Fruits of the Spirit (A Narnia Fanfic)

SunshineRose

SunshineRose

Member
Fruits of the Spirit

Summary: A series of vignettes depicting Caspian's growing relationship with Aslan.



Hope

It was Prince Caspian's favorite time of day—or, really, night. All his toys had been put away, every inch of his face (including the soft area behind his ears) had been washed, and he was dressed in a thick woolen nightshirt that, coupled with the heavy blankets on his bed, would keep out some of the cold winter wind hammering against the windows and walls of his bedchamber. Now it was bedtime for the five-year-old prince, but, before he had to go to sleep, he would be told a story by Nurse, who happened to tell the best stories in the whole world.

"Tell me a story, Nurse," he urged, as he did every night. "I've been waiting all day to hear one."

"Which one do you want to hear?" asked Nurse, smiling as she lifted him into bed and tucked the blankets around him. "About how Caspian the Sixth built this castle in less than five months? About how Caspian the Third met his bride, a mere peasant girl, at a ball to find the most beautiful woman in the country, and married her the next day? How Caspian the Eighth built schools to educate all his people despite the protests of his nobles?"

"No, Nurse." Prince Caspian shook his head. "I've heard all those before. I want you to tell me a new story."

"There are no new stories, Your Highness." Laughing, Nurse tapped him on the nose. "Only old ones you haven't heard yet."

"Tell me one of those, Nurse," insisted Prince Caspian.

"Very well." Nurse's eyes flicked around the chamber with its rich scarlet and gold tapestries, as if to ascertain that it was, in fact, empty, and no intruders were about to leap out of the mahogany toy chest. Then, leaning forward and speaking in a whisper as though she were sharing with her young charge the most wonderful and most powerful secret ever, she began, "Long ago, before any of our ancestors arrived here, fauns, centaurs, talking animals, and spirits of the water and woods inhabited this land. They should have been happy, but they couldn't be because an evil White Witch ruled the country, making it always winter as it is now, except she made it worse by taking away all holidays and all hope of spring."

"I don't like her," remarked Caspian, his eyes widening.

"Neither did the talking animals, the fauns, the centaurs, or the spirits of the water and woods," Nurse answered, still keeping her voice hushed. "They tried to resist her, but she used her big, terrible wand to turn anyone who challenged her into stone. As the years passed, fewer and fewer creatures were willing to fight her at the risk of being made statues in the courtyard of her castle. For a hundred years, by the terror of her wand, she was able to rule this land, but the talking animals, the fauns, the centaurs, and the spirits of the water and woods still found hope in the promise of one prophecy. This prophecy said that if two boys and two girls—humans didn't live in Narnia, then, remember—sat in the thrones at Cair Paravel, a castle that used to be by the sea, the White Witch would be defeated, and that if Aslan arrived to shake His mane, the eternal winter would finally end."

"Who's Aslan, Nurse?" His forehead furrowing at the unusual name, Caspian cocked his head.

"The Great Lion." Nurse's face glowed in the inconstant light cast by the flickering candles on Caspian's table. "It is said that all who know Him know Him differently and that nobody's words can describe Him completely. He is gentle and fierce. He is strong and humble. He is just and merciful. He is loving and demanding. He is everything anyone could ever need Him to be."

"Aslan," Caspian repeated, attracted by the power of the name. It tasted finer than the sweetest dessert in his mouth, and it filled him with more hope and strength than the coldest glass on a hot summer afternoon.

"Aslan and the children arrived in this land," Nurse continued. "The children and Aslan didn't arrive together, of course. The children came from a far away land wearing only fur cloaks, and, like you, they didn't know about Aslan. They had to be told about Him just like you, and, when they heard about Him, they traveled, with the help of some talking animals, to the Stone Table to meet with Aslan. That was where Aslan had gathered an army of talking animals and other creatures around Him. That was the place from which Aslan was thawing the winter and making it spring across the land. The White Witch led her troops in battle against Aslan's army, which was headed by the two brothers from the distant land. While the battle was going on, the two sisters accompanied Aslan to the White Witch's castle, where the Witch kept all those she had turned to stone. Aslan breathed on all the statues, and that was enough to restore them to life. Once all the statues were given life again, Aslan and the girls brought them to battle against the Witch. The younger boy had just been wounded knocking her wand from her hand when Aslan arrived and the older brother was locked in a duel with her when Aslan, with a mighty roar, pounced on her, killing her instantly. After the battle, Aslan's army rode to Cair Paravel in triumph. There Aslan crowned the four siblings kings and queens of Narnia with the oldest brother High King above them all. They had many adventures and ruled with wisdom, compassion, and fairness. In time, they came to be known as High King Peter the Magnificent, Queen Susan the Gentle, King Edmund the Just, and Queen Lucy the Valiant. But how they earned those titles, Your Highness, are tales for other winter nights."

"I want to hear them now." Caspian pouted. "These stories with Aslan are better than the ones about my ancestors."

"You have to go to sleep now, Your Highness." Firmly, Nurse pushed him back into his pillows. "It's much too late for little boys to be awake."

"But I'm not little or tired, Nurse," argued Caspian, trying and failing to conceal a yawn behind his hand. "I could stay up all night and not sleep a wink."

"Come now, Your Highness," scolded Nurse, putting out the candles on his nightstand. "Aslan doesn't like liars."

Accepting defeat, Caspian snuggled into his blankets and pillows, but, as Nurse bent down to place her customary good night kiss on his forehead, he murmured, "Is Aslan real, Nurse?"

"All stories have a basis in reality, Your Highness." Nurse's lips brushed against his forehead and then pulled away. "This is especially true of good stories, and Aslan stories are the greatest ones of all, though all stories are really Aslan stories."

It was on the tip of Caspian's tongue to inform her that this made as little sense as most of the multiplication facts he was forced to memorize did, but she was already walking away. Deciding that all insolent comments would regrettably have to wait until tomorrow morning, he closed his eyes.

When he did so, he felt air—a warm May Day breeze rather than an icy midwinter draft—blow across his nose, somehow reassuring him that, even in his uncle's dark, cold castle, he was not alone, never had been alone, and never would be alone. As he fell asleep, Caspian felt like a statue being restored to life by Aslan, and, for the first time, he began to dream of a miracle—seeing Aslan and speaking with talking animals on a glorious sprung day in a sunny glade or a blooming meadow.
 
Faith

Seven-year-old Caspian, sobbing into his pillow, knew he had made a dreadful mistake. He hadn't thought that he was doing anything wrong when he mentioned to Uncle Miraz all those wonderful stories about Aslan, fauns, spirits of the water and woods, and talking animals. He had thought tales of those ancient miracles would make Uncle Miraz's stony mouth smooth into a smile for once and his flint eyes chip away some of their hardness.

