Authoress's Note: Welcome, dear readers, to the continuation of Galen and Lyra's story. While this can be read a stand-alone story, it is a sequel to my recently finished story, Knights of the Order of the Lion's Redemption, and if you have not read it you will be missing some context and references. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1: The Raven

The adventure began the day the Raven came. It dawned bright and mild—as fair a day as a thirteen-year-old boy eager to watch a joust could hope to have.

"Come on, Lyla!" I called to my twin sister from our family suite's sitting room. "Hurry up!"

"Ladies don't appreciate being hurried," she sniffed as she opened the door of her chamber and adjusted her sleeves primly.

"Hah," I scoffed. "I would think ladies would appreciate being on time so they don't miss everything."

"Indeed so," Mother warmly chuckled from behind me. She stood golden-haired and radiant in Father's favorite blue. "I'm going to wish your father well before the joust begins. Do either of you want to join me?" she asked unnecessarily. We always came with her to see Father off, and this day would certainly not prove an exception.

A few minutes' walk saw us through the warm stone halls of Anvard castle and to the colorful tents behind the jousting field. Mother's standard, the lily-crowned gryphon on green, fluttered outside a dark green tent, and Father's squire ushered us inside with a bow and friendly smile. Father stood inside, splendid in his armor as he tightened his vambrace straps. His eyes lit with warmth as we entered, but he straightened and offered Mother a crisp bow.

"Your highness," he greeted formally.

"Are you ready for the contest, my champion?" She asked with equal formality.

"In all respects save one, my lady," Father answered, his blue eyes twinkling merrily despite his serious tone. "I lack a token of favor from your gracious hand, if my lady will grant it."

"With all my heart," Mother's eyes twinkled in reply. Taking a bright blue ribbon from her pocket, she stepped forward and tied it carefully to the strap of his breastplate. Father looked down at her tenderly as she did so, a fond smile lingering upon his bearded face.

"Thank you, my lady," he bowed, raising Mother's hand to his lips. Beside me, Lyla sighed dreamily, and I rolled my eyes at her. We'd seen this familiar ritual many times, and to my parents it seemed as dear and comfortable as old leather.

"May Aslan protect and strengthen you, my champion," Mother solemnly repeated the familiar words, standing on tip-toe to kiss Father's brow.

"I shall endeavor to bear your standard well, my love," he answered.

"As you ever have, dearest," Mother smiled, and the blessing was over.

"Good luck, papa!" Lyla rushed forward now, embracing Father though she didn't reach his shoulder.

"Thank you, my little princess," he smiled broadly and kissed the top of her golden head.

"Good luck, papa," I extended a solemn hand, trying to be grown-up and serious.

"Thank you, Drystan," Papa answered warmly, taking my hand with the appropriate solemnity. I appreciate that he did not belittle my teenage efforts at manliness.

The trumpets sounded in the distance, announcing that the tournament would soon begin. After making our farewells, Mother, Lyla, and I hastened to the royal box. Uncle Ayden, then the crown prince, and his wife Aunt Charlotte greeted us as we took our seats. My grandparents, the king and queen, took their seats of honor shortly thereafter. I always made sure to sit nearest the king.

"I hope father wins," I bubbled to him as the hum of the crowd's anticipation filled the stands.

"Not to worry, I think," Grandpa chuckled and patted my shoulder with his wrinkled hand. "Your papa usually wins."

I grinned back at him just before the trumpets blared jauntily to quiet the crowd. He stood, his grandfatherly affection transforming into the long-accustomed regal bearing of Archenland's king. He greeted the crowd pleasantly and opened the tournament before passing the responsibility of officiating to Sir Ferian, who served as the day's knight-marshal. Sir Ferian began to introduce the knights, who rode in their turns past the cheering crowd, their bright pennants streaming behind them. At last, Father's turn came.

"Finally, make welcome Sir Galen Dragonsbane, Duke of Castlebay and champion of his gentle lady, the Princess Lyra!" The grey-haired old knight's voice boomed as Father rode in on his chestnut charger, Valiant.

"Huzzah!" I cheered loudly as he passed. Papa always caught Mother's gaze with a confident smile and spared a wink for me.

"You gave papa his knighthood name, didn't you, grandpa?" I turned to the aged king beside me as I retook my seat. "Dragonsbane is the most magnificent title I could imagine."

