The Adventures of Tirian and His Merry Narnians

[I apologize for the long delay but here it is an update]

Chapter 15

***
Rhonda showed Jill some fabric swatches for Marietta’s wedding dress—the silk whispering between her fingers as Jill traced a particularly whitish-silver brocade that caught the firelight like fresh snowfall. “This one,” Jill murmured, pressing the fabric to her cheek.

“I like this one, too. Now what do you think? Should we embroidered flowers along the hem?” Rhonda’s fingers hovered over the silver thread, pressing just enough to leave faint indentations in the delicate fabric—the scent of lavender oil clinging to her sleeves as she leaned closer to Jill.

“Oh, yes. Flowers, definitely—but something wild,” Jill murmured, turning the fabric over to reveal its reverse side, where the weave was looser, almost featherlike.

Rhonda did some measuring—her knuckles brushing against Marietta's waist as the linen tape whispered tight across her hips. The firelight caught the faint sheen of sweat at Marietta’s temples, the scent of lavender and nervous anticipation clinging to her skin. "It'll need taking in here," Rhonda murmured, pinching the excess fabric between thumb and forefinger—the silk sighing as it folded under her touch. Jill watched, her own fingers twitching with the memory of threading needles back in England, the rhythmic pull of embroidery floss through cambric.

*****
Marietta looked over out the window from the tower, and there was snow fallling. The snowfall was thick and heavy, and she hoped it wouldn't delay the wedding. Emeth stood beside her, his breath fogging the glass as he traced idle patterns in the condensation—his fingertips lingering over the shape of a lion’s head before it blurred away.

“Do you think we have to wait until spring?”, Marietta whispered, watching the snowflakes stick to the tower’s leaded panes.

“Hey, a winter wedding would be nice,” Emeth murmured, pressing closer to Marietta—his warmth seeping through the wool of her borrowed cloak. “It could be a symbol—that we’re starting fresh, even in the coldest of times.”

Marietta smiled at Emeth's words, pressing her forehead against the chilled glass. Below, the snow muffled the usual sounds of the camp—Eustace’s whittling knife, the dryads’ whispers, even Tirian’s pacing boots. Only the crackle of hearth fires and the occasional huff of Jewel’s breath cut through the quiet.

Then they’ve heard Adinah crying. Marietta went over and picked her up—her fingers brushing the infant’s flushed cheeks as she rocked her gently, the scent of milk and chamomile clinging to Adinah’s swaddle. “Shh, little one,” she murmured, pressing her lips to the baby’s forehead. She sat down to feed her again, the firelight casting long shadows across the stone floor.

Emeth knelt beside the hearth, stirring the embers to coax more heat into the chamber. The flames painted gold streaks across his tired face—his fingers, usually so sure when gripping a sword, now hesitated over the simple task of arranging firewood. Marietta watched him, Adinah’s weight warm and heavy against her chest.

“You know, Adinah is the best thing that’s ever happened to us,” Emeth murmured, tossing another log onto the fire. Sparks spiraled upward, casting fleeting shadows across the tower walls.

“She sure is. Do you think we’ll ever take her to your hometown of Teshibaan?”, Marietta asked, adjusting Adinah’s swaddle where her tiny fist had worked free.

Emeth stroke his beard—coarse beneath his fingers—as he considered Marietta’s question. The fire popped, sending a shower of orange sparks up the chimney. "Perhaps one day," he said at last, his voice rougher than usual. "When the roads are safe. When my father..." He trailed off, watching Adinah's eyelids flutter shut against Marietta's shoulder.

Emeth took Adinah from Marietta’s arms as she finished nursing, his rough hands unexpectedly gentle as he cradled the infant against his chest. The firelight caught the scarred knuckles that had once gripped a sword hilt—now tracing slow circles on Adinah’s back while her drowsy sighs filled the quiet.

“She’s asleep,” Emeth murmured, his breath stirring the fine dark curls at Adinah’s temple. He kissed her forehead before laying her gently in the cradle Poggin had carved from windfallen oak—its sides still rough with the scent of resin and green wood.

****
Chlamash and Eustace began working on designing the archway for the wedding ceremony—its rough wooden frame carved with intertwined vines and stars. Outside, the snow had eased into a fine mist that clung to the windowpanes like lace.

“This is going to look great, isn’t it?” Eustace whispered, brushing sawdust from his sleeves as Chlamash tested the arch’s stability with a firm shake.

“It is customary in Calormen to weave the groom’s family sigil into the wedding arch,” Chlamash murmured, running his thumb over a half-carved leopard in the oak beam. The blade of his dagger caught the firelight as he adjusted the angle of his carving—too deep, and the wood would split under the weight of the floral garlands. Eustace watched, fascinated, as Chlamash’s fingers moved with the precision of a scribe illuminating a manuscript.