He had hoped that hearing about the miracles of the past would make Uncle Miraz love him as he loved Nurse, but instead Uncle Miraz had shouted at him and shaken his shoulders until his brains seemed to rattle in his skull. Uncle Miraz appeared to hate the old stories more than he disliked Caspian, and, this time, Caspian hadn't just gotten himself in trouble.

He had gotten Nurse in trouble, too. He had heard Uncle Miraz bark at the guard who had taken him back to his chambers to have Nurse brought to Miraz at once. The harsh emphasis Uncle Miraz had placed on the last phrase had somehow made it clear to Caspian that Nurse was not just going to be sent to bed early without any supper.

Abruptly, his door was jerked open, the oak banging against the stone walls, and then slammed shut again. Starting, Caspian craned his neck to see who the intruder was, and, when he realized the man striding through the doorway, midnight blue robes billowing imperiously, was his uncle, buried his face more deeply into his pillow and sobbed with even greater intensity.

"Stop that idiotic crying before I give you something real to wail about," snapped Uncle Miraz, landing a sharp swat on the backs of each of Caspian's thighs.

Humiliation and fury warred for dominance inside the young prince as his uncle continued icily, "You're a boy, not a fountain. Try to keep that in mind before you put on waterworks displays. Now—" Two more hard slaps rained down on Caspian's thighs, his breeches providing little protection from his uncle's strong, punishing palm—"sit up and look at me."

Swallowing his sobs, stifling a whimper, and mopping his tears away with his fists, Caspian obeyed his uncle. In order to prevent his lower lip from trembling, he clenched his jaw in a manner that, he saw in the mirror over his dresser, made him bear an uncanny resemblance to his boulder-faced uncle. Drawing a strange kind of courage from this similarity in features, he demanded, "What have you done with Nurse, Uncle?"

"I've sent her away from court," answered Uncle Miraz, his tone colder than marble in midwinter. "She was filling your head with nonsense stories, Caspian, and you are, whether you notice it or not, too big for nonsense stories. You won't be seeing her again, because you don't need her anymore."

"But I didn't even get to say goodbye." The firm set of Caspian's jaw crumbled, and his lower lip began to tremble, as his eyes filled with tears. "I can't remember a night when she didn't say good night to me, and now I won't even get to say goodbye to her. I want to see her again, Uncle."

"Don't be sentimental," chided his uncle. "Your nurse was only ever your servant. She had value only as long as she could be of service to you. Now that she can no longer be of use to you, you certainly don't need to say goodbye to her—and you can't, because I've already sent her on her way."

"Nurse wasn't just a servant." Stubbornly, Caspian shook his head. "She was like a mother to me, since I can't really remember my own. She tucked me in at night. She kissed me good night. She told me bedtime stories. She played games with me. She taught me my letters and basic arithmetic. She taught me to not talk with my mouth full and not to put my elbows on the table. She taught me to say 'please and 'thank you.' I should have gotten a chance to say 'thank you' to her."

"Rubbish." His uncle waved a dismissive hand. "Nephew, she was only doing her job. There is no need to thank someone for doing what they are paid to do. Money is thanks enough."

"Nurse would have wanted me to say 'thank you,'" persisted Caspian, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't care if she only did what you paid her to do, Uncle. She still did a good job, and she should get thanked for it."

"Your beloved nurse also wanted you to believe in claptrap like talking lions and four rulers in one kingdom." His uncle's mouth twisted into the beginnings of a derisive smirk. "I suggest that you take every bit of advice she gave you with a lot of salt."

"Aslan, King Peter, Queen Susan, King Edmund, and Queen Lucy aren't claptrap." Defiantly, Caspian lifted his chin and glared into Uncle Miraz's eyes. "Aslan was the Great Lion, whose breath alone was powerful enough to make creatures frozen into statues for a century come to life again. King Peter defeated giants with his sword alone. King Edmund could outsmart anyone and always knew how to reach a just decision in council. Queen Susan could aim at something a league away and still not miss with her bow and arrow. Queen Lucy could heal the injured with one drop from her magic potion. Their miracles and adventures aren't claptrap, Uncle."

"Be quiet, Caspian," Miraz snapped, the words rumbling in his throat, and he raised a warning hand. "If you don't stop insisting these lies are true, you'll feel the back of my hand."

Caspian's eyes narrowed. He thought that he could hear a tinge of fear behind the wrath in his uncle's tone, and, when he looked back on the fateful conversation on the ramparts, he recognized that he had heard the same undercurrent of terror in Miraz's voice then. That was interesting. After all, in Caspian's admittedly limited experience, people only feared what they believed to be real.

"You know you're wrong about Aslan and the old kings and queens being rubbish," shouted Caspian, not caring how much he enraged his uncle, because maybe if he got hit hard enough, he would land wherever Nurse was. "That's why you're so scared, and I won't lie. You have good reason to be scared. You were mean to Nurse, and mean people always get in big trouble at the end of all good stories."

"Don't ever talk to me like that, Nephew," snarled Uncle Miraz, striking first Caspian's right and then his left cheek. The horrible sound of callused skin making vicious contact with tender flesh echoed throughout the chamber. Caspian's neck jolted backward with each smack, and the metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth.

He supposed that the shock of the blows—his uncle had slapped his backside and thighs, but never his face before and certainly not with enough force to knock over a stallion—had caused him to bite his lip, his tongue, or the inside of his mouth. The shrieking, throbbing pain in each cheek made it impossible for him to detect the lesser agony of a bleeding lip, tongue, or side of mouth, which meant he might never know where the blood he was choking down his throat now had come from.

"If you ever speak to me like that again," whispered Uncle Miraz, leaning so close to Caspian that his lips brushed menacingly against the prince's ear, and clenching Caspian's shoulder tightly enough that there would be a line would be a line of bruises as evidence of his firm grip tomorrow morning, "the pain you feel now will seem like butterfly kisses. It is you, boy, who have cause to fear me—not I have who have cause to fear the phantoms of your senile nurse's crazy imagination. As for me being wrong, I'm never wrong, and that's a fact you would do well to remember whenever you speak."

Here, Miraz abruptly drew away from his nephew, who sighed in relief. However, the sigh of relief quickly turned into an anguished gasp when Miraz boxed his ears. When his uncle's palms smacked against his ears, the force of the blows reverberated down his ears, shattering their drums, and into his skull. As his brain rattled with pain and his ears drowned in endless echoes of an unexpected assault he had been defenseless against, Caspian clung to his blankets, telling himself that he would never allow his uncle the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Only people he loved and trusted—like Nurse—deserved the honor of seeing him in tears.

