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About three weeks later the last of the Kings of Narnia sat under the great oak which grew beside the door of his little hunting lodge，where he often stayed for ten days or so in the pleasant spring weather. It was a low，thatched building not far from the Eastern end of Lantern Waste and some way above the meeting of the two rivers. He loved to live there simply and at ease，away from the state and pomp of Cair Paravel，the royal city. His name was King Tirian，and he was between twenty and twenty-five years old; his shoulders were already broad and strong and his limbs full of hard muscle，but his beard was still scanty. He had blue eyes and a fearless，honest face．
There was no one with him that spring morning except his dearest friend，Jewel the Unicorn. They loved each other like brothers and each had saved the other’s life in the wars. The lordly beast stood close beside the King’s chair，with its neck bent round polishing its blue horn against the creamy whiteness of its flan
