For seven days, a small group traveled east under a cloudy sky, consisting of eight men in grey cloaks and their eight new brides wrapped in horn-bound furs. The wind blew fiercely from the hills, but their packs were well-stocked with dried meat, hardtack, and water skins—provisions from the Hornfoot clan to ensure their journey would not be hindered by the need for hunting. The snow crunched underfoot, ravens perched on black branches, and the air was filled with the scent of pine, cold iron, and distant smoke.
Kalf walked beside his wife, Karsi, who maintained a proud posture and a steady pace, her beaded braids peeking from her hood. She had pledged her vows with clear eyes and a steady voice beneath the weirwood, and although the marriage began as a trial, she treated it as genuine. She didn't flinch when their hands brushed together.
"You keep glancing back," she remarked, gently.
Kalf smiled and sighed. "I'm looking both forward and back—forward to Gnome City, with its stone houses, warm beds, and a bathhouse with steaming water in winter." He paused. "And back to the quarry foreman, wondering why I disappeared without permission."
"You're worried about your job," Karsi inferred.
"I'm worried about what that job provides," Kalf confessed. "Food for us, coins in the pouch, a home I can point to and say, 'That's ours.'"
Karsi's lips curled into a small smile. "Say it again."
"What?"
"Ours," she replied, experimenting with the word as if it were something precious.
He said it again, more softly. "Ours."
That night, they camped in a small bowl of wind-blasted rock. The men built a low wall of snow to shield against the gusts, while the brides helped set up tents and coax a fire from birch bark and flint. Karsi nestled close to the flames, her hands outstretched, watching sparks spiraling into the dark like swallowed stars.
"Tell us again," one of the other brides called from her hood. "What does Gnome City look like?"
Kalf glanced around the circle, noting the smiles on the other men's faces—this tale had been told every night since they began, yet the brides still expressed their curiosity.
He obliged. "The cottages are circular, carved like large stones and stacked tightly. Each has a fireplace fueled by peat and driftwood. The streets are kept clean even after a storm. There's a hall where warm water flows all day, and when you wash, the heat seeps into your bones, making you feel like you could live forever."
"Magic," one bride mused, half-challenging him.
"Work," Kalf replied, adding with a grin, "and a touch of magic."
Karsi nudged him playfully. "And what about this Potter Castle you speak of?"
"Potter Castle looms over the cottages like a vigilant bear," Kalf said softly. "It's made of stone and timber, with lamps hanging in the great hall and a table large enough for all the stewards to dine together. The smell of baking bread fills the air three times a day, and if you're lucky, you might catch the scent of spiced fish from the Shivering Sea, signaling a ship has arrived."
Karsi listened intently, measuring his words. Finally, she said, "If even half of this is true, I'll believe the rest once I experience it."
They slept, bundled together, their breaths fogging the tent walls. Kalf lay on his back, Karsi's warm palm on his chest, the fire dwindling to glowing coals. The wind glided over the snow like a hand smoothing a blanket.
On the third day, they noticed tracks shadowing their own—light, swift, and cunning. Hornfoot warriors were keeping their distance. By the fourth day, the watchers drew nearer as the trail squeezed between a frozen stream and a cluster of spruce. Kalf felt a familiar instinct tingling at the back of his neck, warning him of any potential dangers.
"Maintain your pace," he murmured to the men. "Don't look back, and don't stare for too long."
Karsi regarded him. "Our escort?"
"Our watchers," Kalf corrected. "There's a distinction."
On the fifth day, fog billowed from a barren patch of ground like the breath of a slumbering giant. The air warmed briefly before cooling again. The warriors' tracks meandered before retreating, hesitating. On the sixth day, a sudden whiteout enveloped them; when it cleared, only the eight couples remained on the pristine, unmarked snowfield.
Karsi halted, scanning the barren ridge. The world was enveloped in a hushed blue and white. "Where are my men?" she finally questioned. "My father sent them to scout for traps. They wouldn't just disappear."
Kalf studied her, weighing his words carefully. In Narnia, discussions of wards and protections were subtle; they were felt rather than explicitly stated. Yet Karsi had pledged herself to him beneath the heart tree. She deserved more than mere half-truths.
"They didn't simply vanish," he said. "They were… diverted."
"Diverted by what?"
He took a breath, watching the mist dissipate. "By protections. Our lord has placed them over Narnia. If you arrive with malice, the land confuses your path. If you come with peace and goodwill, the land reveals the way."
Karsi frowned. "And why are we granted this path?"
"Because you're no longer outsiders," Kalf replied. "You spoke your vows. The land recognizes its own. It knows husbands, wives, and children yet to be born. It allows you through."
Karsi studied him for a long moment, as if assessing the truth by the way it sounded. Then she gave a single nod. "And if I had not joined with you?"
"You'd be three valleys away, swearing at the snow," Kalf retorted, unable to hide a smile.
She matched his smile despite herself. "And you, my husband? Would the land deny you if you came driven by rage?"
"It would turn me away," he replied, "and compel me to walk until my anger faded with my breath."
They continued on. On the seventh day, the hills mellowed into gentle slopes, the pines thickened, and the wind lost its chill. The sky cleared, revealing a pale expanse. As they reached the final rise at dusk, the world below transformed.