"In this case, Caspian, it is you who are wrong to address me so rudely and to believe nonsense tales whispered to you by an old lady before bed," his uncle finished, the words resounding oddly in Caspian's ears, giving the prince's shoulders a firm shake. "I regret that it seems it will require many beatings to knock out the nonsense your nurse has planted in your head, and it grieves me that I will not have the time to do so myself. I shall have to leave that sad but important task to your new tutor, Doctor Cornelius. Be warned that he has my permission to hit you wherever, whenever, and with whatever he deems necessary. It's time you learned how to be a man, not a fountain, boy."

With a final glower at his nephew, Miraz pushed himself off the bed and strode out of the room, closing the door firmly in his wake. As soon as he was confident that his uncle was out of earshot, Caspian, studying the tapestries that depicted the victories of his ancestors, muttered, "What if you're right, Uncle? What if Aslan is just a nonsense nursery tale? What if believing in Him will really on make a fool of me like you say?"
 
There was a rustle of soft paws against floorboards. Dully, Caspian glanced down to see a ginger kitten approaching his bed. Purring, the kitten launched itself, with a scratch of claws against wood, onto the bed. It nestled its furry head against Caspian's knee, and, smiling slightly, the prince began to scratch the kitten gently behind its angular ears. Letting his mind work through every fret as his fingers stroked the kitten's fur, he murmured, unsure whether he was talking to his absent uncle or to himself now, "But what if you're wrong? What if there is more to life than you can see now? What if there's hope you never dreamed of hoping for? What if you jump like this kitten did? What if the arms that catch you catch you by surprise? What if He's more than enough?"

Desperately wanting proof that the old stories were true and that Aslan might really exist, after all, Caspian leaned forward to whisper in the kitten's ear, "What do you think? Do talking animals exist? Are you one of them? Does Aslan exist?"

Hissing, the kitten slashed at Caspian's nose with a clawed paw. Sputtering, the prince felt his nose and discovered a warm trickle of blood. As the kitten, eyeing Caspian with all the disdain of a vexed lion, leapt smoothly toward the far end of the bed and curled up at the bottom of the blankets, the prince grabbed a handkerchief from the bedside table.

While he wiped the blood off his nose, Caspian thought grimly, that, after his uncle's thrashing, a kitten abusing him was just what he needed. Feeling sorry for himself, he returned his handkerchief to the nightstand and collapsed against his pillows. Closing his eyes, he told himself that, as horrible as the future would likely be when his new tutor arrived to terrorize him with grammar and history and mathematics lessons, it at least couldn't be as appalling as today, he tried to fall asleep, because, in his dreams, Nurse could still dry his tears with a handkerchief.

When he shut his eyes, he was shocked when a quiet voice that rang with the power to make the stars tremble in the high heavens spoke to him in the darkness behind his eyelids: Do not be upset or afraid, Caspian. I am with you, I have been with you since you were born, and I will be with you until even time ends. I will come to you in the silence. I will lift you from all you fear. You will hear My voice. I claim you as My choice. Be still and know that I'm near. In the shadows of the night, I will be your light. Come and rest in Me.

But who are you? Caspian demanded mentally, and, before he could even think of converting the thoughts to words, the voice had spoken again.

I am, the voice answered with the hint of the sort of rumble that could create earthquakes. I am hope for all the despairing. I am healing for those who dwell in shame. I am eyes for the blind. I am freedom for captives. I am the peace the world cannot give. I am everything you could ever need Me to be.

I don't suppose that You could offer me some proof of that, Caspian thought grimly, thinking that he could use a positive sign to cheer him after losing his beloved nurse.

Because you asked for proof of Me, the kitten scratched your nose. The voice sounded sterner and more dangerous than Uncle Miraz ever had, but, there was still a sympathy, a love, and a mercy laced into the tone that never would have appeared in his uncle's statements. Don't make the same mistakes twice, Caspian. If hearing My voice isn't enough for you, nothing I do for you will ever be enough to satisfy you. If nothing I do will ever be enough to satisfy you, you will be forever miserable.

Forgive me, Caspian thought, reaching up to touch the raw streaks where the kitten had torn through his tender flesh.

This and much more will be forgiven you if you only believe in Me and the miracles I can do for you, the voice declared, and Caspian felt that warm breeze that had drifted across his cheeks the night he had first heard and spoken Aslan's name sweep over his cheeks again, soothing his face more effectively than any balm, so that he felt that the scratches and healing provided physical proof of Aslan's love and justice, after all. With that thought, he slid into a deep sleep filled with dancing Fauns, Naiads, and Dryads.
 
Thank you for posting this S.R.! I skimmed over it and it looks pretty good so I'll take time to read it in depth later.
 
Thanks for your interest, ES. I welcome any comments you have once you've had a chance to read it in more detail, and I should be posting more shortly:D
 
Copperfox said:
I love the way you are proceeding through various vital spiritual qualities.
Click to expand...

Thanks:D Not too long ago, I went on a retreat that focused on the Fruits of the Spirit, so I figured it would be fun to apply my learning to Narnia and Caspian, especially since I've been wanting to write a Caspian fic for awhile.
 
Thank you, Corin! I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I hope you'll like future installments as much. Writing about Miraz bullying Caspian made me sad, but I couldn't imagine Miraz being nice enough to win Uncle of the Year Award to say the least...
 
Kindness

"Your Highness!" Doctor Cornelius admonished. "Attend to me more closely, or we'll conduct the rest of our lessons inside where there are less distractions for your young mind and eyes."

Doctor Cornelius (who was patient, kind, and, in short, as far from being the switch-wielding tutor Caspian had feared when Uncle Miraz had announced three years ago that he'd be getting a tutor to replace Nurse as a giant was from being a dwarf) and Caspian were on the highest tower. The July sun, hot and fierce even though it had to be at least two hours before noon, blazed down on their heads, but their backs were cool from leaning against the fortress' stone wall.

Fluffy white clouds floated indolently across the bluebell sky, and Caspian supposed that, as he was gazing blankly at the clouds, his tutor figured that they were the objects of his lazy contemplation. In reality, however, the clouds were just convenient things to look at as he reflected on the gossip he had overheard between two grooms as they lit his fire before dawn.

The two man-servants had been whispering fervidly about how Uncle Miraz had, or so rumor had it, arranged for Lord Trilian to be poisoned after the noble had raised too many uncomfortable questions about taxation in council.

People who angered Uncle Miraz or who asked questions that made Uncle Miraz uneasy died in unpleasant fashions, Caspian mused, gazing at a sheep-shaped cloud. If Miraz perceived a powerful lord as a problem or a threat, the noble was poisoned, and, if mighty lords were not safe from Miraz's retribution, what hope under the heaven's did a nurse who had made the mistake of telling her young, wide-eyed charge too many crazy stories with too much truth in them for Miraz's comfort have?

Caspian, who had missed Nurse every minute since she had left even if Doctor Cornelius had filled the gaping hole her absence made in Caspian's heart with another blend of wisdom and gentleness, had never before imagined that Nurse would have been killed. Now, though, it seemed inevitable that, instead of being exiled from court, she had been executed. She had probably been speared in the chest by a guard and buried in an anonymous grave.

