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~ Forgotten ~
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There is a Narnia no one remembers. It lies forgotten in the mysterious yet beautiful halls of the past; it rests amidst the pale fluted columns, countless carven doors, and cut glass windows overlooking endless sky and silver clouds.
It echoes with the faint laughter down no longer existing marble halls of young kings and queens.
It echoes with sobs of pain in the night, but they are quieted by gentle voices and stockinged feet of the tall brother and silent sisters offering their presence and wrapping their arms about their tear-stained brother.
It remembers long horseback rides through forests and meadows, this Narnia no one can recall. Dancers in a ballroom that seems lit with starlight, but perhaps that is only the slight-of-hand of the Just King's magic and willing fireflies. Or the Valiant Queen presenting medals and gifts to knights of The Table for their strength and valor in battle.
Some days it remembers gentle harp strings strummed in the early morning, pale gauze drapes billowing out into the wind, delicate yellow roses and hardy sunflowers growing outside around the balcony of the Gentle Queen as she played her instrument.
On others it plays out the days of rain and bright sun, when in both a tall man with shining hair, though not so tall perhaps as his younger brother, practiced with his soldiers or directed his armies in war. Always would the Magnificent High King be with sword or dagger, yet, he laughed more than he was grave.
The Narnia that has been forgotten looks back on the day when such balanced four ruled upon the Four Thrones, when the sun was never darkened by ruin and endless heartache. It would play out the days spent by many beloved subjects watching the empty thrones, wondering if their leaders would ever return to them.
It witnessed the golden years decay, watched while the thrones grew dusty, as an aging faun and a tall Centaur with silver in his coat forever closed the great doors to that hall. It saw war and desolation, as the heirs fought for their memories desperately.
It stood witness as war brought smoke to blot the sunlight of the Southern Queen, when heavy clouds dampened the strength of the Northern King's sky; as time turned into trees which cut off the ocean of the Eastern Queen, and superstition overran the Western King's wood.
It remembered death and lifelessness, as all Narnians struggled to survive without hope of return to what once was.
But more often it remembered better days, though it knew harsher ones.
The welcome smiles of its wise king, the frolics in the spring and autumn with its brave queen, the dances and music of their gracious queen, and the skilled leadership of the regal High King.
Sunflowers blooming in Glasswater. A picnic by the ocean and a swim in the warm waves.
The reflection of sunlight through the colored glass of Lord Peridan's summer manor on his native shores of the Lone Islands.
The bays and blacks and greys and chestnuts of the royal mounts, how they flashed as the monarchs galloped out of the courtyard midst the radiance of an autumn afternoon.
The rain when they never returned, and the sunlight that broke after the subjects realized The Four would not be back but they were not themselves broken, they could go on.
No one remembered.
There was no one left to recount such days.
Lord Peridan had died in battle, struck from the castle parapets by a blind shot of some faceless Telmarine archer.
Master Tumnus had fallen ill and departed to fairer lands in his sleep, though a scrap of parchment had been found in his hand bearing the short epitaph "I dreamed of what once was" which the Centaur general ordered inscribed upon his tombstone.
The general himself died of age, and lived a good life, in spite of its loneliness after the disappearance of his king and dear friend.
The Beavers, hardy creatures though their lives are short, held on as long as they could, but finally the long hibernation came, and they were ready, hoping to greet the boys and girls they'd led through winter snows to the Great Aslan, aiding them on the long journey to becoming mighty and graceful kings and queens.
Forgotten, forgotten this beautiful though ancient Narnia was. . .
Until a horn sounded, and it awoke. And, like in the dreams of its dream, it heard . . . Them. Quietly, it came, though eagerly, watching as They returned after all these years. It was remembered by those who loved it best.
~ Finis ~
A/N:
Just a little something I wrote while listening to Brian Crain's 'The Edge of a Petal' which I INSIST must be listened to as you read this. The music adds to the emotion of this little vignette. Please tell me what you think in the review box below, I would simply love to have your thoughts on this piece!
WH