"I did, indeed, though he certainly earned it," grandpa nodded sagely.

"Friends," Sir Ferian silenced the crowd anew, "This is no ordinary tournament. It celebrates the fifteenth anniversary of that worthy couple's wedding. Your highness and my lord Duke, we congratulate you heartily."

The crowd cheered enthusiastically, and my parents inclined their heads.

"And now, my friends," Sir Ferian continued, "Let the joust begin!"

Father won, of course. His skillful lancework and the calm strength behind it never failed. A few hours remained blissfully free before the grand ball that evening, and our family retreated to the peace of the little glen a short walk into the Anvard woods. The waterfall sparkled in the golden afternoon as my sister and I explored near the edge of the bubbling pool. Father rested against the trunk of the nearby willow, playing a light, cascading tune on his flute. His music seemed to carry a little extra magic in it that day, as the notes reflected back the waterfall's music in a jaunty duet. Beside him, under the trailing willow boughs, Mother deftly plucked the strings of her clear-toned lyre.

As I continued wading among the mossy rocks, I heard the rustle of powerful wings overhead. An eddy of air brushed my cheek, and I looked up to see a huge Raven land in the tree across the stream. He settled his glossy wings over his back, and I could not help staring. The Raven was truly enormous, as large as one of the Stormness Mountain eagles, and his black feathers glistened with gleams of subtle purple. His bright eye, fixed intently upon me, glittered with peculiar wit and wisdom. The Raven turned his gaze curiously toward Lyla, who also stared at him in wonder. After a few seconds, he turned towards my parents and cocked his head as he listened to the lovely music that wafted from beneath the willow. I heard Father's flute stop abruptly and looked over to see him stand and approach us. His step seemed nonchalant, but his face had a hard set to it and his hand brushed near to his sword hilt.

"Papa!" I exclaimed, "look at the Raven—I've never seen its like!"

"I see," he replied evenly. "Come stand nearer to me, you two." The steel in his voice was unmistakeable. We dared not hesitate to obey when Father spoke in that tone. Mother seemed to recognize it too. She joined us calmly, but her hand strayed near to her own sword hilt.

"What is it, Galen?" She asked in a low tone.

"It's a Narnian Raven, Lyra," he answered gravely.

I felt a thrill of excitement, but before I could ask the many pert questions that came to mind, Father raised his voice and addressed the Raven.

"Welcome, Cousin," his firm voice carried commandingly in the glen, "What brings you to Archenland?"

The Raven regarded him for a long moment. To my astonishment, he answered in throaty but distinct speech.

"I am called Cedric, and I come seeking tidings of a Narnian who came this way many years ago, a young knight of the Shuddering Wood."

"Papa!" I gasped, "That's—"

"Hush," Mother quieted sternly, and I swallowed my outburst.

"You undertook a dangerous journey, friend, to venture into the world of men," Father remarked, his question unspoken but clear.

"Yet the Lion's blessing guides my way," the Raven croaked shrewdly, "for you play the flute as no Archenlander ever could. Are you Sir Galen of Narnia?"

"I am," Father answered gravely. "Pray tell me what has happened to send you in search of me."

"I would first be sure, as is my duty," the Raven answered. "Would you do me the courtesy of showing me the sword you carry?"

"I would also be sure that you speak truly. Can you first describe it and its origin?"

"Indeed. Sir Galen carries the sword of his grandfather, Sir Drystan, who fought in the siege of Cair Paravel and spirited the Stone Knife into hiding as the last survivor of his order. It is a true Narnian broadsword of red dwarvish make, inscribed with the seal of the Royal Smithy and a silver rampant Lion."

My heart swelled with pride to hear the Raven speak of my great grandfather, for whom I am named. Wordlessly and with a solemn air, Father drew his sword and held it at salute for the great bird to see.

"Thank you, my lord," Cedric bobbed his head. "Sir Achaicus described it well when he commissioned me."

At this, papa's face lit with mingled worry and joy, and his guardedness fell from him.

"Then my old sword master still lives? Pray tell me all, my friend!" He exclaimed. "But forgive me," he amended hastily, "allow me to present my wife, the Princess Lyra of Archenland, and our children, Drystan and Lyla."