“Chlamash, I’ve been wondering, who’s going to be holding the baby during the ceremony?” Eustace asked, flicking a wood shaving off the half-carved leopard’s muzzle.

“Hmm, good question”, Chlamash murmured, pausing mid-carve—his dagger hovering over the leopard’s eye as he considered. “Adinah might be sleeping through it.”

Eustace knew well that babies, especially newborn ones, sleep a lot. But he also knew that when they weren’t sleeping, they were often crying—something that wouldn’t pair well with vows and solemn oaths. “What if she wakes up mid-ceremony?” he asked, tapping his chin with the blunt end of his carving knife. “Do we have a plan for that?”

“Well, maybe Polly or Amara could hold her,” Chlamash mused, brushing wood shavings from his tunic. “Polly has that quiet way with infants—remember how Adinah settled right into her arms?” He resumed carving, the blade biting into the oak with practiced ease. Eustace nodded, recalling the way Adinah’s tiny fingers had curled around Polly’s wrinkled thumb, her cries fading to drowsy murmurs.

“What a wedding this is going to be”, Eustace said, “I mean, here we are—a Calormene soldier marrying an Archenlander tavern maid, with a baby already, and half the guests are Narnian rebels hiding in a drafty old tower while their enemy builds temples outside.”

Chlamash chuckled. “I actually see a future,” he said, “Where Emeth and Marietta’s union becomes a symbol. Calormen and Archenland—together living in harmony with Narnia.”

“Poggin said something about Narnia being revived, like how it was during the time of the Telmarines, particularly King Miraz. Do you think this marriage could be the start of that?”

“It’s possible. Maybe Emeth and Marietta could start a new dynasty,” Chlamash mused, the dagger stilling mid-carve as he glanced toward the tower’s spiral staircase—where muffled laughter drifted down from the chamber above. “Though I doubt Emeth’s father would—”

The tower door groaned open, admitting a swirl of snowflakes and Rhonda’s sharp intake of breath. "Rishda’s scouts," she panted, her knuckles white around the doorframe. "Two miles west, tracking our footprints in the snow."

“What are they looking for?”, Chlamash asked, already moving—his dagger sheathed in one smooth motion as Eustace scrambled to his feet.

“Marietta,” Rhonda hissed, her cloak damp with melting snow. “They found the torn swaddle cloth by the frozen stream—the one Adinah kicked loose yesterday.”

“Oh no!”

“Chlamash, what are we going to do?”, Eustace asked—his fingers tightening around the half-carved leopard’s muzzle as Rhonda’s breath fogged in the frigid air.

Chlamash's dagger flashed as he drove it into the wooden beam with a thunk that sent sawdust drifting to the floor. "We move them. Now." His gaze flicked to the ceiling where Adinah's faint whimpers mingled with Marietta's murmured lullaby. Rhonda was already halfway up the spiral stairs, her boots scuffing against stone as Eustace grabbed the nearest cloak—Jill's forgotten woolen one, still smelling of crushed mint from her herb gathering.

“Does Tirian know another safe place?” Eustace hissed, stumbling after Chlamash as they ascended the spiral stairs—his fingers scraping against damp stone where Rhonda’s cloak had brushed the walls.

“I don’t know. Perhaps we should ask him,” said Chlamash, pushing open the tower door with his shoulder—the iron hinges screeching like a wounded beast.

The scent of snow-laden pine flooded the chamber as Emeth turned sharply, his arms tightening around Adinah. Marietta’s fingers froze mid-stitch on the half-mended swaddle, the needle glinting in the firelight.

“Chlamash, what is it, my friend?”, Emeth asked—his voice low and steady despite the way his thumb pressed against Adinah’s back as she wailed, her cries bouncing off the tower’s stone walls. Chlamash stepped closer, the scent of pine resin and fresh snow clinging to his cloak as he spoke. “Rishda’s men are tracking us. They found Adinah’s swaddle near the stream.”

“How much time do we have?” Emeth asked, already moving, cradling Adinah against his chest

“I don’t know, but we need to ask Tirian if he knows another safe place,” Chlamash said—his voice tight as he glanced toward the narrow window where snowflakes spiraled against the twilight.

Emeth nodded, pressing a kiss to Adinah's damp forehead as her wails softened into hiccups against his tunic. Outside, the wind howled through the tower's arrow slits, carrying the distant crunch of boots on frozen earth. Chlamash didn't need to say it—they all heard it. Rishda's men were closer than any of them had hoped.

[Well, didn’t this just get intense? What do you think will happened?]
 
