They were seven, bunched in the single low cell. The darkness blurred outlines and features until they seemed almost one shapeless mass, but where a flicker of torchlight showed a ragged hem or unshaved jaw or the glint of an eye.

He was one, yet filled the rest of the room. It was, after all, neither the rich clothing given to aid other victims nor the silver crown now halfway to wherever the pirates hid their wealth that made him who he was. Young and bareheaded and clad in travel attire that had seen recent hard use, still none could miss the authority he carried with him.

The authority of four. The authority of One.

He spoke first. This was the moment of judgement and sentence. Their time for speech, for explanations and excuses and pleading (there had been no pleas, only stifled sobs from the one even younger than himself), had passed.

"We have heard the stories of our own people, and of the representatives of our fellow kingdoms, and have experienced for ourselves the deeds of which you are accused. You have been given opportunity to speak, and have offered naught which might mitigate the severity of your deeds. You have been found guilty on all charges and will be held to account for each infraction, down to the most minor. Justice requires this." A shadow stirred near the rear of the mass, small and slight, brought quickly to silence with a movement and a hiss. He did not miss the exchange – in truth, this king missed very little – but neither did he acknowledge the break in their ranks. He waited, watching. Wondering. When silence once again blanketed the cell, he continued. "Yet, we would offer mercy."

"Mercy?" A scoff broke from the foremost of the accused. "You're a fool, little king. Since when do pirates merit mercy?"

"You do not merit it. We offer it, nevertheless."

"Why?" A voice blurted from the rear. A young voice.

His heart leaped. Please

"You are Narnians, all. You belonged to Aslan once, and can again. We greatly desire this for you. We will not lightly abandon any who wish to put aside their former misdeeds."

"I do!" Light footsteps, then a cry of pain. "Let me go, I want it!"

Another cry, and a scuffle.

"You don't even know what he'll want in exchange."

"I don't care! I want it! I didn't want to do any of this, anyway."

"You're ungrateful, is what—"

"Do not prevent him!"

The voices fell silent, and light feet pattered forward. The king motioned to the guards stationed at either side of the small room. One faun stepped forward to unlock the door, while the other stood ready for any mishap. His sword was unneeded. The boy burst from the cell then halted, uncertain, his eyes hung upon his king. The king smiled gently, thanking Aslan that this one at least had come, then nodded toward the Dwarf standing by the door. The boy scurried across the broken tiles to join the old soldier.

The king looked back to the cell.

A large hand gripped at the blackened iron bars. "What will it cost us, this mercy of yours?"

"Your loyalty. To the Lion, to Narnia."

"That's all, huh?"

"It is no small thing, nor an easy one."

"What, to say we're loyal to you and your Lion?"

"To be loyal—to the Lion, and to his chosen Kings and Queens."

"And I guess a part of that loyalty is going to be telling you where our captain may be hiding out?"

"Who can say what loyalty may require?" A faint grin flickered upon the young king's lips. "But it is likely, yes."

"It's worth more than our lives, that," spat another voice, but he heard the fear behind the anger.

"Loyalty goes both ways."

"Sure it does."

"Loyalty to Aslan and to Narnia will not go unrequited."

A man growled. "I don't believe that for a—"

"I accept."

A shocked silence fell. The boy, of course, they had half expected. He was young, frightened. Inexperienced. This, though, was a man. One of them. The others grumbled as their fellow pushed forward and was met once more by the fauns at the cell door. He was short, with steel gray hair and tired eyes. They pinned the king as the man passed, challenging – daring him to recant his word – but no more did he say. He joined the boy and the Dwarf by the door.

Sullen defiance emanated from the shadows. The king clasped his hands behind him.

"Consider carefully. You must choose either our mercy or our justice. No other option exists."

A figure surged toward the bars. The fauns rustled nervously, but held their posts. "And what if we don't care to be beholden to you, King of Narnia? We've made our own way before, we'll pay our own price now. What do you think of that?"

"You cannot."

"You said the choice was ours."

"The choice between mercy and justice is indeed your own. We do not hinder it. But you cannot pay the price justice demands. It is too high."

"Then what kind of choice is it?"

"Yours." The eyes, so young, were also steady and sad. "Narnia deserves a just payment for your crimes. And Archenland, and Calormene, and the island nations you have attacked and pillaged. Their rulers, and their people, and their lands. Each wrong must be addressed, and they are too many for you. You will die in the attempt, far from your people and your homeland, and not even your bones will return to rest upon our soil. You will be utterly cut off."

"This is your punishment, then?" a voice sneered. "To heap sentence upon sentence until we have no choice?"

"The choice is yours. But justice is no punishment invented by us. It is the consequence of your deeds."

"If justice must be satisfied, then, how can you offer us mercy? Who will provide justice?"

"Narnia shall see to it, if you are ours."

"And those of our countrymen, who perhaps want to see justice visited upon us more than they wish to see mercy offered?"

"That complaint will be between them and us."

"Ha. Good luck with that. And how do you plan to 'see to' justice, anyway?"

"That is not your concern. You shall know that it has been done, and you will be free of it."

"Free. So you'll not conveniently send us off to Calormene after we give you the location of the captain and his treasure? You'll not have us rot in prison, nor work us to the death in chains, nor—"

"Have you ever seen such a work crew in Narnia, truly?"

"You know what I ask!"

"And surely you know my answer! Do you think that I, set free of my own crimes by the great Lion's mercy and His own blood, could revoke such a promise made to one of those he gave me?" Silence, heavy and still. "Do not require it of me, to leave you here to die for your crimes when you could hand them over and be free of them!" The young king drew in a long breath, regathering himself, and stepped back. "Do not require it of Him."

He thought for a moment he had failed, that his outburst had shown not his passion for their lives but his youth and inexperience. How he wished to seize them, to drag them all out of this stinking prison behind him, but he had given them the choice …

The movement of the fauns drew him back to the room, back to the small crowd beside the door, back to the two men joining that group even now. He looked to the cell, to the three who remained.

"Come. Your companions have made their choice. Will you not join them?"

"I will not." The voice was like a rock, and the man's companions shook their heads as well. "We will have nothing from you, Narnian king – not even freedom itself."

Fools. Fools. Why did they insist on their own destruction? Why could they not simply trust in his love for his people? In Aslan's love for His people …?

He had given them the choice.

The king bowed briefly, honoring their decision, and then turned and motioned to the Dwarf. The soldier heaved open the heavy wooden door, letting the bright light flood into the cell. He shuffled the former prisoners out before him, looking back to ensure that the king followed. He did – and yet he paused in the doorway, in the stark line between light and darkness, listening beyond hope for any indication that one more had chosen to leave the darkness with him. None came, however, and the king did not look back.