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 Thirty-Two: Almost There

4 Frostmoon 1009

"Ruffalo, any disturbances?"

The Sparrow bobbed in place on his perch atop the largest stack of reports. "No, General. No one attempted entry during the night. The first packet of the day was delivered this morn after you unlocked the main doors but before I heard the breakfast delivered."

Oreius gave a curt nod. "Very good. You are dismissed." The Sparrow flew away and he returned his attention to the reports. He had lingered with Alambiel longer that morn than was the norm but he had missed her and he knew he still had much to make up for in regards to the distance between them. Some of the tension slipped away as he went through the reports. There were no notes or threats from the person spying on them.

He would have to explain about that piece to Alambiel soon but, for now, it was enough that she knew why he had distanced himself. It would also take time for him to finish repairing the damage he had wrought but his minx of a wife was patient enough to allow him to do so.

"Oreius?"

The alarm in her voice brought him halfway around his desk as she entered his study. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She looked around, frowning and with more than a hint of upset in her gaze. She heaved a frustrated sigh then held out her hands to him. "I can't find my rings. They are not in my jewelry box and they aren't anywhere else I've looked. And to top it off, I am supposed to be meeting with Leeta and a source I had her drag to the Cair in ten minutes. But I can't think of where else to look for my rings."

Oreius wrapped his arms around her then pressed a kiss to her hair. "They will turn up, sweetheart." When she started to shake her head, he pushed her back so he could cradle her face between his hands. "Listen to me, listen, we will find your rings. Perhaps they fell somewhere. I will meet you here at noon and we will look for them together and we will find them, all right?"

Alambiel nodded even though she did not look entirely convinced.

He kissed her forehead. "Go to your meeting, love. If we do not find your rings at noon, we will look for them again this evening. And whenever we find your rings (and we will), I think we shall enjoy a private supper together."

"All right, but don't plan on that private supper, Kentauri. Your great-aunt has dibs."

Oreius frowned. "What are dibs?"

His wife grinned. "I'll explain later, Chuisle." She stole a kiss and then flitted away . . . right past his cousins who were grinning like fools.

Oreius scowled at them but it did not deter the pests as they entered his study, still grinning. The two Centaurs exchanged looks then turned to him, asking in unison, "What is a 'Cushla?'"

He harrumphed. "It is no concern of yours."

Stormwind chuckled. "Firemoon, go stop our pretty cousin. She shall be more than willing to share, I wager."

His glare may have had no effect on Stormwind but it slowed Firemoon's steps. "You will leave my wife out of this and, if you must know, 'chuisle' is an affectionate name Alambiel uses for me."

His cousins exchanged looks, still grinning like fools. "What does the affectionate name mean?"

Oreius looked down his nose at them. "Please remember which of us won the last hundred or so sparring matches between us, cousins, before you press me on this matter again."

Stormwind tapped his brother on the shoulder. "She cannot be too far. Go get her."

"Firemoon," Oreius growled, "do not bother my wife. As for you." He glared at Stormwind, flicking his tail in agitation. "Leave it be. My wife's affection is not meant to be shared with you. It is a private matter."

His cousin finally seemed to regain what little sense he had as he raised both hands. "Pax, cousin, pax. That is not why we came to see you, after all."

"You mean you have true business with me? That would be a first." Oreius went back to his desk and opened the first report.

"Did your wife tell you about the evening meals?"

Something in his cousin's tone made Oreius close the report and grant him his full attention. "I thought there had only been two, the first agreed upon one and last night."

"She's been joining us every night since you left."

"And Grandam has been holding her to the brands every time," Firemoon added.

Stormwind glared at his brother. "I said let me handle this. You are just the supporting witness."

"It's true."

"Of course, it is true but a more subtle description would have been better. She is our grandam and matriarch after all."

What had Alambiel asked him last night? Oreius scowled as he recalled her questions about his being ashamed of her as his wife. It seemed the questions had a different source than he had originally thought. "And what faults did Despoina choose to shame my wife with in front of other members of my dam's herd?"

"Everything," Firemoon chimed.