One day, Caspian would have to find where she had been buried, so that he could raise a monument to her and place fresh roses on her grave. The roses would smell as sweet as the honey she had dribbled into his tea when he was sick and confined to his bed for days that never failed to seem like centuries. They would be as crimson as broken hearts and as scarlet as the life blood she had shed for telling him the only stories that mattered.

"Your Highness." Doctor Cornelius cleared his throat with a rasping cough that succeeded in getting Caspian's attention. "The question I posed to you requires more concentration than the clouds do at the present."

"What question, sir?" Caspian asked flatly, noting inwardly that all questions that weren't about where Nurse was and what her fate was now that she was likely dead were irrelevant to his life and wastes of his time.

"I asked you to please find x," replied Doctor Cornelius, pointing at the variable on one side of a triangle.

"There it is." Feeling very pert—because mathematics never answered important questions such as why good people like Nurse had to die and what happened to them when they did—Caspian jabbed his finger at the black letter x on the white parchment. With the beginning of a sly smirk on his lips, he glanced at his tutor and added, "I don't know why you ask me such foolish questions when I'm not a fool."

"You'll have to prove that to me." His eyes twinkling more than ever, Doctor Cornelius continued, "Please tell me the value of x now."

The value of x, Caspian observed dully to himself, was a cross-out. An attempt to erase a mistake—or a life—forever. An effort to cancel out the worth of somebody or something. The worst, deadliest, mark of all.

"The value of x," he responded, trying to sound as boring and dispassionate as any grammar book his tutor had ordered him to read, "is the twenty-fourth letter in the alphabet after w and before y. It is used to represent visually the sound of the second letter in, for example, the word 'extra.' Of course, x is only a visual approximation of an auditory phenomenon, so nobody can say how much expression is lost in translation, just as no one can express how much knowledge is lost in the forgetting space between thoughts."

"A very profound answer, indeed, but—" Doctor Cornelius tapped Caspian's arm with a quill—"I would urge Your Highness to remember that we are studying geometry right now, not grammar or philosophy. Therefore, I was looking for the numerical value of x."

"You should have been more specific then, sir." Caspian's lips thinned and started to turn down into a scowl. "I don't want to learn mathematics, anyway. It's boring, never useful, and makes me feel like an imbecile."

"I suggest, Your Highness, that you don't make a habit of complaining about the uselessness of arithmetic when you're on a tower that wouldn't be standing if some gentleman hadn't understood numbers enough to design it so it wouldn't collapse under its own weight or crumble when a strong gust of wind hit it." There was a mildly teasing edge to Doctor Cornelius' tone that normally would have made Caspian smile sheepishly, but today made the blood boil in his veins.

"Can you just be quiet for once, you wretched old man?" he snarled, snatching the parchment out of his tutor's varicose hands and ripping the mathematics problem to shreds. Throwing the fragments on the floor to be tossed about by the wind, he lurched to his feet and stomped over to the other side of the tower, shouting over his shoulder, "You think you're a genius, but you aren't, and I hate you."
 
Even as he said the venomous words, he knew they weren't true. He loved Doctor Cornelius as much as he did Nurse. It was only the guilt of this knowledge and the fear that maybe he was allowing a tutor to replace his beloved nurse as Miraz had planned that made him speak such a loathsome lie that felt like poison on his own tongue He had to convince himself much more than he did Doctor Cornelius that he despised his tutor.

His hands shaking, Caspian clutched the cool iron railing, trying to gather some of its strength and calmness into himself to replace his frailty and hot temper. He was so tempted and tried, and, worse still, he knew he would have to be punished—probably severely—for his tantrum. Princes did not snap at their tutors like rabid dogs, nor did they tear apart papers like madmen. They were always respectful, dignified, and eager to learn even the most mind-numbingly boring subjects.

"Prince Caspian." Doctor Cornelius' voice was stern but not furious, yet Caspian couldn't force himself t face his tutor or relinquish his taut grip on the balustrade. "Come here."

"Are you going to thrash me?" Caspian muttered, hoping the wind would drown out his words. He felt as awkward as a guilty toddler caught jumping on a bed.

"What do you think?" Doctor Cornelius' inquiry told him that his words hadn't been swallowed by the wind, after all.

"I guess I deserve one." Trying to persuade himself that the fires burning in his cheeks were from the wind, not humiliation, Caspian bullied himself into spinning around. Then, because he couldn't bear the idea of seeing the anger, sorrow, or disappointment that had to be in his tutor's eyes, he lowered his gaze to the floor, and moving as if his legs had been cast in lead, trudged over to Doctor Cornelius.

"Look at me, Your Highness," commanded Doctor Cornelius, lifting Caspian's chin when the prince finally arrived before him. His eyes more sympathetic than Caspian could have possibly envisioned under the circumstances, he went on dryly, "I won't argue that a tantrum like yours—especially at your age—doesn't deserve a thrashing, but I don't think you need one, so I won't be giving you one. I think right now you need my understanding and forgiveness more than my justice and anger. And I believe that giving people what they need is more important than giving them what they deserve. After all, how much hope would any of us have if we were given exactly what we deserve in justice un-tempered by mercy?"

"I don't understand you, sir." Caspian was trembling worse than ever, and, as waves of sweat were now pouring down his spine, he couldn't help but wonder if it was possible for him to drown in his own sweat.

"That's because you are young. A person has to be guilty of many crimes before he can appreciate the value of being forgiven his trespasses and forgiving others theirs." Doctor Cornelius chuckled softly and squeezed Caspian's shoulders. "Be assured, though that, even if you don't understand what I'm saying, Aslan does. He is the one who, at the Stone Table, taught the world the meaning of mercy and grace."

"What do you mean?" His sweaty forehead knotting in bewilderment, Caspian frowned.

"I see Nurse didn't tell you the best part of the greatest story ever told," Doctor Cornelius commented. "Well, as you know, Aslan brought the statues in the White Witch's castle back to life with His breath alone, but, before that, He, entirely innocent, willingly suffered a traitor's death at the White Witch's hand—or dagger, I should say. He did this so that His blood could replace and redeem the blood of the boy who would one day become King Edmund the Just."

"I still don't understand." Caspian shook his head in baffled frustration. "Sir, even as a boy, Edmund the Just was a hero. He didn't need Aslan or anyone else to die in his place."

