When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone
Sits at Cair Paravel in throne,
The evil time will be over and done.
—The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe
1. Lantern Waste
"Be careful, Arthur. The Calormens are scouting in the south."
Arthur looked up, hands stopping to grip the handle of his basket tightly. The faun's eyes looked unnaturally severe in the bright light of morning and all Arthur could do was nod. Thomas, the faun, was his one of his dearest friends, one of the only fey creatures that could bear to live so close to the heart of Lantern Waste. Flinging his dull red scarf over his neck (a family heirloom from the great faun Mr Tumnus, himself), Thomas trotted closer to the table; hooves making sharp thuds against the wooden floorboards.
"Are all these for the patrols?" He asked, voice disbelieving and eyes wide. Arthur hurriedly tugged the cloth over the top of the basket, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.
"They're running out of food. The ice is relentless this winter. Their scavengers have come up with nothing," Arthur muttered lowly, justifying himself.
Looking disapproving, Thomas sighed and nodded. Arthur couldn't fault his dear friend's aloofness over the border patrols. The winter this year was taking its toll on what little of Lantern Waste's inhabitants.
The snow drifting down outside seemed so innocuous but Arthur could only imagine how many babes this winter had already been claimed in its cold embrace. The trees shone as the morning sun rose higher in its light blue plane.
"Sometimes I wonder if we're waiting for some foolish event that will never occur," Thomas said softly, fiddling with the ratty end of his woollen scarf. At Arthur's affronted expression, Thomas shrugged before returning to his usual laidback grin, "I know it's a prophecy and all, but how can you go on with such blind faith?" His voice belied no grief, but his mouth had a cruel twist to it.
"It's what I get up for every morning," Arthur said quietly, seriously.
He wasn't lying exactly. But tendrils of resignation were creeping over his heart like the ivy that had crept over his house in the years gone past. It's been a decade since Arthur heard of the prophecy. The prophetess' weakened eyes that turned pale once the last word left her lips; the hopeful prophecy that spoke of the arrival of a son of Adam.
There would be a king.
Unfortunately, there wasn't any sign that the man would be arriving soon. Arthur's heart was starting to grow cold like the frost on his windows. There would be no hope if Lantern Waste was lost.
White flakes were fluttering to the snow-covered forest floor when Arthur and Thomas left the small hut hidden amongst the trees. Thomas bid Arthur a fond goodbye with a hug and an open of his umbrella, leaving Arthur to navigate his way through the trees. Arthur hadn't even murmur a soft 'goodbye' before the faun was lost in the forest.
Arthur remembered when stately women would drift out from these trees, with eyes all-seeing and hair so very dark. And pale young women who would dance around him, silver hair wrapped in stars. And women with olive skin, fingers smooth and smiles genuine.
It was a ten minute walk before the landmark that was the place's namesake came into view. A lamppost glowed orange in the burgeoning light of the day and despite the cold, Arthur couldn't resist a smile at the welcoming sight.
The beloved lamppost had stayed where it was since the beginning of Narnia, through generations of kings and queens, through Narnia's faintly remembered Golden Age all till now. And the flame never went out. Arthur's heart warmed, perhaps it would still be here to herald a new age when Arthur was not.
In his reverie, Arthur had almost missed the shivering bundle huddled just a little ways beside the lamppost, dressed in garishly bright colours. His heart stilled. Nobody in Lantern Waste even owned cloth that bright a colour anymore. War was not a time for luxury, nobody could afford it.
At that very instant, Arthur's heart jumped to the next most logical scenario. They've sent a bird in; a scout to look over the place for vantage points. Not unexpectedly, Arthur's heart jumped with a sudden hatred for the man in the bright red tunic, it must have been years since he's last seen such a colour without the inevitable smell of rust and blood.
The Calormenes, Arthur thought in the heat of the moment. It must be the Calormenes.
