Thanks to all readviewers!

Fics are likely to be shorter than this for the next week or so, since tomorrow is prep day and then I'll be out of town through the 12th.


Prompt: If actions speak louder than words, how is the pen mightier than the sword?


In the third year of the reign of Rabadash Tisroc, in the sixth month (which in Narnia is reckoned Greenroof), the house of Kidrash Tarkaan was thrown into a tizzy by a messenger. After all, one did not reject the announcement of a visit from the new Crown Princess of Archenland...even if said princess happened to also be one's wayward, renegade, and most recalcitrant daughter.

In truth, Kidrash was mostly delighted, for though he had been greatly angered by Aravis' refusal to wed Ahoshta and by the theft and deception she had committed against them, time had quelled his passion, and it was impossible to argue that her station—and therefore his—had not been elevated as a result. His son was also delighted, for he had deeply missed the sister who vanished in his childhood. The feelings of most others in the household varied from indifference to resentment, with one notable exception.

Despite this general malaise, the visit proceeded without much issue. On the last night of her stay, the Princess of Archenland said to the Lord of Calavar, "O my father and the delight of my eyes, I would ask of you a boon."

"O my daughter and the delight of my eyes," he replied, "if it is within my power to grant, you shall have it."

Aravis smiled.


He had been old before, and had grown older as the years passed. Now half-blind, Korideeb could no longer scribe for the tarkaan, and two years ago had been demoted to wastetaker.

But though the master's second wife had given him new sons and daughters, he had never forgotten the little tarkheena he had tended as an infant. Nor the mingled desperation and determination in her eyes when she begged him to write the letter that would save her. She had gone, despite his pleas to the contrary, and he counted himself immensely fortunate that none had ever suspected him of aiding her.

He had been overjoyed when it was announced that she would be coming to visit, and though he had seen her only once or twice in that fortnight, it was enough for him to know that she had grown up well and happy.

The master had not spoken to him in months, so it was with some trepidation that he answered a summons to Kidrash's study on the morning his daughter was slated to leave. When he arrived, the tarkaan was seated at the desk, and he bowed low, as was proper.

"Your service is no longer required in this house."

Korideeb's heart leapt into his mouth, but before it could begin to beat fast, his master went on. "You will depart in an hour with the princess and her retinue, for you now belong to her. Call the head steward to me. You are dismissed."

And so, baffled, he left the house of Kidrash Tarkaan in the train of Princess Aravis, and boarded the Archen ship with the others. An hour after they cast off, he was summoned to the princess' cabin. She was alone, seated at a tiny desk, and he bowed low, as was proper.

There was a rustle of cloth. "Oh, Kori, no."

Bewildered, and a little jolted by her childhood nickname for him, he straightened up—and found Aravis standing in front of him, tears in her eyes. "Your highness?" he said helplessly.

She took his hands and clasped them gently. "We're not in Calormen, Kori. You're not a slave anymore. You need not bow to me."

He blinked at her.

Her hands tightened. "I wanted to thank you. I've wanted to thank you for so long, but the time was never right to come back, not until now. You saved me, Korideeb. Back then, you saved all of us. Well," she amended, "there were several that saved us, and the Lion not the least—but you were one of them. It was unfair of me to press you into writing that letter, but oh, Kori! Sit, sit; I have so much to tell you!"

Finally, years after the fact, he learned what had become of her when she fled her father's house. She told him of how her horse had spoken to her; how she had posted the letter; met a ragged boy in her travels and joined up with him; been separated in Tashbaan; made their way to Archenland and discovered that her companion was the prince; grown up with him and married him.

"And you see," said Aravis at the end, "that without you, I could not have left Calavar. And without leaving Calavar, I would never have met Cor and never heard Rabadash's plans—and the North would have fallen. Without you, Kori, there would be no Archenland or Narnia now. Cor and I cannot ever repay you fully, but if there is aught you desire, we will do all we can to see it done."

He sat in silence for a time, overwhelmed, with many thoughts buzzing in his mind. At length he cleared his throat. "I am a plain man, my lady, and advanced in age. I wish only to live the remainder of my life in peace and quiet, and to be of service to you however I may."

"So it shall be," said the princess of Archenland, and curtsied deeply.


Korideeb had had a long, hard life in Calormen, and he did not live many years in Archenland, but they were good years, filled with joy. Lodged in a simple, Calormene-styled room near the nursery, he quickly became a favorite storyteller of the castle children. He was blessed to bounce Prince Ram—and later, Prince Rammin and Princess Ayraleen—on his knee, as he had once bounced their mother. And when Death at last held out her hand to him, he took it with a smile.