"Oh, but he did." Doctor Cornelius sighed. "I've devoted years to studying the lives of the old kings and queens of Narnia. Know that I have nothing but admiration for King Edmund the Just. Wisdom shone in every decision he made, and his justice was always mixed with mercy. However, when the boy who would become King Edmund first arrived in this land, there was a tension between him and his older brother. He wanted to overshadow his older brother and rule over his siblings. The White Witch tempted him, convincing him that she could make him king after her as long as he brought her his siblings, who could, she claimed, be his servants. Of course, all she really wanted was to turn them into stone, so that the prophecy about them could not be fulfilled. Edmund was unable to trick his siblings to accompany him to the Witch's castle, but he snuck away from the Beaver dam to go to the Witch's castle, where he hoped to sample more of the treats she had given him the first time he met her. She was furious at him for not bringing his siblings, and the pain he suffered on the journey to the Stone Table, where the Witch planned to fight Aslan, showed him how wrong he had been to betray his siblings and Aslan, placing his trust in her instead of in Aslan. Finally, some of Aslan's creatures rescued Edmund and brought him back to Aslan's camp, but the Witch couldn't bear to lose him, so she rode into Aslan's camp, insisting that, since Edmund was a traitor, she had a right to kill him on the Stone Table."

"So he deserved death?" Caspian whispered, ashen-faced.

"The words etched on the Stone Table proclaim that the wage of betrayal is death." Doctor Cornelius cleared his throat. "Aslan spoke to the White Witch and persuaded her to allow Him to be slain in Edmund's place on the Stone Table. That night, with only—so tradition says—Lucy and Susan to keep Him company, Aslan walked to meet the Witch at the Stone Table. There, while the girls at His command hid in the forest, the Great Lion was shaved, spat upon, and mocked before the Witch plunged her dagger into Him. The Witch and the vile creatures she had assembled around her rejoiced in His death and then streamed back into the woods. Once the Witch and her evil followers had left, Lucy and Susan ran up to the Stone Table and spent the rest of the night cradling and crying over Aslan's body. Then, at dawn, as the girls were about to leave, they heard a giant rumbling as the Stone Table broke and Aslan rose from the dead. The rest, of course, is history that you know quite well: Aslan took the girls to the White Witch's castle to bring the statues held captive there back to life to fight in the battle against the White Witch. However, the main point of my story is that giving Edmund what he deserved would have meant his death, but giving him the mercy and grace he needed allowed him to become a wise, compassionate king. You should also be aware that what Aslan did that night for love of Edmund, He also did for love of you and for love of everyone else in this world."

"Aslan's and the children's victory over the White Witch seems even more important now," remarked Caspian, biting his lip. "Why didn't Nurse tell me that Aslan died and rose again, and why he died and rose again?"

"She might not have known the full story, Your Highness." Doctor Cornelius smiled sadly. "I'm afraid that many of the stories about Aslan have been lost or partially forgotten, but it is to Nurse's eternal credit, I'm sure, that she knew anything about Aslan and that she told you what she did know. I think that Aslan judges us according to our knowledge of Him and what we did with that knowledge."

"And do you think that Nurse is dead?" Caspian asked, unable to keep his voice from quaking.

"I don't know, my prince." Shaking his head, Doctor Cornelius sighed. "We don't know that she has died, so we can always hope that she still lives, and we can always pray that, if she is dead, she is at peace in Aslan's country now."

"I hate Uncle Miraz," hissed Caspian, clenching his fists around the scabbard he had received from Miraz, along with a heavy sword, for his last birthday. "He is cruel and vicious, and I hate everything about him."

"Don't talk like that, Your Highness," Doctor Cornelius reproved, his tone sharper than it had been all morning.

"Because it's not safe to say anything bad about my uncle," snorted Caspian, continuing to clutch his scabbard.
 
"No, because it's not safe for your soul to hate anyone, my prince," answered Doctor Cornelius, gently pulling Caspian's fingers away from the sword hilt. "I can assure you that hatred always does more damage to you than to the person you hate."

"He killed Nurse, the only mother I ever really had." Caspian gritted his teeth. "And you just want me to forgive him and act as if I didn't mourn her or miss her at all. You don't understand grief, guilt, and anger at all if you expect me to do that, sir."

"I am decades older than you, Your Highness." Doctor Cornelius arched a gray eyebrow at him. "I have loved more people than you. I have hated more people than you. I have lost more people I care about than you have. I know all about the sort of pain that grows too big for some, who allow themselves to be eaten by the darkness to escape the agony. Although I could have given into the darkness, I never did. No, I continue to care for people, and to suffer for that. Yet, you want to teach me about grief, guilt, pain, and anger?"

"No, sir." Humbled, Caspian ducked his head. "It's just that I miss Nurse, my mother, and my father so much."

"One day, you will be reunited with them, but until then, they would want you to find as much joy in this broken world as possible, and they wouldn't wish to be the reason that your pure soul was tainted by hatred," Doctor Cornelius said, his eyes piercing into Caspian's. "Your mother in particular would have been particularly distressed by that, I assure you. She was very concerned about you being raised to be kind before courageous or clever. Indeed, before she died of a hacking cough the winter after your father passed away, she made me promise that, no matter what happened to her, I would find a way to be your tutor and teach you how to be a real gentleman."

"Tell me more about her, please, sir," Caspian whispered, feeling as if his heart were ripping in two. Hearing about his mother was always wonderful, because it helped to place just a few more missing pieces into the puzzle that he was as a person, but it was also painful. It hurt to be reminded that the closest in this lifetime he would be to the woman who had carried and given birth to him was words. He couldn't even remember her talking to him or cradling him in her arms. He had to rely completely upon the memories of others to get any image of what she was like as a person. He wanted to wrap his arms around her warm neck and hear her singing to him even if she had the worst singing voice in the world. Instead, all he had were cold, empty words that he could never hug no matter how hard he tried on cold winter nights.

"She was a beautiful woman." The wrinkles around Doctor Cornelius' eyes crinkled affectionately. "She had eyes as vibrant green as spring grass. Faint lines around her almond eyes and dimples in her cheeks suggested that smiling and giggling were as commonplace to her as breathing. Those lines and dimples didn't lie. She was so witty and optimistic that she could find the humor in every situation. When she laughed, she would throw back her head, so that her long copper-gold hair, which she wore loose, would cascade down her back. She was compassionate, smart, funny, brave, and selfless. She forever looked for the best in people, and she often managed to bring it out, too. She never permitted bullying to go on in front of her. She never failed to defend the innocent and the weak. Almost everybody who knew her was fond of her. Her death was devastating to many people, including me."

"I wish I could have known her." Caspian's words were heavy, choked with yearning. "I wish I could remember her and my father. I wish that the price of meeting you wasn't losing Nurse, because I love both you and Nurse."

"You never lost Nurse." Doctor Cornelius tapped Caspian's chest lightly. "She lives within your heart, just as your parents do."

"But sometimes she feels so far away." Bleakly, Caspian shook his head and swallowed down his grief enough to continue flatly, "I used to be able to hear her voice all the time, telling me how to behave, chiding me when I didn't act how she would want me to behave, and whispering me stories before bed, but now I can't hear her very much at all. Soon, I fear, I'll forget how she actually sounded. I think that in a few more years, she'll become as distant in my mind as Aslan has become to the memory of this land."

