"Uncle," The young boy, though not much younger than Iliz if he thought about it, had been trotting ahead as they worked their way through the Anvard grounds. They had been to the archery range, the stables, and their current course was taking them to the training grounds. Ram slowed slightly, looking thoughtful, "Who is Etnos?"

Arrosh nearly stumbled, "You mean to say you have not been taught who Etnos is?"

Ram shook his head, his black hair glinting in the sun, "No, that's why I asked. It's no fun asking questions you already know the answer to."

Arrosh tried hard not to frown, "Have you heard of Azaroth? Or Zardeenah, Lady of the Night?" Gods forbid, the boy must have known of Tash.

Again, Ram shook his head, his round face screwed up in confusion, "Are they heros or great leaders of Calormen?"

It was getting increasingly difficult to keep the astonishment from his voice, "Your mother, she has not taught you of the gods of her people?"

The boy looked away, seeming put out, "Mum doesn't really talk about where she came from. Says she ran away because she didn't want to marry someone she didn't love, that she met Dad while she was running away with Hwin." He shrugged, before perking up, "I did learn that in my studies, you have a tisroc instead of a king and, um, your people don't like Aslan?"

Aravis hadn't even taught the boy of her homeland? He knew nothing about the land of his ancestry? It brought a sour feeling to his stomach to think of it. He was not particularly religious, not having the funds for sacrifices or much interest beyond acknowledging their existence.

For now, this would be put aside. Aravis probably had her own reasons. Just like she had the ones she had for abandoning her family.

Arrosh forced a grin down at the boy, "Well then, I shall have to tell you all about it then. Etnos is the god of work, toil, and fortune." Behind him, the silent servant looked up, opened his mouth before changing his mind and closing it again.

"Just those things? Why isn't he god of everything?"

"Well, we have others for the other things, but our head god, the great god is Tash the Inexorable."

"What does inexorable mean?"

Arrosh blinked, his schooling had never gone that far, "I don't know. It must mean he's important."

The boy scratched his head, "Why so many when you could just have one? We have Aslan, the lion and he's the best."

"Why have only one when you can have many?" Arrosh arched an eyebrow at the boy in good humor.

"Ah, look, we are nearly to the training grounds," Lunten, the servant pointed out the area that was coming into view.

Up ahead, now that he was silent, the clash of steel against steel and several cheers of onlookers could be heard easily from afar as Arrosh followed his young guide, trailed by the servant. The glint of their swords flickered in the blazing sun of the late morning and, if he closed his eyes, Arrosh could almost believe that he was home for just a moment. Oh, to be home once again. But that likelihood would never be possible. Not after what had happened. Even if they could get Iliz, it was unlikely they would be able to stay.

Now wasn't the time to contemplate these things. He would become much too solemn for the boy bouncing his way ahead of him, having already forgotten his questions. Turning his attention to his surroundings, Arrosh tried to take everything in. The grounds were kept well, the grass low and areas close to the palace had gardens full of strange flowering plants. The rest of the land stretched out into a long field before turning into the woodlands that seemed so common in Archenland. Home seemed whole worlds away here as opposed to a mere desert.

He could only hope that Aravis and King Cor would be willing to have him and his sister. But that was a matter for after he got her back. If what he had heard was right, she had been sold to a man who wasn't likely to sell her again for some time. This could be good and bad. Surely these royals had enough money to persuade the man of the house to part with one measly slave girl. He'd work the rest of his life to repay them if needed. As the proverbs said, better to be a slave in your brother's house than a stranger's. Or sister's in this case.

"...you should try it!" The energetic boy at his side was saying something as they went towards a crowd of people standing around a combat ring.

"Try what, Ramlet?" Arrosh smiled down at his nephew, trying out the nickname the others had given him. It felt odd in his mouth. His father hadn't been lying for once. The man's own features hid in the face of this young boy. Now that he looked for it, at least.

