A/N
Meldahlie inspired this. She made up this amazing original character named Gwen (a lady-in-waiting), who was Lord Rhoops' sweetheart that he left behind when Miraz sent the seven lords off to sea. I would highly recommend you read her one-shot 'To An Unknown God' and the longer, chapter-length companion piece 'The Evidence of Things Not Seen', but they aren't necessary to understand this. You'll just need to know the story of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.
This is quite a dark story (pun intended).
Title taken from a (surprisingly apt) song by John Dowland.
In Darkness Let Me Dwell
Waves as high as mountains. A ship as fragile as a paper boat. Endless salt water dashed in his face as he clung to the wheel. Sailors overboard. Wet through, never dry, never warm. Had he ever seen sunlight, or had he only dreamt it? Rhoop put his hand up to push the plastered hair from his eyes again. Again. Again. All he could taste was salt. Sickening brine. What enchantment the sea had ever held for him was gone. A cruel man was Miraz, to send them to a death of shipwreck or madness instead of the short stroke of the sword.
Mavramorn beside him swore, but the sound was all but swallowed up in the howling of the wind. Together they strained with all their might to keep the wheel steady. Rhoop's hands, raw and blistered, slipped. Again.
"Keep her steady!" roared Mavramorn.
Rhoop almost wept. And why not? No one could see the tears. Water streamed from his hair over his face, was thrown into his face by wave after wave. All he wanted was to sleep, to throw his exhausted body onto a warm bed by a fire, in a room that lay still and quiet. And yet here he stood, gripping the wheel of a ship tossed through an uncharted sea.
Dimly he heard a shout that already he had heard three times since this storm began.
"Man overboard!"
Argoz clung to the rail, trying to see who had been thrown overboard, but was almost swept over himself. It was no use. No one could survive in such a storm.
For three days and two nights they had been tossed through it, as near as Rhoop could figure.
He closed his salt-stung eyes for a moment and saw her again. As they had gone ever further, her image in his mind had grown stronger. Cruel, cruel memory to haunt him, or taunt him rather, with what he could not have. But he could not help himself; at times like this, her face was his only comfort.
"Gwen," he murmured, and wondered if the words had even left his lips. "My darling Gwen."
If he could only wrap his arms around her, nothing else would ever matter again. Not the storm, not the short rations, not the two barrels of lost water, not the endless ocean with no shore in sight.
"Rhoop!" Mavramorn's voice in his ear jerked him back. He had let go the wheel. He scrambled to get hold of it again, ignoring the black thunder on his friend's face. What use was it to steer after all? Let the storm do its worst. He would rather die with Gwen's smile in his mind than see the rain slanting down and the sea slanting up, each challenging the other to be the first to swallow the little ship whole.
How long after that he stood, holding the wheel, unable to shield his face from the vicious lashing of wind and water, he did not know. An hour, two hours, ten? It seemed a lifetime. And then, with a jolt, the ship stopped; it had hit nothing, but the absence of motion threw everything off balance. Mavramorn reached out and gripped Rhoop's arm just in time. A sudden hush fell. His ears rang with silence. As if a door had been shut on the storm, it stopped.
There was no light. For long, heart-throbbing moments he stood, with Mavramorn's hand frozen on his arm and his hands frozen to the wheel. There was no sound but the waves breaking against an unseen shore and the creaks and groans as the ship settled.
"A light!" Argoz cried out. His voice, rough and hoarse, smote Rhoop's ears like a thunderclap. "Get a light, you fools!"
There was a rush of movement, slipping and cursing. Now that the deck was still and fairly level, no one could keep his feet. At last a light, thin and pale, came from belowdecks and made its way to Argoz. Rhoop and Mavramorn stumbled to it, drawn like moths to the first light they had seen in ages. The sailors crowded round, and soon two more lamps were lit and hung.
In the light Rhoop could see that the damage done by the storm was less extensive than he had thought. No broken masts or ropes, the railings intact, the sails frayed but not torn.
"What is it? What's happened?" a voice muttered.
Argoz swung his lamp around and they saw Revilian, coming out of the captain's cabin where he had lain for the duration of the storm wracked with seasickness. He shielded his eyes from the light with a shaking hand.
"An island," said Mavramorn. "Get you back to your cabin. You are in no state to wander the decks."
Revilian did not move.
"We must explore it," said Rhoop.
"At this time of the night?" Argoz said.
"Anything to get off this ship."
"I won't go," said Mavramorn. "I find it uncanny that the storm has stopped so suddenly. This island may hold some evil, and I will not stumble into it in the blind dark."
"Nor I," said Argoz.
There was a long silence.
"Then I will go," said Rhoop.
Go and perhaps never come back. At that moment he never wanted to feel the sway of the deck beneath his feet again. He wanted to lie down and then wake up still in the same place. He wanted to breathe. Most of all he wanted to think two thoughts in peace without Mavramorn's pitying looks and Revilian's reminiscences about his own long-lost sweetheart who had been taken by sickness. He wanted to think about Gwen, no matter how much pain it gave him.
"Are you mad?" asked Argoz.
"No, but I am weary of this ship. You may come in the morning and pick me up."
Mavramorn looked at him long and hard but Rhoop hardened his heart against all gainsaying. When Mavramorn saw that he was stubbornly insistent (even Rhoop did not know quite why he felt so strongly that he must get ashore), he sighed.