"Aslan is still a part of this land, even if its inhabitants seem to have forgotten Him, and, anyway, its inhabitants can't really forget Him, because He is a part of every one of them—even you Telmarines," Doctor Cornelius responded quietly.

"You really believe in Aslan, then?" Caspian eyed Doctor Cornelius skeptically. Vehemence flooding his voice, he demanded, "How can you believe in Him when He let my ancestors come in to conquer your people? How can you have faith in His goodness when He allows terrible things to happen? How can you, who are so clever, sir, trust in His existence when He hasn't revealed Himself in this country for centuries?"

"I'm smart enough to realize that I don't know everything, and that there has to be a higher intelligence than my limited wit." Doctor Cornelius grinned grimly. "To answer your question then, I believe in Aslan the way I believe in other truths like love and charity that may seem very abstract in tough times. I think that Aslan had a greater plan in mind than I can fathom when He allowed your ancestors to conquer this country. Perhaps He wanted to teach my ancestors how to live more virtuously and put their trust in Him, because, as far as my research indicates, before the Telmarine invasion, Narnia had fallen into civil war and immorality. Maybe He eventually wanted a land—perhaps one you can create with His help—where some old Narnians and Telmarines can live side by side in peace. I believe that, even though we sometimes cry in anger when we can't feel Him near and that we sometimes doubt His goodness or His wisdom, many times His blessings come through suffering, His healing comes through tears, and a million sleepless nights is many times what it takes for us to know that He really is with us."

"But it must have been easier to believe in Him when He was in Narnia all the time, as He was in the days when the old kings and queens ruled this land," argued Caspian, his chin jutting out petulantly, trying to remember the kitten that had curled up in his legs the night he had discovered that Nurse had been parted from him with no chance to say farewell.

"Faith is only valuable if it remains true and constant even in the most difficult times," Doctor Cornelius informed him, eyes twinkling wryly. "And, in answer to your final question, I think that Aslan does reveal Himself to us all the time but we are too stubbornly blind to see Him. Every rainbow, every cloud, every star in the sky, every tree, every mountain, every flower, and every river is a testament to His power to create and His love of that which He creates. Every word of our life stories, every simple act of mercy we give or receive, and every hope that burns in our hearts is proof that He dwells within us, protecting and encouraging us. He believes in us even when we doubt Him, and He reaches out to us even when we try to ignore Him."

"You mean that we see Aslan most often and most clearly in the world and in each other," Caspian murmured, his brow wrinkling. "I guess that makes sense." His face relaxing, he smiled, and added, eyes glittering mischievously, "Thanks for telling me that and for not thrashing me even if I did deserve it earlier. I suppose that's your attempt at being Aslan's love and mercy in my life."

"Don't be suspicious of me." Doctor Cornelius' eyes sparkled enigmatically. "I just want to get to the end of my life and hear Him say, 'Well done, my good and faithful servant.' If I hear that, everything I ever did will be meaningful and justified. If not, nothing I did will have value."

"And what do you think He will say to me?" asked Caspian, unconsciously rubbing the area on his face where the kitten had scratched him for doubting the existence of Aslan.

"I think He'll say, 'Well done, my son.'" Gently, Doctor Cornelius clapped him on the shoulder. "When He does, that will be enough to take away all the pain you suffered in this life, and it will be enough to make you rejoice forever in His country. You will have no cause to doubt Him ever again once He has said that to you in His country."

Caspian nodded, but he wished that he could be sure of that. After all, he believed that he had heard Aslan's voice in his head and felt the Great Lion's breath drifting across his face, but he still questioned whether Aslan really existed and wondered, if Aslan did exist, if the Great Lion was truly as good as the stories had described Him. It was so hard to believe in miracles when his parents were dead, Nurse probably had been executed before he could say any sort of goodbye to her, and Miraz would kill Doctor Cornelius if it was ever discovered that the prince's tutor was telling his charge tales of Old Narnia. Caspian wanted to live in Old Narnia, but he really existed in the land ruled by his uncle, and it was impossible to forget that harsh fact entirely even in his wildest dreams about dancing spirits and fauns.
 
Forbearance

The sweet smell of roses filled the warm spring air as Aslan and Caspian walked through a courtyard garden in what once had been Uncle Miraz's castle and now was Caspian's.

Caspian wanted to look down at the neat, straight brick pathway he and the Great Lion were treading upon or at the thorn lining the verdant stems beneath delicate white, pink, and scarlet blossoms. However, the part of him that still couldn't believe he was walking beside Aslan was afraid that if he averted his gaze—or even blinked for a second—the Great Lion would fade into the gentle breeze blowing through the garden as if He had never been, and Caspian would never see Him again.

That would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to him, Caspian thought. As long as he was in Aslan's presence, he believed in miracles, had faith that (with Aslan's help, which he didn't doubt would be forthcoming) he could achieve what should have been impossible for him to do, and felt as if he couldn't remember all the worries that had burdened his life for so many years. In Aslan's presence, he realized how much he was a prisoner to a million fears he hadn't even noticed the existence of until Aslan set him free of them.

"This is a beautiful garden," remarked Aslan, pausing to inhale the scent of a particularly pungent flower. "Since even I must take the time to smell the roses occasionally, I am grateful that the Telmarines have a love of nature, as long as they can control it, which explains their dislike of the wild woods and the untamed seashore. Telmarine gardens are among the most visually appealing I have seen in Narnia for centuries."

"Are You trying to tell me to remember that there are good things about my race even if we are all the descendents of villains, Sir?" Caspian asked, feeling that even Aslan's apparently casual comments had to possess an important, instructional component.

"Character, Caspian, is determined by what a person does, not by what a person's ancestors have done." Aslan's tail twitched, and Caspian wished that he knew enough about lions to translate that body language. Gazing deeply into Caspian's eyes—so that Caspian felt as if every secret thought of his mind and every hidden desire of his heart were seen by the Lion—Aslan continued, "As I have told you before, you are from the same lineage as all the Narnian kings and queens of old. That is why you can be a rightful king of Narnia. Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve rule in Narnia to right the wrong a young boy did so long ago when he brought evil into My new world. Mankind's rule is both its glory and its penance. Try to understand this, because I don't have much time to teach you what it means to be king."

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry," Caspian said, thinking that even though Aslan put more contradictions in His lessons than anyone he had ever met, he understood Him perfectly.

Aslan nodded in acknowledgement of Caspian's apology and added, "As for there being good Telmarines, I hope that should be obvious to you, since you are one yourself, as is your dear, faithful Nurse."