Light.
Numerous golden points shone in the snow-covered valley like embers in careful palms. Smoke rose in straight columns, not tattered wisps. The air wafted towards them, warm with the scent of bread, peat, and something sharper—salt? The smell of roasted meat?
Karsi stood motionless, gripping Kalf's hand tighter. "That is…"
"Home," he said, pride coursing through his voice.
He led her down the well-trodden path marked by stone markers half-buried in snow. As they approached, the details became vivid—round houses with soot-darkened eaves, shutters painted in simple hues, a lane flattened by sleds and footsteps. Laughter floated through the air, clear and vibrant, a sound both ordinary and remarkable. Beyond the cottages, high on its ascent, Potter Castle loomed against the dusk, its windows glowing like watchful eyes.
At the gate, a steward clad in a heavy grey cloak raised a hand. He quickly surveyed the eight couples—boots, cloaks, and their postures—then nodded once, as though some invisible approval had been accorded to them.
"Late travelers," he stated. "You'll want to visit the hall first. Then, a place by the stove."
Karsi could only gaze in astonishment. The steward's cloak mirrored Kalf's, his boots brand new, and his knife was crafted from clean iron.
Kalf nodded in gratitude. "Bread and salt?"
"Waiting for you," the steward replied, stepping aside.
Together they crossed the threshold. Karsi squeezed his hand again, this time not hiding the astonishment in her voice. " It's just as you described, and even more."
Kalf laughed, the sound airy with relief. "Then let's take you to our house, wife."
Behind them, high on the ridge where the last of the Hornfoot shadows had tried but failed to follow, the wind erased all traces, leaving only the warm lights of the valley to attest to the reality of their journey.
Karsi had never seen so many people gathered in one place. The streets of Gnome City bustled with men, women, and children—faces both weathered like the free folk and smooth like the Essosi settlers, all calling themselves Narnians. Smoke curled from chimneys, the smell of baked bread carried on the air, and the stone-paved roads clattered beneath hooves and boots alike.
Kalf led her by the hand to a row of cottages, each set with wooden windows and neat stone walls. When he opened the door to theirs, Karsi stopped short.
Inside was warmth—not from the heat from a fireplace because fireplace was empty, soft sheets on a broad wooden bed, shelves stacked with pots, jugs, and polished utensils she had no name for. A barrel of water stood ready beside the hearth, and a heavy fur rug softened the stone floor. She turned in circles, her breath catching in her throat.
"What is this place?" she whispered.
"Our home," Karl said, smiling. "I purchased it from the council with my money. It used to belong to someone who moved to Telmar. Everything here belongs to us."
Word of their arrival spread quickly. Before Karsi had even learned how to work the iron latch on the oven, neighbors came with baskets. Loaves of brown bread, dried fish, butter wrapped in cloth, and even small toys for the children they did not yet have.
One woman pressed a bundle of herbs into her hands. "For tea," she explained gently, showing her how to steep the leaves in hot water. Another gave a cloak lined with rabbit fur. The people of Narnia seemed eager to welcome them, and Karsi found herself speechless at their kindness.
Her seven friends—the other new brides—were housed in cottages nearby, close enough that they could visit without fear. Each found themselves surrounded by gifts, food, and friendly faces. The Narnians wanted them to stay, to belong.
Karsi turned to Karl one evening as they sat by the fire. "I never knew people could live like this—clean, warm, without hunger gnawing their bellies. If this is what you called home all along, I understand why you laughed at our quarrels."
Kalf squeezed her hand. "Then you see now what we were fighting for."
Not long after, Kalf brought Karsi to the heart of Gnome City. The Potter Castle rose above the cottages, not a fortress of war but a hall of governance. Its walls were stout stone, its windows lit with steady fire, and banners of the white dragon sigil flapped in the wind.
Inside, the council of Narnia convened around a long oak table. They listened as Kalf's explained how he and his companions had been separated from their work group at the quarry, how they had been captured, and how he had returned not alone but with a wife.
"I want to go back to the quarry," Kalf said firmly. "That was the task I was assigned. But now I have duties as a husband as well. I don't know what to do."
The council members exchanged looks, then one older man nodded. "A good man does not forsake his wife. You will stay here in Gnome City for now. There is work aplenty—roads to be built, storehouses to raise, buildings to repair. You and your friends will find tasks that keep you close to your families."
Relief spread across Kalf's face. He bowed low. "Thank you. You have my word we will work harder."
Afterward, as they walked out of the hall, Kalf leaned closer to Karsi and spoke quietly.
"There is something else you must know. In the basement of this castle lies a portal—an arch of stone created by powerful magic. It links this hall to Gryffindor Castle in Telmar, the capital by the sea. Lord Gryffindor and his lady wife use it to travel between cities in the blink of an eye. The two great seats of Narnia are tied together as if by a thread of magic."
Karsi's eyes widened. "So the stories are true? About the wizard?"
Kalf smiled faintly. "Truer than you know. And now, wife, we live within the shadow of his works."
She glanced back at the Potter Castle, her heart trembling with awe. This was not the life she had imagined when she wed beneath the weirwood. It was something greater, stranger, and far more wonderful.
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Beuwulf