"Now, I can believe that you know nothing of weapons play," Corin started conversationally as he and Arrosh walked down the halls, going to the stores to see if they could scrounge up a small bag for an extra change of clothes that had been whipped up, along with whatever else they could muster for the lad, "But I find it hard to believe you know nothing of boxing or the like."

"Boxing, your highness?" The young man frowned at him slightly, his leg was still causing him to limp ever so slightly, "That is not common in Calormen. There are a few other forms, but I was given no opportunity to learn those."

"So, you've never fought before?" Now that was unlikely. What man didn't get in a fight every now and again? Even Corin had his bouts with the sword, or duels rather.

At this the boy looked away for a moment, distracted by one of the maids who had passed by at the edge of the hall probably, then looked back, a wry smile on his face, "What boy doesn't get in childhood scraps, sir? After childhood, however, I have tried my best to stay out of such matters. One should try not to get locked up when you have a family to support. As the proverbs say, 'a poor man prone to violence tarries towards the slaver's scourge.'"

Corin nodded, wondering if he should press the questioning. Sir Orran had pointed out that the boy's gait was that closer to someone who knew at the least how to fight hand to hand, and, now that he was looking closely, Corin conceded that it might be so. But there were many other factors that contributed to a man's gait, and none of it was solid proof of anything. Working with masonry, living a workman's life, and an injury was sure to have affected it as well.

Orran wanted it to be that the boy was hiding skills for nefarious reasons. It was more like he was in a strange land, with strange customs, and didn't trust them fully. Who could blame him? His own father sold his little sister. That wasn't something that inspired confidence for those around you.

"So, you are to take the King's place in the plan?" The young man asked, looking over at him. It was strange how those eyes felt as though they could pierce wood and bone, soul and flesh, but give so little away about the beholder.

"Yes," Corin put on a cocky grin, pushing away such musings, as they came to one of the storerooms. "How do you think I'll look as a rich, shadows merchant?" It sounded rather fun for what it was worth.

"Are you sure this cannot wait?" Cor asked for what must have been the sixth time, "It shouldn't take long to find them. Afterwards we can get the girl." With Corin there, he had agreed for his wife to go. But it didn't mean he was relishing the idea.

"We don't know that, Cor." Aravis sighed, shaking out the few dresses and face coverings that she'd had quickly made. One was designed to look like a servant's garments, along with some plain Archenland clothing often worn by servants. Both would be brought, it hadn't been decided whether it was best for Cor – Corin, rather, to be an illegal, shadows merchant who wanted his servants to look 'exotic' or dress as others did in his homeland. "If the worst happens, Narnia will need you to help them through the confusing times they will have."

"Narnia will need both the king and queen of Archenland to help them through their trials." Corin replied, then softer, "I'll need you."

Aravis turned to her husband, cupping her hand against his face, "Believe me, if I could, I would stay. But this girl is my sister just as much as she is Arrosh's and I cannot send someone in my stead. I must see this through, Cor." It's my fault that she's in this mess.

Cor looked down at her, placing his hands on her shoulders, sighing, "I will endeavor to understand." He brought his forehead to hers, "Please, don't let your self-blame lead you to do anything brash." He quirked a small smile, "I don't want to start a war with Calormen if I can help it. It's not your fault this happened – any of it. It's the tisroc who did that and your father."

Aravis turned her head aside, "It is my fault, Cor. But that doesn't mean I would change anything or can change what has happened. I'm just going to do what I can to make things right." She sniffed, shooting him a small glare, "Which most certainly is not starting a war with Calormen. I'm not such a bumbling fool as that."

Cor raised his hands, trying to seem lighthearted, "It was a jest!"

"You would do better to leave the jesting to Corin, dear," Aravis raised an eyebrow, "All will be well, nobody will know who we truly are and, in this case, the smuggling issues in our country is to our advantage." Aravis frowned, "Though, it is an issue we will have to see to. I don't like the thought of our people being willing to buy slaves."

Cor ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, "Yes, we'll add that to the list. Maybe you'll get insight on how it all works while you're gone. Not that there's many of them from the reports I've heard."

"You know what they say about rotten fruit in a barrel."

"Yes," He said, working his jaw, "Especially if that rotten fruit is the one who got you to go on the journey in the first place."

"I trust him, Cor. There's no way he isn't my father's son." Aravis crossed her arms, not wanting to go over this yet again.

"Yes, yes." The king waved his hand, "Just know the only reason I'm letting this happen is because you will have some of our best warriors with you and some more besides." Cor looked across the room at the dresses, "Just, be careful, please. He may be your brother, but that doesn't mean much at times."

"Of course I will."

Cor took a breath, looking at her, "By Aslan, I'm going to miss you." This would be the first time since they'd been married that they would be apart for so long.

"You're going to miss bickering constantly and always having someone to nag you?" Aravis raised an eyebrow at him, trying to keep the smirk from her face.

"Yes," He stepped closer to her, a small grin on his face, "What ever should I do without my sparring partner? If I don't have someone getting on my nerves then I grow far too complacent."

Aravis smiled up at him, lacing her arms around his neck, "Then I'll have to tell Ram to be particularly good, so you'll miss me even more."

"You know, I never did get back to what we were doing earlier, before we were so inconveniently interrupted." Cor looked her over, brushing a strange of hair away from her face.

"And here I was wondering if you'd forgotten." His wife faked a frown, "You do know it is quite rude to keep a lady waiting."

"That," Cor kissed her softly, "Is something I will never forget to get back to, my lady."

"Then you better make up for the wait," Aravis moved her hands to her husband's chest, fingering the opening of his collar.

Arrosh sat in his room on the floor, not sure what to do with himself, as he held a small bag with a change of plain Archenlander clothes and his own freshly washed.

Corin had left to the local market to get supplies and to make sure everything was in order, the queen was off doing something, and Ram was occupied with his lessons. What was he to do? No instructions had been given. Could he wander around? Would that seem wrong?

Corin had seemed intent on finding out whether he could fight or not. Was that because they were suspicious? What was this nonsense of holding himself like someone who knew such things? He held himself like a man, as his father had required of him. Did they think that he was hiding something? Were they worried of some elaborate betrayal?

Arrosh gave a small groan, letting the bag go to the floor, this was more complicated than he had thought it would be. Then again, he hadn't truly expected to be able to get here. Part of him had wished he'd died trying. But being dead wasn't going to help Iliz. He just needed to get back to Calormen, not get caught, get his sister, and get away. Simple as that, right? Right.

Leaning his head against the wall, Arrosh closed his eyes, willing the curdling feeling away from his stomach. He had been a fool and now he was paying the price. The agony of waiting was sitting deep in his stomach. What was happening to Iliz even now as he sat here doing nothing?

His father just couldn't have sold him instead? He was stronger, more useful, and accustomed to hard labor. He would have fetched a price high enough for medicine and shoes at the least. Iliz, had gotten barely enough for the medicine. At least she wasn't old enough to be of any desire in the ways of men. The slaver had a wife with a new child, it was said, so maybe she'd become an aide for the child. Or she was a kitchen slave. All Arrosh knew was that the slaver often kept the children, waiting for them to age so they would fetch a better price. Though, it was not uncommon for children to be sold as well when there were too many of them. Azaroth keep her in his right palm, he hoped she was okay.

In the quiet of his room, the boy let himself shed a tear, his head sinking to his hands. Did he even dare hope that she would be where he last knew her to be? How would he find her if not? He'd found out her number before fleeing. Yes, that would be the only way. May it not be needed.

May his father be agonized in the Pits of Tash for what he did.

Not that Arrosh himself was going anywhere better after his own actions.