His brother looked askance at him but then nodded. "She has managed to find fault in her speech, appearance, actions, choices, and heritage." He seemed to hesitate then added, "She's been telling her that she's an unsuitable wife for the last week and the princess sussed from the start that the root of Despoina's objections stems from her heritage."

"And Frostmoon has not interfered?"

"Not publicly." Stormwind shrugged then shook his head. "Grandda does not interfere unless Grandam steps over the line and you know he does not much approve of mixed marriages either. I cannot say whether he has cautioned her in this matter but Grandam only breached politeness once when she forced the princess to stand six days past. Grandda sent us from the room after Grandam was interrupted in her intent to disown your wife and the princess was summoned away." His cousin spread his hands. "Perhaps he will tell you what was said between them after we left but he will not speak to me in such a matter."

Oreius' scowl deepened. "I see." He said nothing more on the subject as he opened the report again and his cousins took the hint that the discussion was over, taking their leave. Despoina had always been vocal about her disapproval of the mixed marriages. It seemed he had underestimated the lengths to which his great-aunt would go to ensure that Alambiel knew she did not approve of his choice. And he had forgotten that Frostmoon's passivity would not always seek to temper his wife's response to someone she had taken offense to, especially if his great-uncle wished to see how that person reacted to Despoina's blunt ways. Oreius made a note on the report even as he determined how best to handle the situation. He would pay a visit to the matriarch that afternoon, after Alambiel had her rings, and he would ensure that Despoina understood her criticism was not welcome and would no longer be tolerated.

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Her hand felt naked without her rings. Truth be told, she was more upset about losing the betrothal ring than the wedding ring. Her wedding ring could be easily remade but the betrothal ring had been Oreius' mother's and it was an heirloom. Something Alambiel had wanted to pass down to a son or even grandson to give to his own sweetheart when he asked for her hand. She had been certain that she had put her rings in the jewelry box because she was going to use the ointment on Oreius' bruises but maybe she had forgotten to move them from when she set them down beside the box first.

"My Lady!"

Alambiel looked up and quickly forced a smile as she embraced the black-eyed Nymph. "Leeta. I was beginning to worry about you. Did he give you trouble?"

Leeta laughed. "No, My Lady. Once my aunt involved herself."

She arched an eyebrow. "What did Tuulea do?"

"She told him that he needed to come to Cair Paravel and she wasn't going to take no for an answer."

"And?"

The Black Elder Nymph shot her a mischievous glance. "She might have mentioned irritating you tends to lead to buildings being burned to the ground."

Alambiel's jaw dropped. "What? I can't believe Tuulea said that. I only razed one building. And it was a group effort." She paused, her outrage fading as she considered the more important question. "It worked?"

Leeta nodded. "It worked." Then her gaze travelled down, taking in Alambiel's practical and minimally adorned dress. "Oh, My Lady, grey?"

She laughed. "There is nothing wrong with my gown. Honestly, you and Tuulea act like I don mourning every time I wear this dress and the brown one."

"If you thought Tuulea would not torture you with pink and ribbons and gloriously embellished embroidery, you would don black."

"And that's why I wear grey. Come on, Master Dornic isn't going to care what I wear and I'm sure he wants this interview to be over and done with sooner rather than later."

Leeta sighed but didn't mention her attire again. She had no doubt that the Nymph would consider it her duty to wrangle her into some more elegant gown that was far more suitable for her status as Princess Royal before supper. Alambiel ran a hand over her skirts. Of course if her rings weren't found before that eve, she was not going to sit through another supper with Despoina. Who knew what the matriarch might assume if, no, when she noticed the missing rings?

It was a relief to focus on the last remaining puzzle pieces concerning Merry the Second. The old Satyr still stood proud and tall, his horns sticking straight up with only one graceful curve to them, though his reddish-brown fur had almost entirely faded to white with only a few patches testifying to the original color. He bowed low. "Your highness. The healer Tuulea made it clear that I've information that may be of use to you."

Alambiel inclined her head then gestured to one of the chairs. "I believe you do. Please have a seat. This may be a lengthy conversation so we might as well be comfortable." She noted that he waited until she had taken her own seat before lowering himself with some stiffness into the chair she had indicated. Leeta fetched the pitchers of tea and hot chocolate before she retreated to the background. The small sitting room was one of Alambiel's favorite places to conduct interviews (both known and unknown to the interviewee), especially since it was far enough from her quarters and now Oreius' quarters to keep those who might take offense at her questions in the dark as to where she made her home. She poured a cup of tea for the Satyr and then retreated with her own hot chocolate. "I'm told you are a cousin of the lady Merry and her brother the Satyr Loc."