Chapter 16

Emeth, holding Adinah, and Eustace approached Tirian, who was sharpening his sword by the fire, the rhythmic scrape of whetstone against steel filling the tense silence. "They found us," Eustace blurted, his breath forming white clouds in the frigid air. "Rishda's men—they’re tracking Adinah’s swaddle."

Tirian’s whetstone stilled mid-stroke, the firelight catching the fresh notch he’d been working from the blade’s edge. "How many?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"Two scouts," Eustace said, rubbing his arms against the chill. "But if they've found the swaddle, more will follow."

"Then we move before dawn." Tirian sheathed his sword with a click, his gaze flicking to Adinah, who had quieted against Emeth's shoulder, her tiny fingers curled into his tunic.

“Tirian, do you know another safe place?”, Emeth asked—his grip tightening around Adinah as her whimper echoed off the tower walls.

“Beyond the Western Wild, there’s here’s a tower that’s even more spacious than this one—built by giants, long ago. The stones are thick enough to muffle a baby’s cries.”

“Then we must leave at once.”

“Eustace, you and Chlamash carry the archway. Poggin, you carry the cradle you’ve built. Emeth, you have Adinah. Marietta, you gather the wedding dress and swaddles. Peter, Edmund, scout ahead—use the Lynx’s Den as a rendezvous if we’re separated. Susan, Lucy, gather what herbs you can. Digory, Polly—you’re with Rhonda and Jill. Jewel, you lead. Puzzle, you bring up the rear.”

Emeth nodded, adjusting Adinah's swaddle where the wool had bunched under her chin. The scent of pine resin and damp wool clung to the folds as he tucked her closer, her warmth seeping through the layers of fabric against his chest.

The tower erupted into motion—Poggin hefting the unfinished cradle onto his shoulder with a grunt, Jill bundling fabric scraps into Rhonda’s outstretched arms, Eustace and Chlamash maneuvering the half-carved archway through the narrow doorway with hissed directions. Marietta moved stiffly as she gathered the wedding dress.

“Which way?”, Emeth asked—his voice raw as Adinah stirred against his collarbone, her tiny fist curling into his cloak.

Tirian pointed northwest where the treeline swallowed the path, its branches heavy with fresh snowfall. “Follow Jewel’s hoofprints until the third pine, then cut left through the ravine.”

Marietta stumbled on the uneven ground. Jill caught her elbow without a word, their breaths mingling in white plumes as the group pressed forward. Behind them, Puzzle’s large ears twitched at every snapped twig, his nostrils flaring at scents carried on the icy wind.

Emeth pressed a kiss to Adinah's forehead, her skin warm as sun-warmed silk against his mouth. "Who is the bravest little starlight in all the worlds?" he murmured, swaying gently as snowflakes caught in her eyelashes. "You are, my desert blossom. Yes, you are."

Poggin’s boots crunched through the snow behind them as Emeth adjusted Adinah’s woolen hood with his free hand, his voice dropping into the lilting cadence he reserved only for her. “Who’s Daddy’s little stormcloud?” The infant blinked up at him, her lashes clumped with snowflakes. “Yes, you are—yes, you are.” His thumb brushed her cheek where the cold had painted it pink, her skin impossibly soft against his sword-calloused fingers.

By the time they’ve reached the ravine, the wind had swallowed all sound except their own labored breaths and the occasional creak of Poggin’s burden. The cradle swayed precariously with each step, its unvarnished wood gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Emeth kept Adinah tucked beneath his cloak, her warmth a fragile counterpoint to the freezing air that nipped at his exposed skin.

“Now which way?”, Eustace whispered—his breath frosting the air as he adjusted the archway’s weight on his shoulder.

Jewel’s horn caught the moonlight as he paused at the ravine’s edge, his breath steaming in the frigid air. "Down," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the wind. "There’s a path behind the frozen waterfall—the ice is thin enough to break through."

“Emeth, you better keep Adinah covered and quiet,” Poggin whispered as they edged toward the waterfall’s curtain of ice—its surface webbed with fractures where Jewel’s horn had already tested its thickness. The scent of iron and ancient stone seeped from the hidden passage beyond, mingling with Adinah’s milky breaths against Emeth’s collarbone. Her tiny fingers flexed, gripping the wool of his cloak as he ducked beneath the overhang, his boots crunching on shattered ice shards.

Behind them, Rhonda hissed when her sleeve caught on a jagged outcrop—the fabric tearing with a sound like parchment splitting. “Quiet,” Tirian murmured, his sword already half-drawn as Eustace and Chlamash maneuvered the wedding arch through the narrow gap, its carved vines scraping against the rock. Adinah whimpered, her face scrunching in protest at the sudden darkness. Emeth pressed her closer, humming the lullaby his mother had sung to him—the melody vibrating through his chest where her ear rested.