Arthur glared at the bright red tunic that the Calormen was wearing. He didn't seem armed against the biting cold so far up north. Stupidity, thought Arthur spitefully, and arrogance. It was one of the reasons why the Calormens will never and can never claim Narnia.
Breath catching in his throat, reality sunk in as Arthur's eyes widened. He didn't actually have a way to put down this man. Arthur cursed silently on how he had forgotten to bring his hunting bow out of his hut, or at least a carving knife. Right now, Arthur didn't even have a thick branch to whack this obvious intruder in the head.
The thought of a sentry in Arthur's home, and laying so close to the lamppost, the heart of Lantern Waste… It was like a mocking jeer to everything that Arthur held so dearly in his heart. The gall of them. They have all but been driven back to the corner of Narnia's borders, all they wanted was to protect the entrance of the worlds. All anyone wanted right now was to reclaim their birthright and wait forevermore for their Kings and Queens to return, to bring back the age that Narnians hold dear.
Counting on the large tree to keep him from view of the Calormen, Arthur stared at his hands uselessly before holding back. He would not try. Heading down that path would bring nothing but disappointment and bitterness. An arrow, Arthur was more or less familiar with, but looking down at his hands Arthur felt a rushing wave of resignation. Primitive weapons couldn't feel quite as real as magic flowing from his palms.
But it hadn't been that way for a long time now.
Setting his basket down at the base of the trunk, Arthur squared his shoulders. The Calormen didn't look too attentive. Arthur would take him down from behind. It was a plan.
Sliding out of his hiding spot, Arthur stalked closer to the man sitting under some odd brown cloak, his red tunic bright against all the white. The Calormens sure were getting bolder. Sending a sentry this deep into the woods and under no camouflage, they must be sure they were winning the battle. Arthur breathed deeply at their pig-headed idea and readied his hands to strike the person in the neck.
Barely a feet away from each other, suddenly, there was a flare of red and the man was no longer in sight. Jerking back from the shock, Arthur let his guard down and was tackled from behind.
"Aarg... mmrph."
Arthur's face was being pressed harshly into the snow, the cold melting into his cheeks. His arms were caught and held behind his back in a vice-like grip and he could make no more noise than a faint muffled cry. Thoughts raced through his mind but each idea was no more feasible that the one before. The ridiculous notion that stuck in his mind involved him suddenly sprouting extra limbs and knocking the man off. Without his sight, Arthur's hearing sharpened and there was a small cry of surprise and as soon as it happened, the hold on Arthur loosened and disappeared.
There was a brief moment of decision-making in which Arthur was wondering whether he should get up. On one hand, the man would most certainly kill him when he got to his feet, but this way, he'd get to see his assailant with his dying breath and die with a little dignity. On the other hand if he stayed where he was, the man might think he was dead, or maybe concussed and leave him alone. With the snow slowly melting in Arthur's already numb face, he had to make a choice.
Scrambling to his feet, Arthur got up.
The sight that greeted his eyes was not what he expected. The man didn't look like he wanted to kill him. In fact, he didn't even look Calormen. He didn't have brown skin and dark hair, he didn't have murderous intent. In fact, there wasn't an inch of maliciousness in those bright blue eyes.
"Hello! I'm Alfred!" The young man said, sticking his hand out.
Arthur blanched. He was blonde and had eyes that uncomfortably reminded Arthur of the sky in summer which was still too far away. His mouth was quirked up in a dopey lopsided grin and his gaze regarded Arthur excitedly.
The man was probably mad, Arthur thought, staring at the garb he had on. It was snowing heavily this time of the year and the man hadn't a thing on except some flimsy tunic too small for him and trousers too loose.
His hand was also still outstretched. Yes, Arthur thought to himself, the man's quite mad.
On noticing that Arthur wasn't keen on shaking his hand any time soon, Alfred retracted it before smiling brightly at him and bounding over with all the enthusiasm of a puppy. It was only then did Arthur notice that Alfred hadn't. Stopped. Talking.