"I am."

"What can you tell me about the lady?"

He narrowed his eyes, a keen light shining in them despite the slight film placed over them by age. "What is it you are searching for, Your Highness?"

Alambiel sipped her hot chocolate. "The truth. I know your cousin served as an ambassador for the royal court and she ran afoul of the Tisroc twenty years before the White Witch invaded Narnia. I've also guessed that she gave birth to a daughter, also named Merry, which resulted in her death."

The Satyr jerked his head up, nostrils flaring. "Merry was loyal to Narnia. Your own father felt she was innocent of any wrongdoing even though he was never able to determine who had betrayed Merry to the Tisroc."

She nodded. "From what I have learned of the situation, I agree she was as loyal a Narnian as could be found. But I wish to know more about her daughter. Who was the father?"

"You have not guessed that as well, Lew's Daughter?"

Alambiel didn't respond. Dornic was easy to read and if she did not allow him to reveal the truth (even if she did have a very strong suspicion), he would not trust her enough to discuss any questionable loyalties Merry the Younger had. She sipped her hot chocolate again, biding her time. Despite the rumors among the court regarding her atrocious diplomatic efforts, she knew how to get information. The fact that Dornic knew she wanted information only made it a touch easier. It was just a different setup on the chessboard.

As the silence grew, the old Satyr huffed and stamped his cloven hoof against the rug several times. Then he set his tea down and glared at her. "I never thought I'd meet a female as clever at making me want to spill my gullet as my cousin Merry but you have certainly done so."

Alambiel grinned. "I am honored by the comparison, Master Dornic."

The Satyr snorted. "But, of course, you are." He glanced at Leeta then peered at where Ptah and Cara Windwolf were sitting beside the door. "They can be trusted not bear this tale?"

"They would not be here if I did not trust them to be discreet." She set her cup down on the tray and waited.

It was with a rueful shake of his head that the Satyr Dornic cast her a wry glance and then began his tale. "I believe you have already guessed as to the identity of the father but I will tell you what was told to me and to Loc. When Merry's hiding place was betrayed, she was taken to the Tisroc and questioned on matters of state. He was most interested in the state of the navy and the royal house's attentiveness to the islands. Your father had thwarted his last attempt to claim the Lone Islands; one made out of the generous concern that Narnia's protection would be insufficient, of course." He gave her a hard look as he stated sternly, "She told him nothing despite the torture. But," he shook his head again and a tone of sad affection entered his voice, "the Tisroc had never been one to ignore comeliness in a woman even if he despised Narnians. It was he who sired Merry's children."

Alambiel looked up sharply. "Children?"

Dornic gave a curt nod. "Merry gave birth to twin kids eight months after she was first captured." He coughed then added, "The blackguard did not so much as take her condition into account in his treatment of her. He left her half-starved and weakened by months of torture. She was dying when the King finally secured her release. One could tell just by looking at her but she clung to life for a month more, for the sake of her children. At her insistence, Loc brought her home."

"She feared the Tisroc learning the child survived."

"The Tisroc of your father's time was not interested in allowing children born on the wrong side of the blanket to live if there was no husband to claim them as his own. And Merry had been in Calormen long enough that she knew he only permitted her to leave because she was dying and she had heard the healers tell him that she would perish with the babe yet unborn. So Loc took her home and then he and I watched her fade. She did not even live long enough to name her daughter. Loc was the one who did that. She did name her firstborn, the son."

"What name?"

"Markus."

Well, that was unexpected. "And what happened to him?"

The Satyr Dornic shrugged. "Lost to the wilds ten years before the White Witch attacked. He was a strange little buck, very quiet compared to his sister, but they loved each other fiercely. He kept getting into fights with older bucks at the school, Satyr, Faun, Human, and Beast. Never said a word, simply launched himself, fists flailing and hooves kicking, into whomever he targeted. Young Merry was devastated when he vanished."

