"Do you eat frogs in your country? Do you have giants there?" The questions came in quick succession that only a child could ask without causing offense. Fortunately, the asker was, in fact, a 10-year-old boy who went by the name of Ram, "We don't but Narnia does on one of her borders. I can't remember which one." He was a well-rounded little boy, face still shining with baby fat and his skin a comely mix of his two parents. For the heir-prince, he was a surprisingly nice child and not stuck up as many other rich children who Arrosh vaguely remembered meeting in his short life. After finding out that Arrosh was his uncle he merely grinned and cheered that he now had two uncles instead of the one.

Arrosh smiled a bit, "I fear we don't eat frogs and we don't have giants." He paused, as if thinking, then said, "We do have ghouls, however."

"What are-"

"Arrosh," Cor called from across the table, speaking for the first time that night, "You said you learned the building trade with your father, what did you build?" While his tone was not as skeptical nor suspicious as before, Arrosh could still guess why he was asking.

The young man bit back a sigh, the man had plied him with questions for nearly an hour after he had told his tale. How had he gotten here? Why did you go that way? How had he found Aravis? Now, here he was, at it again. Was it possible to just move on and accept it? At least, Arrosh thought wryly, the king was asking all the wrong questions.

Arrosh nodded, refusing to shovel his food into his mouth and reveal just how hungry he was, "We built mostly summer homes and beach houses for the rich, houses of stone, mud, and clay. My father and I moved from crew to crew, not good enough to stay for any length of time, but good for meaningless tasks. Unfortunately, when one is in the lower ranks, the business is not lucrative at the best of times. However, it is one of the easier trades to start because of its nature. As the proverbs say, the lowly are Etnos' favorite playthings." Arrosh couldn't help but shift in his chair, uncomfortable talking about his misfortune to them. At least now that Aravis had believed him that is.

He felt like an intruder here, wearing foreign clothes and the hot bath having made him cleaner than he could ever remember being. He was nothing and always would be. But for his little sister? He'd do anything. Especially after what he did. It was his fault, after all, that he couldn't get her out without having to come all the way to a foreign land filled with barbarians. Thank Tash, his sister was well known, being the queen. He had worried his father's curses may have reached her and she would be of no help. In truth, when he left, he hadn't known whether she was dead or alive. Yet it had been all he could think of to do. Now he had been a few grains of fortune that he wouldn't waste.

King Cor seemed to be about to make a comment but was interrupted by his incessant, though kindly offspring. Ram leaned forward, elbows propped up on the table, utensils held firmly in his fists, "Can you fight? Boxing? Sword fighting? Shoot arrows?" That open, kind face reminded Arrosh so much of Iliz that it felt as though his heart was to burst from his chest. Why couldn't it have been himself who was sold instead of her? By Tash, he would burn every slaver who had ever touched her to the ground.

Arrosh chewed the inside of his lip and looked down to his plate of food he had taken such care to eat at an acceptable pace, "I am afraid not, young one. A simple builder doesn't learn such things." He grinned at him, "You probably know more of the arts than I do."

"Uncle Corin could teach you!" The boy crowed, shoveling food into his mouth while trying to speak, "He's-"

"I could teach who what now?" The booming voice of a man, who looked nearly the same as King Cor, came, "I apologize for my tardiness, brother, I got caught up in a boxing match and had to clean up first." The small bandage above his eyebrow was proof enough of that remark, "Now, I was told, in the invitation, we were to dine with a long-lost brother." He glanced at the young man before him, "By jove! This must be the lad. He looks just like Aravis! I don't see how there could be any doubt." He grinned, clapping the boy on the shoulder, causing him to wince, "Welcome to the family, lad. I'm afraid my idiot brother has neglected to tell me your name." He stuck out his hand, an impish grin that made him look years younger spread across his face, "I'm Corin, definitely the most handsome of the royal twins by far." His face was the same as his brother, their height not far from each other. The main difference was that the youngest twin was slightly broader, never having to worry about food growing up and being an avid sportsman with a variety of outlets, had helped in that regard.