"Thank You for keeping her safe all these years." Caspian didn't know how Aslan had managed to save her from execution, but he was eternally grateful that she had been spared from death. He would always remember how it had felt to hug her, knowing that he had so much to tell her, and none f it mattered now that they had been reunited. He could never forget his elation when he recognized that he could honor her in life and not just in death.

"I always protect My people whether Telmarine or Talking Beast." Aslan's voice was a rumble in His throat, but, somehow, Caspian wasn't trembling. He understood that the undercurrent of menace in Aslan's tone was not directed against him, but rather anyone who threatened Aslan's people, of which he understood himself to be a part. "Even death cannot hurt them, because I rose from the death I suffered on the Stone Table. My sacrifice moves backward and forward in time from that moment on which hung the salvation history of this world, allowing My beloved children to escape even the clutches of death. I endured an agonizing, shameful execution though I was guilty of no crime so that those who believe in Me and serve Me don't have to suffer the eternal death the Deep Magic woven into this land demands they deserve."

"The wage of betrayal is death," whispered Caspian, remembering from what felt like ages ago the words that Doctor Cornelius had told him were etched into the Stone Table. "And we have all betrayed You."

"Nobody is entirely faithful to Me, but I am faithful to them until death and beyond." There was such a placid acceptance of the frailty of mortal creatures and their endless capacity for betrayal in Aslan's words that Caspian had to speak.

"You're the savior not only of me," he burst out, thinking of the victory Aslan's resurrected tree spirits had won for him against his uncle's troops, "but of the world. I apologize for doubting Your power and goodness when Nurse was forced to leave and on the tower when I was talking to Doctor Cornelius. I just felt so tempted and tried, and I thought that if I saw You, I would have proof of Your existence and could believe more easily."

"Those who don't want to believe will always, in their defiance and pride, find reasons not to believe." Aslan shook out His mane, the hairs gleaming brilliantly as the sun when they shifted around His face. "Sight is not enough for those resolved to doubt Me. Those who see Me and don't want to believe in Me always find reason to doubt the evidence of their own senses, a much graver offense than doubting Me when I choose to remain invisible."

"You never really chose to be invisible from me, did You, Sir?" Caspian smiled, recalling the ginger kitten who had leapt into his lap to console him after Uncle Miraz had dismissed Nurse. "You were the cat who comforted me after Nurse left, weren't You?"

"I can take many forms," Aslan said, and that was answer enough. "Some of My people have met Me first as a kitten."

"And You scratched my nose for doubting You, didn't You?" Caspian rubbed the place on his face where he had bled when the kitten's claws ripped into his flesh.

"All who doubt Me, Caspian, must be punished and moved either to repentance or greater revolt against Me." Aslan's tail flicked out to brush across Caspian's sleeve. "I let you bleed, but I didn't allow a scar to form on your face. I let you cry, but I gave you dreams of Naiads and Dryads to comfort you and strengthen your faith in Me."

"Now You've given me real Naiads and Dryads to rule justly over." Caspian didn't know whether to be excited or terrified by this prospect, and, thinking of how wonderful it felt to stroke the kitten, he asked, "Could—could I touch Your Mane, Sir? Or is it disrespectful to even ask?"

"Nothing is ever disrespectful if done in a spirit of sincerity and reverence," Aslan responded in a voice that was almost a purr. "Touch My Mane if you wish, child."

Caspian stretched out a tentative hand and began to move his fingers through Aslan's soft, long, and glorious golden mane. His courage grew when Aslan licked his face with a gentle, velvety tongue, giving him great Lion kisses. Caspian knew that, however old and senile he became, he would always have this moment burned into his memory by Lion kisses.

"May I ask another question, Sir?" Caspian wanted to know, hoping that Doctor Cornelius would be pleased that he had recalled the distinction between "may" and "can" when addressing the Great Lion.

"Ask, Caspian, and you will receive an answer always, even if the answer if not always to your liking," Aslan informed him gravely.

"Will I ever see Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy again?" Caspian burst out before he could lose his nerve.

"All who serve Me faithfully will be reunited in My country in the end and will spend eternity in each other's presence." Aslan's eyes locked on Caspian's providing both comfort and a sense of being judged for every thought and deed. "That is all the consolation and promise you will receive from Me, because it is all the consolation and promise anyone needs and anybody gets."

"Yes, Sir." Quietly, Caspian confessed, "I just thought they could give me advice about how to be a good king to all the Narnians. I don't know what to do."

"You must decide for yourself what to do." Aslan's tone was firm and unyielding, but not unsympathetic. "I understand that you doubt your own abilities, but, now that you are king, you must overcome those doubts and learn to trust your instincts. You must develop your own sense of wisdom and justice—not Edmund's, not Lucy's, not Susan's, and not even Peter's. I will always be in your head and your heart to guide you, but, after tomorrow, I will be returning to My own country, where I will remain unless I deem it necessary to come back here. You have powerful friends in creatures like Reepicheep, Trumpkin, Trufflehunter, and Doctor Cornelius. You must learn how to use them to Narnia's advantage now that you are king."

"Please, Sir, grant me all the wisdom and virtue I need to be a good king." Caspian knelt, the stones of the pathway digging into his knees.

"You already have all the qualities that you need to succeed; you just need to hone them." Aslan breathed into Caspian's face, so that the young king suddenly felt as though he did have all the wisdom, compassion, and courage it would take to rule over a land of humans, Talking Beasts, Fauns, Naiads, and Dryads. "Now, arise. Your aunt and her baby son seek an audience with Your Majesty."
 
Caspian had barely gotten to his feet when Aunt Prunaprisma, her flaming red hair wrapped tightly in a bun on top of her head and her mouth pinched (in her typical expression) as if she had just swallowed a dozen lemons, strode across the courtyard.

When she reached him and Aslan, she curtsied before Caspian to just the degree proper for a powerful lady to acknowledge her king, and not an inch lower. Then, her body thinner, more haggard than Caspian remembered and the shadows under her eyes so large they threatened to swallow her, she said in a tone that made it clear she didn't intend to lose any dignity by pleading with her nephew, "You defeated my husband, as I always hoped you wouldn't and feared you would. Now that my husband—my protector—is dead, I accept that you will kill me as repayment for all that he took from you. I ask only that you let my son live."

Here, Aunt Prunaprisma thrust a baby boy with tufts of auburn hair wrapped in a blue blanket the color of the veins that shone through his pale skin into Caspian's hands, announcing, "His name is Caspian, and, though you can't see now because he is napping, his eyes are the color of yours. He is your heir until you marry and produce your own offspring. You are bound by blood to him. If you kill him, you hurt yourself."

"I don't punish sons for the crimes of their fathers." It made Caspian feel sick to recognize that his aunt knew him so little that she could imagine that he would be less merciful than Miraz, who had at least refrained from attempting to kill his nephew until Prunaprisma had borne him his own son. "Nor do I kill women and babies to make a political point. You will live in comfort in this castle, madam, and your son—my cousin—will be raised like a prince. He shall live in comfort and receive a fine education. If you and he remain loyal to me, you will have no cause to fear my wrath."