She tapped a finger against her chin, considering the unexpected news. "When did young Merry learn who her father was?"

"I told Loc not to do it. I warned him that it would only cause heartache for him."

"But he told her."

The Satyr nodded. "The White Witch's soldiers brought her back from the pass a week after he told her about the Tisroc. He managed to convince the Bruin in charge that the Nymph was simply too young to know better than to go exploring. A fortnight later, the Long Winter swallowed all of Narnia and young Merry never spoke of going to Calormen again."

Something in his tone confirmed her other theory. "So she had one hundred years to contemplate the non-Narnian side of her heritage."

"She left Narnia at the first sign of spring. Loc always believed she would come back. Over a hundred years had passed; the doe's sire would be long dead. He was not a particularly young buck at the time he took Merry. Then a little over a year past, young Merry returned. Loc mentioned she had changed but he was not certain as to how. It brought him cheer to learn that she wished to serve in the court of the Four."

Alambiel tilted her head, considering the old one. "You didn't trust her."

"No. Loc saw only his sister in the doe. I saw her sire's influence had greater reach than her looks."

She nodded then waved to Leeta who brought out the map. "Then you understand it is of great concern to me that I find where young Merry made her home outside of Cair Paravel."

The Satyr looked at her and then nodded. "I am grateful that Loc passed into Aslan's Country still seeing nothing of the ugly truth. The young doe had an area she preferred to frequent during the Long Winter. She once told Loc it was her treasure room. He never told me the precise location but I know the general area."

As soon as he pointed out the area on the map, Alambiel felt both elation and frustration. She had the final puzzle piece but Merry made her den far outside the Cair. Near Glasswater. Oreius would never let her go snoop alone. Now she'd have to find the perfect way to convince him that she absolutely had to be the one who went to explore Merry's hideaway. Not today, though, he might have accepted the fact that changes in their routine needed to be made to reclaim it for themselves but he would not agree to this excursion. Timing and a good argument would win the day . . . she hoped. And bribery. Lots of bribery.

She was still putting together her strategy for coaxing the Kentauri into letting her go when she reached their quarters. "Oreius?"

There was no answer but Alambiel still smiled when she saw what was resting on the smallest table. A bouquet of flowers similar to tulips but with petals that alternated between a royal purple and blue so dark it was almost black. The long stems were wrapped in a simple linen cloth, keeping the bouquet from falling apart. She laughed softly as she went to find the porcelain vase that had been among the wedding presents. She didn't recognize the flowers but the Kentauri must have brought them earlier. After all, it was the two-year anniversary of when their relationship began.

And he was already trying to make up for being so distant. Alambiel's smile grew a little wider as she carried the vase into the sitting room. Oblivious General he might be at times, but her husband knew how to make up for it. Once he knew he had to make up for it, anyway. She grasped the bouquet by the wrapped stems and dropped them into the vase then slid her hands down to cradle either side of the porcelain vase. The neck was fortunately tall enough to hide the fact that she forgot to grab the linen.

She glanced around the room that still mostly reflected Oreius' austere bachelor soldier decoration (just a couple throws and pillows added for her comfort . . . she still hadn't found a place to claim for her paints), which was probably a good thing considering how many soldiers came through on business. No, this wasn't the place to add a touch of femininity via pretty flowers and a hand-painted porcelain vase. Their bedchamber would be more appropriate. She was still smiling like a love-addled fool (which she probably did qualify as) when she carried the flowers over to her dressing table.

She heard the main doors open as she studied the flowers. They were sitting rather wonky.

"Alambiel?"

"In here." She leaned forward, holding her hair back, as she inhaled. "I appreciate the thought behind these flowers, love, but why would you choose ones that don't have a scent?" She reached out to adjust one of the flowers, adding, "You'd think flowers like these would have some sort of scent."

"Don't!" Oreius' hand wrapped around hers, halting her fingers just before she could touch the petals. Then he wrapped his free arm around her waist and yanked her back against him.

"Oreius?" She didn't finish the question, too surprised at the mix of horror and fury she could see in her husband's reflection.

"They're poisonous to the touch."

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A/N: Please Read and Review! Well, that was unexpected, no? :) Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.