This was the family he had only heard dreadful stories of his entire life. He had cast himself to the barbarians in the desperate hope of salvation.

"Practicing in the ring!" Ram's dark curls bounced as he skipped and hopped along like a hare in spring, "I could get Sir Orran to teach you something! He's real nice and teaches me when Uncle Corin can't." They were closer now and the sound of fighting had died down as those around had stopped to look at the newcomer.

"I don't-" Arrosh began but was tugged forward relentlessly by the soft hand of his nephew.

"Sir Orran! Sir Orran!" The boy called, dragging them through the crowd of onlookers. He was either accustomed to the looks or took no notice of them as he bounced towards a large, mountain of a man with a long dirty blond braid running down his back and a sword at his side. Who was King Cor in comparison to this monstrosity?

The boy ran straight up to the man, bouncing and gesturing back at Arrosh where he had left him behind several paces ago, "Sir Orran, this is my uncle, Arrosh! He's mum's brother from far away."

At that moment, the massive man did the most terrifying thing Arrosh could ever have seen a man of his size do. He smiled and bowed his head in greeting. Arrosh took a step back and bowed as well, his insides quaking. Men seemingly made of stone did not smile. It was unnatural. He kept his head bowed and listened to his little nephew babble on. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the men finally begin going about their business and take no more notice of him. Words swirled around among them and some he could pick up.

"Harvest will be good this year. I can feel it in my bones."

"Heard he used to be a slave."

"Looks like he was."

"Looks just like the Queen more like it."

"You just think that because he's the first Calormen person besides her that you've ever seen."

"Of course, I could teach him a thing or two, if he's willing, Prince Ram." A deep, rattling voice came from above and Arrosh was shunted back to the matter at hand.

A hand tugged at the hem of his shirt and Ram was saying, "Don't worry. He won't do nothin to ya."

There was a mutter from the servant behind them and Ram screwed up his face for a moment before saying with mock primness, "There is nothing to worry about, Uncle. Sir Orran shall not harm you futilely. Fatally, I mean." He gave the servant, or tutor possibly, a look that asked if that was enough. Apparently, it was because no further comment was made.

Arrosh tried to smile some, "Alright then, Nephew. I accept." If he was to stay on their good side, he'd do just about anything asked of him. From one slavery of a kind to another. At least, this one was more comfortable than the former. So far. Though this didn't seem to be the best idea he'd had of late and wasn't entirely sure that agreeing to anything should extend to the ten-year-old.

Orran gave that dreadful smile again and beckoned for Arrosh to follow him before heading into the depths of the milling people. Ram stayed behind to speak to a man and to stay near the ring.

They came upon several rows of racks containing various weapons. "Ram timed your tour well." Orran gestured to them, "For the next two hours is the only time you will see these weapons before they are counted and locked away. Any other time they are only in the hands of the guards on duty and the nobles." He shifted so his back was to the prince behind them and fixed Arrosh with a hard look before continuing as though nothing had happened, "How much do you know of weaponry and the art of fighting, sir?" He gave Arrosh a glance over, "Prince Ram says you've claimed to know nothing. Yet, you don't have the appearance of a man who knows naught in the arts." His smile had vanished and his eyes gone cold. Strange how a sudden change in demeanor could really turn one's blood to cold.

Arrosh shrugged, not looking at the man, instead focusing his gaze just past the man's upper arm, "I fear you have misread me, Sir Orran. I know nothing of these sorts of things." He glanced back at Ram with a wry grin, "I fear the boy is going to be dreadfully disappointed when he comes to the realization that I am far from the warrior Sir Corin is. I am merely a builder from Calormen." He looked up at the grim-faced man, his grin wilting like a flower in a drought, "Please, simply call me Arrosh. I am of no importance and there is no need to call me sir."

He bent down to look Arrosh in the face, still facing away from Ram, "If you are who you claim to be then you are important." His gaze pierced the boy's skin like nails being driven through him as he scrutinized Arrosh, "If you're merely the mercenary I, and several others, suspect you to be then you are not deserving, Arrosh." He stood and gestured to the racks, "Now, choose your weapon and we shall see what you're made of."

