"Come in."

The grey-haired man turned from his silent contemplation of the Eastern Ocean. A small smile cracked his stern countenance as his youngest grandson entered the room. All of his grandchildren were dear to him, but this youngest son of his youngest son held a special place in his heart. The young man walked toward him with the breezy grace of his mother's people—she was a willow dryad after all—stopping when a few feet away from him.



For a moment, the two regarded each other with solemn stares but soon Cináed's lips began to twitch. A moment more and laughter spilled from his lips.

"One day, Grandfather! One day I'll beat you at your own game."

An answering smile spread across the older man's face. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Come here." He pulled his grandson to him in a warm embrace and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Stepping back he surveyed him with pleasure. "Now. What is it that brings you here, hmm? It is not often that I have this pleasure unannounced."

"Unannounced, yes. But is it truly unexpected, Grandfather?" Cináed's piercing green eyes pinned his grandfather's and searched them deeply.

"No. No I suppose it is not," he sighed. "I knew one of you would seek me out and you…you are the most perceptive. What do you want to know?"

"Why would you not treat with the Telmarine ambassadors? Their request was reasonable enough. Yet you spoke out against them in the council more harshly than I have ever heard you speak. Why? You are not called 'Farsight' without reason."

"Do you really want to know?"

"I would not have asked if I did not."

"There is a pen, ink, and parchment in the desk. Get it out."


"It is a tale that few wish to remember, Cináed. But it must be. Even Cheroom never heard the whole story and it is recorded in only a few words in his books. But I will tell the whole. Let Narnia and her enemies remember the Golden Fire."

Silently, Cináed walked over to the desk, pulled out a stack of parchment, selected a pen, and sat down with it at the ready. His grandfather stood silently at the window, looking out again at the now dark ocean, his face pained with some terrible memory. Slowly, Jaer Courage Peridanson, Lord of Beruna, knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, Steward of Cair Paravel, and called Farsight by his people, began to speak.

"It all began on a bright spring day in the month of Quickening in the ninth year of the reign of High King Peter called the Magnificent, Queen Susan called the Gentle, King Edmund called the Just, and Queen Lucy called the Valiant…"