Disclaimer: Narnia, its people, its land, and its magic were created by C.S. Lewis and belong to him and his heirs. I just like to walk in his world quite often.
“‘Two sights have I seen,’ said Farsight. ‘One was Cair Paravel filled with dead Narnians and living Calormenes: the Tisrocs banner advanced upon your royal battlements […] And the other sight, five leagues nearer than Cair Paravel, was Roonwit the Centaur lying dead with a Calormen arrow in his side. I was with him in his last hour and he gave me this message to your Majesty: to remember that all worlds draw to an end and that noble death is a treasure which no one is too poor to buy.” – The Last Battle
Fallen. Fallen. Fallen.
Hoofbeats underneath me, trees all around me, the dryads in them dying now.
Narnia is fallen.
A prophet, I’d seen this coming; a councillor, I’d known its cost; a Narnian, it was death to me.
Narnia is dying.
I’d told my king evil hung over Narnia, that Aslan wasn’t here. It cost me, to come to his lodge, to see joy die in his eyes.
Your people bleed in your courtyard.
I’d run to tell him, run flat out. To tell a good and kingly friend – that terrible things lie ahead, and Aslan had not come.
Aslan, where were you?
The cost of a prophet is wounding the king.
The king with his hand on his sword, a white unicorn beside him. Heading into battle alone.
The cost of this truth is stripping away joy.
Are there footsteps behind me?
The cost of his rage might be his life.
I can hear the shouts of men.
And Narnia would fall without him.
Ahh! An arrow in my side! Aslan, it burns, it’s deep!
Aslan, why make me your prophet now?
I turn with sword in hand.
I followed Aslan. I followed faithfully. I never lied to your own.
My life would cost them their own, these three. Cowards of men, for now they hang back.
Not even when it angered my king.
I lower the sword, and wait for their courage. I am too weak to chase them now.
Not even when he wouldn’t listen. His anger wasn’t at me; he sought the truth his own way.
Bolder, they come forward now.
That didn’t mean the anger didn’t hurt.
Their heads fall on the forest floor. I turn to go back to the king – of nothing.
But it wasn’t me he was angry with; a prophet must remember.
Ten steps and then I fall; the ground, it jars my wobbly knees.
The Emperor’s message; that was all, all that mattered to a prophet. Set myself aside.
I bend forward, panting; hands pushing on the ground. But I can’t get up.
Aslan knows what is good for the king. Aslan sets the dance of the stars. Aslan knows our ending.
I fall on my side; this is my ending. I close my eyes and my memory pours out Narnian screams. I wish I wasn’t alone.
Aslan, why did I have to be a prophet at the end? I did not mind the cost to me; the truth was always worth it. But how could Tisroc’s reign be Aslan’s truth? How could this slaughter be Aslan’s good?
Breathe in. Breathe out. Slowly. Death comes in Aslan’s time.
All worlds come to an end. Even Aslan’s. Even the stars. Only the truth endures. It does not change in darkness.
Wingbeats. I open my eyes, eyes already towards the sky. Peace settles over me. Aslan isn’t letting me die alone.
If I am Aslan’s prophet, my death also comes at His will. And it is a little cost, for a life spent fighting for truth.
Farsight, great eagle of the winds. His head dips with grief for me. And for Narnia. Together, we grieve what’s lost.
I am ready to surrender it.
He stays with me till I breathe no more.
Death comes for us all.
I open my eyes and see a stable.
But death could not hold The Lion.
In it I see my king.
Death cannot hold His prophet.
In it I see The Lion.
Death is only a temporary cost.
When I enter it, I am home.
Truth endures forever.
And now, so does Narnia.