"Will you order the best physicians to attend to him, then, Nephew?" Aunt Prunaprisma clutched onto the arm in which Caspian wasn't holding her young son. "He's sickly. After all my stillborns, I couldn't even bring one healthy child into the world. I'm a failure at womanhood."

"I wasn't aware that being a woman was something you could fail at." Caspian found it hard not be gruff about his aunt's failure to produce an heir when that failure probably had ensured that he reached puberty. "Anyhow, Aunt, I will have the best physicians attend to him. Now, please stop clinging to me like you're about to faint."

"A physician won't be necessary." Aslan leaned forward to breathe into the baby's face, which instantly became a healthy pink. "Baby Caspian has been healed. He will live a long life, Prunaprisma, as long as you do not incite him to challenge the rightful king. You must remember that an attack on My appointed king is an attack upon Me."

"I—I understand." Her hands trembling, Prunaprisma removed her child from Caspian's arm. "I won't try to lead a rebellion against my nephew. I will accept his peace offering. After all, I never really wanted trouble and betrayal in my family It was just a horrible trap I fell into that I have to break free of now."

Then, turning to Caspian, she added, "You have your father's fierceness and courage in battle, in addition to your mother's capacity for mercy and true nobility. It is a good combination for a king. I accept your rule." She gave a final curtsy and disappeared down the path, calling over her shoulder, "I will leave you two to your council."
 
In one of his non-fiction works, Mr. Lewis wrote: "Heaven can give Heavenly comfort, no other kind; and Earth cannot give Earthly comfort either. There IS NO Earthly comfort in the long run." That passage was brought to my mind when I read this exchange in your story:

"May I ask another question, Sir?" Caspian wanted to know, hoping that Doctor Cornelius would be pleased that he had recalled the distinction between "may" and "can" when addressing the Great Lion.

"Ask, Caspian, and you will receive an answer always, even if the answer if not always to your liking," Aslan informed him gravely.

"Will I ever see Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy again?" Caspian burst out before he could lose his nerve.

"All who serve Me faithfully will be reunited in My country in the end, and will spend eternity in each other's presence." Aslan's eyes locked on Caspian's, providing both comfort and a sense of being judged for every thought and deed. "That is all the consolation and promise you will receive from Me, because it is all the consolation and promise anyone needs and anybody gets."

In the next installment, then, I was pleased to see you giving Caspian a chance to demonstrate his mercy toward his baby cousin. That was a scene which OUGHT TO have been in the original novel!
 
Copperfox said:
In one of his non-fiction works, Mr. Lewis wrote: "Heaven can give Heavenly comfort, no other kind; and Earth cannot give Earthly comfort either. There IS NO Earthly comfort in the long run." That passage was brought to my mind when I read this exchange in your story:

"May I ask another question, Sir?" Caspian wanted to know, hoping that Doctor Cornelius would be pleased that he had recalled the distinction between "may" and "can" when addressing the Great Lion.

"Ask, Caspian, and you will receive an answer always, even if the answer if not always to your liking," Aslan informed him gravely.

"Will I ever see Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy again?" Caspian burst out before he could lose his nerve.

"All who serve Me faithfully will be reunited in My country in the end, and will spend eternity in each other's presence." Aslan's eyes locked on Caspian's, providing both comfort and a sense of being judged for every thought and deed. "That is all the consolation and promise you will receive from Me, because it is all the consolation and promise anyone needs and anybody gets."

In the next installment, then, I was pleased to see you giving Caspian a chance to demonstrate his mercy toward his baby cousin. That was a scene which OUGHT TO have been in the original novel!
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As always, thanks so much for your review, Copperfox:D

I'm glad that I was able to channel the spirit of Lewis' works so much that reading this fanfic reminded you of other passages in his writings. I really have to read more of Lewis' stuff, since I've only read Chronicles of Narnia, so that is kind of embarrassingly ignorant. That is a great Lewis quote, though, from a man who had very many insightful comments about God and Heaven.

Giving Caspian a chance to demonstrate his mercy was very important to me, especially because it gave Caspian a chance to show how different he is from his uncle and how much he is learning from Aslan's teachings. I also really felt the need to provide an answer to what happened to Miraz's wife and son after Miraz died.
 
To understand Lewis through his nonfiction, read these books, in order:

SURPRISED BY JOY
THE ABOLITION OF MAN
MERE CHRISTIANITY
THE PROBLEM OF PAIN
THE FOUR LOVES
 
I have found your account of Caspian's early years most fascinating and very enjoyable, SunshineRose.

Copperfox said:
In the next installment, then, I was pleased to see you giving Caspian a chance to demonstrate his mercy toward his baby cousin. That was a scene which OUGHT TO have been in the original novel! [/FONT]
Click to expand...

I quite agree with you. What C.S.Lewis actually planned the fate Of Prunaprismia and her baby son to be is unclear: possibly we are meant to assume that they followed many of the Telmarines through the gateway to another world. This may also be born out by the fact that in The Silver Chair, following the kidnapping and enchantment of Prince Rilian by the Green Witch, Caspian is said to have no heir to succeed him. If his nephew had remained in Narnia, and was still alive, he would have been regent, until Aslan arranged for Eustace, Jill and Puddleglum to rescue Tirian. Pure speculation, of course!
 
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Copperfox, thanks for the selected reading order of Lewis' nonfiction works. He has so many that it can be kind of intimidating to look at the list, and not know where to jump in. Now I have no excuse not to track down those books and read them:D

Corin, I'm glad that you enjoyed my account of Caspian's younger years, and I hope you'll like my take on Caspian's middle and later years, too, because one of the aspects that always attracted me to Caspian's story is that, in him, we get to see someone who believes in Aslan develop from a child into an old man. We get some insight into events that might have made that faith evolve without making it shatter, and we get to see their final meeting at the end of SC, which, to show all my cards, is one of the most moving moments in my opinion:D

It's great to know that you liked seeing Caspian have a chance to show mercy on his cousin. Prunaprisma's fate and that of her son are one of the big mysteries of the Chronicles of Narnia series. One of the (few and far between) things I liked about the movie is that they gave a reasonable answer to what happened to Prunaprisma, suggesting that she and her baby boy went through Aslan's gateway. I think that worked well in the movie, but I wanted to provide another interpretation in my fanfic, because I wanted to give Caspian the chance to show and discover how different he is from his ruthless, abusive uncle.

The fact that Narnia is said to have no heir beyond the vanished Prince Rilian in SC is something that I will ultimately reconcile with my interpretation of Prunaprisma and son (sounds like a corporation, lol) staying in Narnia, but I don't want to spoil the surprise. Let's just say that, after years of being a Star Wars fan, I am great at retconning...
 
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