"Your highness," the Raven bobbed his head as Mother curtsied, then bobbed towards my sister and I in turn. We returned his courtesy with our courtliest bows, albeit a little shyly.

The great bird moved from the tree to a nearer boulder with a precise flap of wings.

"The aged centaur lives still, my lord," Cedric acknowledged. "He sent me to learn what I could of your fate and to deliver news, if I found you."

"What news?" Father's voice hardened suddenly. The Raven paused gravely before he answered.

"Your mother has taken ill," Cedric spoke, a glimmer of pity shining in his bright eye. "I am afraid she is not expected to live through autumn. She hoped to learn what became of her son before the end."

A shadow passed over Father's face, and Mother pressed his arm with a sympathetic hand.

"I am grateful to you for accepting this dangerous mission," Father spoke at last. "Please join us and we will make you welcome."

Father and the Raven spoke for a long time beside the stream. Mother drew my sister and me back to the willow tree, else I would happily have listened too. As the sun began to set, we returned to Anvard, as Mother and Father were expected at the tournament ball that evening. Cedric stayed in the glen with Father's promise to return the next day. Before we reached the castle, Father cautioned Lyla and me not to speak of the Narnian's arrival.

"People who are not from Narnia are not used to Talking Animals, Drystan," he answered when I asked why. "It is important for Cedric's safety that you let me and your mother choose when and to whom to speak of him."

Old Eloise, mother's maidservant, put Lyla and me to bed while our parents went to the ball in all their finery. They were ever the happy Duke and Duchess but for a slightly distracted look in Father's eye. But I couldn't sleep. Father only used that steel-hard tone of voice when something dangerous was at hand, and I wondered what danger he had feared when he saw the Narnian bird. It must have been after midnight when I heard Mother and Father return, and I crept to the door of my room. They spoke in low voices for a moment, then Mother kissed Father and went to bed. Father did not follow, instead going out to the balcony that opened from our sitting room. I waited a few minutes, and then followed him. He was leaning on the parapet, staring thoughtfully across the moonlit landscape.

"I thought you were supposed to be in bed," Father chuckled, glancing in my direction.

"I couldn't sleep," I answered, joining him at the railing.

"Why is that?" He asked without a hint of scolding in his voice. I thought a moment before answering.

"Papa, why were you afraid of the Raven?"

Father sighed.

"You remember the cheerful bedtime stories I told you about Narnia when you were little?"

I nodded.

"Well, I suppose you are old enough now to know some of the uncheerful ones," he continued gravely. "Since your great-grandfather's time, Old Narnia has been in hiding from the Telmarines."

"Well, I knew that," I interjected.

"Yes," he laughed a little, "but I have not told you the fullness of what it is to live in hiding. It is a desperate kind of life, where being hunted to death is the most common way to die—as was true of my own father." He paused thoughtfully. "Our family was the only human family I knew of among the Narnians in hiding. Most Narnians are Talking Animals and other creatures. Some of them have come to hate men altogether without distinguishing between ally and enemy."

Father turned to me now, a grave glint in his eyes. "I've seen firsthand what that kind of hatred can do. Once, Narnian Wolves—my own countrymen—attacked me, Lyra, and several civilian Archenlanders, including a young child. Your mama still bears the scars from the wounds she received in that attack."

My stomach churned as I listened, but I did not look away.

"I have also known Ravens to keep company with Wolves. That is why I was wary of the Raven, who certainly had it in his power to do you and your sister harm if he wished it. And even if not, I wondered whether he fled some enemy that would come upon us."

I nodded.

"I am glad it turned out not to be so," he smiled a little, grasping my shoulder encouragingly. "But I am grateful too that you heeded me, even if you did not understand."

I nodded again, quite solemnly.

"Will Cedric stay with us for a while?" I asked, hopeful enthusiasm creeping into my voice.

"We will see," Father answered evenly. "Could you sleep now, do you think?"

"Yes, papa," I smiled and embraced him. "Goodnight."

