churning with possible questions they could put to the sorcerer. Questions that might expose him in a lie. But everything they tried was met with a steady answer. The sorcerer had also begun to ignore questions, saying only that the time was not right to discuss them.
Oreius folded his arms over his chest, flicking his tail, as he listened to the High King once again ask, "Why did you come here?"
"To make amends." The sorcerer's gaze met his and then he addressed Oreius instead of the High King, "Today must not be an easy one for you, General. It is the thirty-third of Sunbend, is it not?"
"It is."
The curtness of his reply did not seem to faze the sorcerer. He dipped his head slightly. "Then allow me to begin making amends by offering my sincerest apologies for the torment caused when you discovered Lew's Daughter was dying a year ago today."
Oreius didn't reply. He couldn't trust himself to respond in a manner pleasing to Aslan so he forced himself to say nothing. The High King darted a cautious glance at him and then stepped forward. His colt's voice was harder than before as he demanded, "What do you mean? What did you have to do with any of that?"
The sorcerer did not take his eyes off of Oreius as he stated simply, "I sent Mordad after her. I also used my spells to speed the Valiant's ship to the Seven Isles and after I instructed Mordad to bring her to Ettinsmoor alive and unspoiled, I told him exactly where he could find her and that he would only have one guard to deal with. I also sped Mordad's ship so he reached Ettinsmoor less than a full day after he fled Redhaven with Lew's Daughter in his possession."
If this sorcerer… The High King glanced at him again then asked, "Was Mordad plotting to come after her? Would he have abducted the Princess Royal, tortured her on his own intitative?"
Again the sorcerer's gaze remained unwavering even as he composed his face into a farce of regret. "Mordad had been content in his new lair. He resented and coveted the woman he knew as 'Ishara Reborn' but he would not have sought her out even for revenge. I was the one who sought him out and forced him to come north where he was to act as a robber baron until he captured Lew's Daughter for me. His men were incompetent so they lost her the first time the attempt was made but it also showed me that I needed to ensure that you, General, were unaware of her abduction for as long as possible. So I waited until I learned of the journey to Redhaven and then I set Mordad on the hunt again." The sorcerer looked away, sighing heavily, before he turned to them once again. "The answer to your question, High King, is that if not for my interference, Mordad most likely never would have troubled himself to go against Narnia.
Everything in him burned to lash out at the one responsible for so much grief and suffering, for how much Alambiel still suffered from the aftermath of Mordad's torture. Nightmares had plagued her for the last two nights and all she had willingly confessed was that they involved Mordad. And if not for this sorcerer, this son of darkness, it would not have happened. Alambiel would have been spared. Clenching his fists, Oreius ground out, "Why?"
"She is the linchpin."
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Rage continued to eat at Oreius as he worked on the reports. And this in spite of the fact that he had gone directly from the interrogation to the training yard where he had taken his wrath out on the training dummies for over three hours. The sorcerer had not expounded on his answers during the course of the four hours he and his golden colt had continued to interrogate him on whether there were other plots against Narnia. But it troubled him that the sorcerer had simply pointed to the fact that he had seen the affection between Oreius and Alambiel as one of the indicators to prove Alambiel's importance to him, confirming the description of her as a linchpin.
"Hey, you do know that it's after midnight, right?"
Oreius barely kept his worries from showing as he looked up. Alambiel was leaning against the doorframe, already dressed for bed in a shift and robe. She tugged her robe a little closer together as she scanned the study then whispered conspiratorially, "There aren't any soldiers around this time so it's okay if you come to bed with me."
He looked down at his papers again. "I need to finish these first."
"Are they very pressing?"
"Yes."
"Ah." She approached the desk and lightly touched his hand. "Can I help?"
"No." He cupped her cheek then pressed a light kiss to the top of her head. "No, it is my duty to finish these tonight. I appreciate the offer but you should go on to bed."
Alambiel didn't move right away. Instead, she watched him carefully for a long moment before she finally nodded. Oreius almost sighed in relief. She smiled. "All right but you don't have to act so relieved that I'm going to leave your paperwork alone, a chara. And try to remember that tomorrow is Seventhday and you also owe me a date since you missed our Sixthday talk tonight."
"I will."
He had hoped the promise would be enough to satisfy her and it seemed it was as his wife walked to the door. But then she paused and turned back. "Don't stay in here all night, Oreius."
"Alambiel?" She looked at him questioningly and he smiled slightly. "Sleep well, sweet."
"Good night, Kentauri." Then she left.
He didn't open the reports again until he heard her push the bedchamber door shut (a precaution to protect her privacy in case one of the soldiers or pages delivered a late night missive). Turning back to the paperwork, Oreius hoped they would prove of some help despite being a year old. Perhaps it would have gone faster with Alambiel's help but these reports were ones that he would never willingly give to her. They detailed the trails his scouts and King Edmund's spies had traced in order to discover what had happened to Alambiel when she was abducted by Mordad and in their attempt to pinpoint his location. No, those memories were difficult enough to bear without forcing her to relive them through the reports. And he would never willingly, knowingly, cause her pain.
But no matter how carefully he scoured them, the reports yielded no truly useful information. The only new information had come from the sorcerer, providing the reasoning behind Mordad's attack. It was past third hour when Oreius locked the reports away again and then wearily left his study. He barely remembered to lock the main doors before he opened the bedchamber door.
Closing it silently, Oreius picked his way to the bed where Alambiel was curled on her side. Some of the heaviness hanging over him eased when he noticed she was wearing one of his tunics. He had not realized she would continue that habit after their honeymoon. The pale light of the moon glinted off her necklace, the silver pendant that had once belonged to her dam, and bathed her gently in its beams until Oreius pulled the curtains together.
He eased himself into bed, doing his best not to disturb his wife, and then wrapped an arm around her. Holding her close, he kissed her soft hair. Reading the reports had reminded him of the miracle that she was here at all and he silently thanked Aslan for sparing his Alambiel. Even knowing she was asleep, Oreius still whispered, "I love you."
Alambiel stirred, rolling over so she faced him as she threw her right arm over his side. He felt her fingertips brush against his back then, eyes still closed, she sighed, "Is breá liom tú ró." I love you too.
He would have to apologize when she was truly awake because he knew that interrogating the sorcerer, pressing him for information about any and all plots he might have left working against Narnia, was his newest and most pressing priority. If there were a threat against Narnia, against his sovereigns, or against his Alambiel, he would find a way to make the sorcerer speak of it. No matter how long he had to wait. Oreius pressed a kiss against his wife's brow, flinching a little at the memory of how broken she had been the last time he had missed a threat. He would interrogate the sorcerer anew on the morrow. Alambiel would understand why he could not allow Seventhday to pass in the leisurely fashion she had hoped.
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A/N: Please Read and Review! So things just became interesting. More is coming soon! Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.