"I thought you were some yeti or something, or Big-Foot, y'know, in the woods. Didn't mean to tackle you, dude. My bad, sorry about that. No hard feelings 'kay? I was just so cold, man. I didn't even know that the museum had hidden some little jungle in one of their rooms. I mean, I walked around for a bit but then I couldn't find the exit! So I just stuck close to the only thing I was familiar with. This little lamppost right here," Alfred rambled on, thumping the lamppost violently with one of his enormous hands.
"Oi!" Arthur shouted, grabbing Alfred, "Stop doing that. It's a relic!"
"Chill, dude. Everything's a relic 'round here. I didn't break that dinosaur exhibit back over there. I did crack it a little. But what's a little crack? I'm sure the huge thing probably had a fracture sometime in its life. No biggie!" Alfred said cheerfully, from which Arthur didn't understand a thing of.
All of a sudden, the man's eyes grew as big as platters. "Oh yeah! Where's the manners my mom taught me? What's your name?"
"I'm Arthur Kirkland." And before Alfred could cut in again, "You are Alfred. I know!" Arthur snapped back darkly, cutting the boisterous man off before walking back to where he left his basket and picking it up, intent on leaving this idiot where he found him.
"Do you know how to get back?" Alfred asked somewhere behind him, voice a little worried, "I have class this afternoon and two essays to submit before five... Arthur?"
Arthur continued walking, determined on reaching the camp before noon. He had wasted enough time on Alfred and he did want to do something productive before making the journey back home. Hopefully, the man would get hit in the face by some low-hanging branch and keel over. Spirits lifting with his thought, Arthur increased his speed and marched through the snow.
"I just want to know how to get out of the wardrobe! Come on!"
Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. Maybe he said something else. There's no way the alien could be... could be what this land needed. He must have said something else; maybe the name of some far-off land full of dogs with wagging tails or something similar. Alfred soon caught up with him, his heavy footfalls easy to recognise and Arthur turned to face him.
"What did you say?" Arthur asked, tone a lot softer, green eyes staring uneasily up at blue.
Alfred grinned at catching Arthur's attention and his eyes seemed to sparkle like snow did in the sun. Which as any person worth his salt would know that if you look at it long, would cause you snow blindness. Not a good omen.
"I came through the wardrobe! Though I have to say, this is a pretty big exhibit..." Alfred trailed off, staring at the trees, gaudy shoes kicking at the powdery snow.
On hearing the words repeated again. Arthur's face and heart fell. The High King and his siblings all hailed from the land of the War-Drobe in Narnia's most trying times. Arthur looked at Alfred intently, not believing. For the first time in ten years, Arthur didn't want to believe.
He was barely a boy, despite his height. Youth and naivety lingered in all corners of his face and he didn't look as if he had an inch of experience with a weapon. Arthur shuddered to think what he would do when handed with the High King Peter's favoured sword. There was only one way to confirm it. Heart pounding in his chest, Arthur looked down at his hands and allowed himself the faintest bit of hope.
Silvery swirls shot from his hands before Arthur could bring himself to put them down. He could conjure magic again. The glistening grey mist twirling around his hands like it was never gone, never taken away for all those years. He had forgotten how the warmth seemed to spread out through his body whenever he used it. He had forgotten.
All those years feeling useless and bitter over his powers and now they were restored to him. It was like Arthur's identity was being returned to him. The sun peaked out behind some branches; it had already reached its peak.
Smiling softly in disbelief, Arthur looked back up at Alfred who was staring at him incredulously.
The man didn't look a day over twenty and he was the chosen one. Yet, Arthur couldn't bring himself to feel betrayed at what Aslan had given them. His hands were warm and his body was alive. Whoever Alfred was, Arthur owed him a lifetime for returning to him his gifts. He barely knew the man for five minutes and he was already indebted to him. Arthur's heart tugged queasily.
"Come. We have to get you to the camps."
Break