Arrosh chose a weapon at random, which happened to be an axe that was by far too large for him. He gave the man before him a look of confusion and worry, "I fear I know nothing of weapons, sir. How do you plan on going about teaching me something?" His grip on the weapon was loose and it hung low near the ground. Why must his heart try escaping through his throat? Why must he do this? Ram had said he wouldn't be hurt. Surely, this giant wouldn't hurt him in front of the little boy. Surely.

Orran worked his jaw and looked over at the ring, "Well, we got to see what you're made of first, Arrosh. Then comes training." He took him by the shoulder and led him towards the ring, "Come, now, let's not disappoint your so called nephew."

They stepped inside the ring and a chorus of shouts rose up from the crowd. Obviously, many were of the viewpoint that he was not who he said he was. By Tash, why had he agreed to this? He was going to die. Even if he were to fight, how could he fight a man of that size? It was what he got for trusting the word of a boy. The man did not care whether it was in front of the child or not.

They wouldn't be able to get Iliz if he was dead. He had given them information, but she didn't know them and they wouldn't be able to recognize her. Oh, what had he done?

Orran, smiled over at Ram, "First, Prince Ram, we will see what he is made of. Then we will work from there." A cheer came from the now growing crowd. Ram whooped right along with them. Did he not understand what was going on? Surely not.

"Absolutely not." The authoritative voice cracked like a whip through the air above the shouts, "Master Orran, please come out of the ring and bring the Queen's brother to me." Silence and a moment later straight line to the beholder of the voice was formed. King Cor. All went to one knee as they saw who it was that addressed them. Arrosh scrambled to do the same. Was this the custom? Maybe he should have prostrated himself when he first came to them. That was the custom in Calormen after all. Maybe the king would have looked at him more kindly if he had.

The king nodded and they rose. Orran immediately began to bring Arrosh forward and out of the ring, nearly dragging him down the line of onlookers. If he had wanted to make a good impression on them or his brother-in-law, it was certainly lost now. Not that it mattered. Planted before the king, Arrosh bowed his upper half again. Was he in trouble? Had he done something wrong? Did they decide to not believe him? Did they change their minds?

"Come with me, please, Arrosh." King Cor's face was unreadable, he looked to Ram and his teacher, "We will discuss this later. For now, go to your studies." He turned and left, his pace brisk and leaving Arrosh needing to trot to catch up.

"You do understand that pacing the room will not change the situation, right?" Corin lounged in his chair, feet propped up on a small end table in the parlor of her room. He picked at his nails, not looking up at her, "You know I'm not happy about this situation either. Narnia has been our ally for as long as I can remember and we can't just stand to the side when their regents have vanished."

"That is not the reason I am pacing, Corin!" Aravis gritted out between her teeth, wishing her husband was there. But he was getting Arrosh and telling him the news himself, while the other preparations were being made.

"You do not think I loved them as my own flesh?" Corin, the man usually so bright and cheerful, brought his feet down, looking at her, "Peter was as an uncle to me, Lucy and Edmund dearest brother and sister, Susan," His voice cracked and he looked away, "Susan was near to me as a mother." He was slumped, his breathing carefully even, controlled. He wasn't the boy prone to emotional fits any longer, but that didn't stop the pain shining through.

Aravis, stopped, trying desperately to keep the tears from her eyes, "I'm sorry, Corin, you've known them far longer than I have." She paused, "It's difficult to believe that you're coming."

"My brother is needed here to support our friends and allies, and I will not leave what is left of my family to go on a possibly dangerous mission to save a little girl." Corin cocked his head with an attempt at a grin, "Peter would have my head when he gets back. Anyways, I'm sure they just got lost somehow. Trees might be chatter roots when they want to be, but their communication isn't always easily relied upon."