They’ve reached the other side of the frozen waterfall—its fractured ice glinting like broken teeth in the moonlight. “Alright, how much further?”, Emeth murmured—his breath steaming against Adinah’s woolen hood as she stirred against his collarbone. Jewel’s silhouette blurred in the snowfall ahead, his horn catching stray flakes like a lodestone.

“Not far,” Tirian muttered, his boot scuffing against the hidden path’s moss-slick stones. “The tower’s just beyond that ridge—look for the archway where the giants left their mark.”

In about an hour, they found the archway—its weathered stone carvings obscured by centuries of ivy, the giant's handprint still visible where mortar had crumbled away. The tower loomed beyond it, its massive stones blackened by age and streaked with lichen. Tirian raised a fist, signaling the group to halt. Puzzle's ears twitched forward, his nostrils flaring at the scent of damp earth and something muskier—bear, perhaps, or wolf.

"Jewel," Tirian murmured, "scout ahead." The unicorn dipped his horn and slipped soundlessly through the archway, his hooves leaving no mark on the moss. The others waited, breaths held. Adinah stirred in Emeth's arms, her tiny face scrunching in protest against the cold wool of his cloak. He hummed a fragment of the lullaby, his thumb brushing her cheek—so soft, so impossibly small against his sword-calloused fingers.

“It’s all right,” Marietta whispered, pressing close to Emeth as they waited for Jewel’s signal. Rhonda edged closer, her fingers brushing the hilt of her dagger as she scanned the tree line behind them.

Jewel’s horn glinted as he reappeared, his breath curling in quick, rhythmic puffs—their signal. “Clear,” Tirian murmured, motioning them forward. The group moved like shadows, their footsteps swallowed by the thick moss underfoot. Eustace and Chlamash maneuvered the half-carved wedding arch through the towering doorway, its oak beams scraping against ancient stone.

“Look at this. There are hundreds of rooms,” Jewel murmured, his hooves clicking against the worn flagstones as he surveyed the circular chamber.

“That’s enough to house all of us—and then some,” Tirian said, running a hand along the moss-slicked wall, his fingers tracing the ghostly remnants of ancient murals.

Jill sneezed, her fingers tightening around Rhonda’s elbow. “It’s freezing,” she whispered.

“How about we gather firewood and prepare sleeping arrangements?”, Emeth suggested, shifting Adinah’s weight as she whimpered against his collarbone. Chlamash was already peeling off his outer cloak, the fur-lined hem whispering against the flagstones as he draped it over a nearby stone bench. “I’ll scout the upper levels,” he murmured, his scimitar gleaming faintly as he vanished up the spiral staircase.

Marietta sank onto the bench with a relieved exhale. Emeth settled beside her, carefully unwrapping Adinah’s swaddle to check her tiny limbs for frostbite—the baby’s skin was warm despite the cold. Poggin settled the cradle nearby, its fresh pine scent cutting through the musty air as he began chipping away at ice clinging to its legs with his dagger.

“I think she’s ready for sleep,” Marietta murmured, watching Adinah’s eyelids flutter against Emeth’s shoulder as he rocked her gently. Emeth nodded, his fingers brushing the baby’s flushed cheek, kissing the soft nest of her hair before settling her into the cradle Poggin had scraped clean of ice.

“You know, Marietta, I’ve never knew what being a father would be like,” Emeth murmured, gazing down at Adinah’s sleeping face.

“I felt the same about the thought being a mother. Maybe it’s because I never really had a mother”, Marietta whispered, her fingers tracing the embroidery on Adinah’s swaddle.

Besides rooms for living chambers, other rooms were used for storing supplies—Emeth found one stacked with ancient casks of wine, their wooden staves swollen with age, the air thick with the scent of fermented grapes and oak. Another was used for to hold meetings- a circular chamber where Tirian would hold council. Another room was dedicated to sewing—Jill and Rhonda bending over bolts of wool by lamplight, their needles flashing as they stitched winter cloaks from salvaged tapestries, the threads still smelling of cedar from some long-lost chest. Another chamber was used as a kitchen—Poggin’s stew pot bubbling over the hearth while Eustace peeled frostbitten apples with Chlamash’s dagger. Another room was used for carpentry— Chlamash and Eustace carving a new cradle from wind-fallen oak, their chisels biting into the wood with rhythmic taps that echoed through the tower’s hollow bones.

How long would they have to hide here—days? Weeks? Years? There was no knowing, but they'd survived worse, and now with a child among them, every breath mattered more than ever.
 
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