I did not see much of Father the next day. He returned to the glen alone at daybreak, then he and mother kept council with the king that afternoon. The day after, our family party began the return journey to Castlebay Manor as scheduled. I loved traveling days. Our household retinue was just the right size: three servants and father's squire, along with four of the estate's men-at-arms. Many a lesser noble would insist on something grander, but not so my parents. The pennants at the tips of the vanguard's lances—Mother's lily-crowned gryphon and Father's gold dragon passant—snapped jauntily in the sunlight as we departed at an easy pace from Anvard's gate. Mother and Father talked cheerfully as they rode side by side. Lyla and I rode our saddle horses behind them. The servants followed in carts with baggage and provisions, then the rearguard followed. As we crested the rise and continued into the woods along the King's Highway, I glanced back and saw the black wings of a raven swoop deftly behind us. We camped near a brook that evening, and Father took the first watch, as was his custom. I fell asleep in our family's pavilion tent to the sound of the babbling water mixed with Father's low murmur and Cedric's throaty whispers.

We reached home the next afternoon. As he always did, Father drew the column to a halt at the top of the low hill that sloped down to the sea. He stared at the glistening horizon for a few moments, his eyes misty and his thoughts far away. Mother reached out to him and took his hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiled softly as he shifted his gaze to her, raising their clasped hands to his lips and kissing the back of hers. Then, he spurred Valiant on down the hill.

The castle's weathered ramparts stood quiet sentinel over the surrounding village and farms, facing the East as though it too, like my Father, pondered the sea. We passed through Castlebay Village as the fishermen were hanging their nets out to dry. The time-tested old walls and thatched roofs were still warm with afternoon sun, and Mrs. Baker's prize peonies nodded their heavy-laden heads in the sea breeze. After receiving many a warm salute from the villagers, we approached the manor gate. The estate was much as you will remember it: a modest castle made of Stormness granite and encircled with pleasant gardens, though Father had not yet planted the apple orchard in the West garden.

"Welcome home, my lord and lady," Father's steward greeted as we dismounted. The head butler and the housekeeper offered their bows as well.

"Thank you," Father acknowledged them with a nod. "Is all well?"

"Indeed, sir," the steward smiled at Father's habitual question.

I slipped away from the bustle of arrival and went into the entry hall. Father's old armor stood displayed at the side wall in front of the lefthand staircase, and I often found myself staring at the faded blue tabard with its silver lion. It seemed very old, with worn and mended places here and there. My gaze lingered on the rusty brown stains spattered across it. The blood of some long-slain enemy? Or perhaps Father's own? The chainmail beneath the tabard bore its own evidence of use, the sleeve truncating a little past the elbow in tattered strands of half-melted rings. I fingered them, as I had many times before, contemplating the dragon fire responsible. Eventually, I tore myself from my reverie and hurried to my room to wash up for tea.

Our parents still said nothing of the Raven, so Lyla and I held our own council after tea. Alas, we came to no satisfactory conclusions. But my sister was nothing if not persistent.

"Drystan!" Lyla hissed, shaking me awake. "Come quick!"

"What?" I mumbled groggily. "What time is it?"

"Shh!" She admonished. "Nevermind the time. Come on."

With no further explanation, my sister grabbed my hand and dragged me down the corridor. When we reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she gestured again to me to be quiet. The entry hall lay in darkness, its lamps extinguished for the night, but warm light spilled into the hall from the parlor. Our parents' voices spilled from the parlor too, and Lyla and I settled in the darkness half-way down the stairs to listen.

"Cedric says he can guide me around the Telmarine outposts and patrols," Father was saying. "I hope to reach my mother's home in the Shuddering Woods before midsummer."

"How long will you stay?" Mother's voice was so quiet and solemn that I struggled to make out the words.

"I'm not sure," Father sighed. "Until I—" his voice broke and he cleared his throat. "Until I bury her next to my father."

They were silent for a moment.

"Galen," Mother spoke at last, "I do not know how I can sit here for months wondering if I will ever see my husband again."

"What do you mean, my dear?" Father puzzled. "I would never consider staying in Narnia permanently. My home and duty are here with you and the children."

"That is not what I mean," Mother's voice trembled. "I know how dangerous the journey is. I took a Telmarine bolt from your back the day you came to Archenland, and I don't want to lose you should their aim prove truer now."

I glanced at Lyla and saw her eyes as wide as my own. Father never told us that part of the story.

"And worse," Mother continued, "I might never even know your fate."

Father became grave. "You wish me not to go."

"I would not ask that of you," came Mother's reply. "Of course you must see your mother again before it is too late. What I am saying is that I want to come with you."