Aravis took a breath, "I just don't know if I should regret my decision. We should be searching for them."

"Well, you know what your husband thinks about the whole thing, and I think he's right, for once." A small smirk flashed across his face before he looked up at her, "Come now, sit down before you work yourself into a tizzy. Your brother, and little sister, need you at top notch."

She sat, placing her head in her hands and took deep breaths, "The decision has been made and I will not go back on my word to him. I won't." When her head raised, she was in control of herself once again. "I think Cor will have gotten my brother out of that silly ring by now." She stood with Corin, her hand on his shoulder, "Thank you."

Cor and Arrosh came to an expansive room, much like the throne room he had been admitted to not two days before. The difference was that this room had a large, round table with hard backed wooden chairs lining it. Each chair had a crest upon the back of it and not a single person sat in them. It was just the king and the boy.

Silence stretched between them for a time, in which Arrosh took the opportunity to look around. It was a high-ceilinged place with thin, colored windows lifting from the floor to a foot away from the ceiling on the eastern and north sides of the room. The patterns upon them were exquisite, portraying the various symbols that crested the seats. What was left of the morning sun trickled through the tops of them and cast their colors on the far wall and floor. Yet one was there that he did not see among the chairs, it was the face of a lion, the largest by far and placed directly in the middle of the north wall. His heart pounded at the sight of it and he found he couldn't look away. It was like nothing he had ever seen. Only in the horrifying stories of The Lion God of the North had he heard descriptions of a lion. How had he forgotten that he had cast himself at the feet of people who worship this terrifying god? Did they have sacrifices he knew not about?

"I want to tell you," Cor began, not noticing how fixated the boy had been on that particular window, "No matter what happens, I do hope you get your little sister back."

Arrosh turned, the window and his irrational fears forgotten, to be replaced with the rational ones, "Might I ask what that is supposed to mean, your highness?" He looked the man in the eye and quelled the tears that begged to swim up to his eyes. All was lost if he was unable to get their help. Was this what they had planned all along?

"All I'm saying is -" He began, before the doors were opened once again. Aravis and Corin entered the room. Neither looked particularly pleased at the situation.

Arrosh looked around, his heart had either burst and no longer beat, or it was going at such a rate he could no longer feel it. "Please, tell me what is going on."

"Let us all sit." Aravis said, her calm demeanor had shifted from when he had first met her. Her hair was askew and there was the traces of a frown laden on her face, a sadness. What had he done? What had happened?

When all were seated, Cor leaned forward on the table, his elbows propped against it and his hands folded near his mouth, "I will waste no time explaining. The situation does not pertain to you. All you need to know is this." He looked to the young man, "Plans have changed, Arrosh."

The world tilted and the boy had to grab the arm of the chair to keep from falling out, "But," His voice was barely a whisper. This was not good. He was never to free her now. She would die. He had failed.

"But we will still help you in any way we can." Cor put his hands down, "I had planned to go myself, with the queen, and we would be back in just over a fortnight." He paused, looking at the worn wood of the table, "However, there are now circumstances that keep me from leaving and I must stay with my people. While they also need their queen, she has decided to continue with the plan to go with you. With her, will go my brother and two guards." His back was stiff and his jaw worked back and forth as though he was chewing the bones of his enemies. "As we don't want to attract too much attention, you will be traveling light. Tomorrow afternoon, you will go." He stood, looking far older than he was, "Be at the gate after the noon meal. I would stay to entertain and help you, but I have matters to attend to." He looked to Corin, looking a hundred years old, an understanding passing between the two, "Help him prepare, please."

Corin nodded, giving a small smile to his twin, "It will all turn out alright, brother. We will be back before you know it! Worry not. What is lost shall be found and all will be well again."

"By Alsan, may it be so."

Cor left and a brief silence came before Corin turned to Arrosh with a mischievous grin, yet there was a sadness in his eyes, "Pray tell, what is this I hear about you taking up in a bout with Sir Orran?"