Cor sighed quietly, his hope of an ally with his lingering suspicions dashed. There was something the boy wasn't telling. He could feel it. Aravis was too spell bound by the story and boy to even consider alternate possibilities. All the what ifs. In truth, it might take Aslan himself to make him fully believe. There had to be more to it.

Arrosh gripped his hand and bowed his head, uncertain of what sort of custom he was supposed to perform. Bowing was the norm in Calormen. Not whatever this was. "I am Arrosh, son of Kidrash. It's an honor to meet you, sire." He let go of the hand, hoping he hadn't caused offense. What was the title for the brother of the king? Did they have tarkaans here? The man hadn't given one, yet he must have one.

Corin gave a lighthearted laugh and plopped himself on the chair between Arrosh and Ram. He ruffled the younger boy's hair, smiling, "And how goes training, Ramlet?"

"Can you teach Uncle Rosh to fight?" Ram hopped up and down in his chair, ignoring his uncle's question, "He says he don't know how!"

"Doesn't'." Aravis and Cor quietly corrected at the same time, which caused them to glance at each other and grin.

"Already got nicknames, eh?" Corin chuckled, ignoring the two. Quickly distracted, his eyes widened at the plate of food set before him by a servant, "Thank you, Beatris." He dug into the food as though famished. Manners, apparently, were only for when guests were around. Or mayhaps not at all. Who knew what the barbarian customs were around here? Here he was, seated on a chair where his feet only touched the floor if they were extended and at a table taller than the chairs. The expanse of his ignorance was vast.

Before the little boy could answer, an older woman came in, curtsied to the king and queen, then a slightly smaller one for Corin, "I apologize for the intrusion, your highnesses, but I fear it is time for the young prince to come away for a bath and prepare for bed."

Ram groaned and tilted his head back, "Not yet, Nanny. Please." He proceeded to plead with her with his eyes, "I promise I'll be good going bed."

Arrosh looked away, surely the boy would be punished for resisting. He remembered well enough his own father's ideas on such matters even before his second wife had died.

"Go on, Ram." Aravis waved him away with a smile that gave no room for argument, "You shall see your uncles tomorrow."

The boy knew he was defeated and slumped dramatically, "Yes, mother." He got off the chair with a big show, before dropping the act to start going around the table giving a hug and a, "Good night."

Coming to Arrosh last, Ram barreled into the older boy and hugged him tight, "Good night!" He pulled away saying as he left, "You really should have Uncle Corin teach you to fight. It's such fun!" At this, he started chattering to the nanny, telling her all about what little he knew about his newfound uncle - exaggerating as children tend to do.

Arrosh smiled some and gave a wave. He was glad the boy hadn't been reprimanded heavily for asking. Ram was a good sort and the gods bless him for making this dinner that much easier. Now that he was gone, what was to happen? A pit knotted in his stomach and he took a bite of food to wash the feeling away. All it did was turn to sand.

Before silence could fully descend on the group, Corin sat forward, "So, I've been told little of the situation we have come to, but what I do know is there's a little girl in dire need of our assistance." He gestured around as though conjuring her up himself, "What's the plan?"

King Cor looked up from his food, "A plan? What plan?"

Aravis watched her brother, he was her brother most certainly and that she knew, out of the corner of her eye in an attempt not to stare at him. It rarely worked. Yet as much as she looked at him and wondered, the words refused to come and she found herself a mute in his presence.

What sort of life had he lived because of her? Had he suffered much? Though Archenlander clothing was loose and willowy, she could tell he was a few bites from starvation before coming here. As he spoke with Ram she could see his lighthearted smiles and fun remarks to keep a young boy interested. But there was a deep sadness in his eyes that not even a smile could hide. He was hurting and it was all her fault.

Finally, she was able to say, "Then this is the perfect time to make a plan." She managed a smile at her brother, "Let us begin at once."