"And, what, pack the children off to Anvard?" Father scoffed. "Aslan forbid, leave them parentless should the worst happen?"

"I'm not suggesting we leave them," Mother answered evenly, and my heart thrilled with anticipation.

It was dreadfully silent for a moment.

"Aslan's mane, Lyra, do you know what you're saying?" Father finally exclaimed, standing and crossing into my view as he paced. Then he turned back to Mother. "The king gave me his leave to make the journey, but he certainly did not consent for me to take his daughter and grandchildren, one of whom is—," he dropped his voice to a whisper and I could not hear the rest of the sentence. "How could I betray his trust so grievously?"

"Would you rather your mother never meet her grandchildren?"

"Lyra, that's not fair," Father reproached.

"But it is true," mother stood and crossed the room towards him. "Your children should have the chance to know their grandmother." She spoke gently now. "And I want to know my mother-in-law. I want to see the Narnia you've told me of so often—the beauty and wonder that still survive there! Together the danger would not be too much to manage, Aslan willing. We have survived greater dangers, you and I."

"Barely," Father murmured, gazing absentmindedly towards the hall.

"Do you doubt the children?" Mother asked when he did not say anything else.

"Of course not," Father answered, to my great relief. "Drystan and Lyla are capable, and we have taught them well. But they are still so young."

"Not very much younger than you were when you were knighted."

"Perhaps I was too young," Father reflected, his expression far away again.

"We will be cautious, and if danger does come, the best chance is if we are together," Mother reasoned.

Father crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, aiming a glare at her.

"You do vex me, my love."

Mother laughed and drew near him. "Isn't that why you married me, dearest?"

This elicited a small chuckle and a wry expression from Father.

"I will stay if you ask me to," Mother's voice softened as she caressed his cheek. "You know I will not force you to decide the way I wish."

"I know," Father smiled gently, "and I love you for it."

He took mother in his arms and kissed her. Then he took a moment to consider.

"We will give them the choice," he decided at last. "And we might as well ask them now."

"Surely we shouldn't wake them," Mother objected.

"There's no need, my dear. They're not far," Father answered knowingly, then looked right at me. "Come out, you two," he commanded.

Shamefacedly, I stood up, and Lyla followed.

"Let that be a lesson to you next time you think to outwit a Narnian huntsman," Father chided, though his eyes twinkled.

"I'm sorry, papa. It was my idea," Lyla admitted contritely.

"That's alright," he held a hand to her. "We have more important things to talk over now. Come."

When we were settled in the parlor, Father addressed us more gravely than I had ever heard him speak.

"As you overheard, I will soon be traveling into the heart of Narnia to visit my mother before she goes to Aslan's Country. And, if you wish, you and your mother may come with me." He paused, bringing his piercing gaze to bear. I could not help but shiver.

"Drystan, Lyla, I need you to understand that Narnia is enemy occupied territory. This would not be like our leisurely hunting and fishing trips. We will have days of hard traveling, without servants, horses, or fresh food, as we sneak past Telmarine villages and soldiers. Telmarines are ruthless and will not hesitate to kill you—children though you be—or, if they wait long enough to find out who you are, imprison you and demand ransom of your grandfather the king. You may see men die—at my hand, your mother's, or even your own, if you are forced to protect yourself. And while I promise that I will sell my life dearly before I let them harm you, I cannot promise that I will succeed."

Father placed a hand on each of our shoulders, and I could feel a tremor in his grasp.

"When I was less than two years older than you are now, I saw my own father slain by a Telmarine patrol. I do not want you to witness the same. If you choose not to come, you choose well and not dishonorably."

A knot of dread formed in my stomach, and I know I must have looked up at him with wide eyes.

Papa," I began, but he held up a hand to stop me.

"If you choose to come," he continued, "I must have your solemn word to Aslan Himself that you will obey me and your mother without question, argument, or hesitation, no matter what we say or what you think. Your lives and ours will depend upon it. Do not agree to come if you cannot give that word and abide by it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, papa," I nodded solemnly, and so did Lyla. Father waited for a long, heavy moment.

"Do you wish to come?" He asked at last. I met his gaze without hesitation, and Lyla's answer sounded in unison with my own.

"Yes."

Authoress's note: do let me know what you think, if you feel so inclined. Thank you!