"Very well. Which of you sailors will go with him?"
One, a Galman by the name of Rolf, raised his hand. The others remained silent.
A boat was lowered, a lantern affixed to the prow, and the last sight Rhoop had of his friends was their faces, pale and worried, as they leaned over the rail.
He and Rolf rowed in the direction of the island, as near as they could guess. They could see only the water directly to the front and sides of the boat, but when they stopped for a moment they could hear the waves against the land. Looking back, he saw the lights on the ship, but nothing more; they hung there like ghost lamps in the midst of darkness. It was not long before the boat ran aground and they stepped out. Hard rock met Rhoop's hands as he knelt down, and though he had longed to touch land a chill ran through his body. Rolf took the lantern and together they went a ways further. There was no change in the terrain: it was all uneven and rocky. There was something not right about this place. Then Rolf stopped and Rhoop almost ran into him.
"Did you hear that?" he asked.
"No." Rhoop strained his ears, but heard nothing.
"There it is again." Rolf's voice trembled. "I've heard that sound before. Don't you?"
"Nothing, nothing," Rhoop said.
They stood a moment and Rolf became more and more agitated.
"I'll be a dead man if we don't get back," said Rolf. He turned and walked swiftly back the way they had come.
Rhoop, unwilling to be without a light, followed him.
"Where's the boat?" muttered Rolf. "Where's the boat? We must get away."
Rhoop saw three pinpricks of light; they must be the ship's lanterns. "This way!" he said.
At that moment he heard a scream, very faint, but unmistakeable. Rolf went on as if he had heard nothing.
"I heard something too!" Rhoop gasped, taking hold of the sailor's arm. "A scream!"
"No, no," said Rolf. "I heard no scream. It was … it was the drums I heard. The drums, the drums." He almost chanted the words. "We must go, my lord."
"But the scream. Perhaps some poor soul is in danger on this island."
"To tell you the truth, I wouldn't care if my own brother was here," said Rolf. "I won't stay a moment longer."
He went on, and Rhoop hesitated. Utter silence reigned over the island. He hastened after Rolf and caught up, but the sailor stopped again after only a short time.
"The lights," he said. "They've gone."
And so they had. Both men looked as hard as they could, but nothing was to be seen. They turned in a slow circle; perhaps they were no longer facing in the right direction. The only light to be seen came from their own lantern. For the first time, panic settled on Rhoop's heart. But he must be calm. He must think, and think as quickly as he had ever done.
"You stay here with the lamp," he said. "I'll go on and see if I can find the boat. If not, I'll return to you. But you must stay here. Don't stir an inch from your spot."
Rolf nodded and Rhoop made his way over the rough rock. He looked over his shoulder every minute or two, fearful that one time he would turn and it would be gone. Sometimes he stopped, listening for the waves against the shore. And then, there it was. He almost fell to his knees and blessed the sound.
"Over here!" he cried wildly. "Over here! I've found it!" He hastened forward, and several minutes later Rolf arrived and shone the light onto the boat.
"I will never set to sea again," said Rolf. He dropped to his stomach and pressed his lips to the rock. "I swear before my ancestors that I will be a seafaring man no longer. I will till the earth as my father and my father's father did before me."
Rhoop held the light as Rolf made to step into the boat. And then … Rolf drew up short and turned completely around so that he faced past Rhoop. The look on his face was one of the sheerest terror. He gave a terrible, wailing cry and stepped backward so quickly that he lost his footing, fell into the sea, and disappeared beneath the surface. Rhoop sprang forward with a shout on his lips, but at the same instant he heard the scream again. This time there were words in the scream.
"Rhoop! Rhoop!"
Could it be? No. How … how in Telmar?
"Gwen!" he shouted, and almost dropped the lantern. Gwen was not here, Gwen was … Gwen was … safe, safe in Narnia.
"Rhoop!"
And yet had he not heard that cry before? Not with his waking ears, but yes, he'd heard her scream just in that manner before. Was he going mad? Too much seawater. He had to get in the boat. He had to get back to the ship. Rolf was gone, gone without so much as a ripple to show where he had sunk, but he could row by himself. But where was the ship? Surely they had not gone and left him. Surely not. They were only waiting until daylight.
"Help!" he shouted. "Help!"
He waved the lantern wildly. Anything to attract their attention. Perhaps they were sleeping. Perhaps the ship had turned slightly so that he could no longer see its lights. He could not row into that darkness.
"Help! Over here! Show me a light! Help!"
Nothing. Though he peered through the blackness until his eyes hurt, no spots danced before his eyes, no phantom lights. There was absolutely nothing. He must wait for morning. The thought almost paralyzed him. Wait here? What had possessed him? He had thought that the sunrise must be near, but now … perhaps it would never come. He pulled out the bedrolls he and Rolf had brought and lay down, but he kept the light burning beside him. Just until the morning, he whispered. Just until the morning.
He could not sleep, and morning never came. At first he thought it was merely the slow passage of time to a man who had nothing to do but sit and wait, but as time went on and the lamp burned lower and lower, he was forced to conclude that he had come to an island of eternal night. But surely his friends would come for him. They would never leave him alone. They would wait a reasonable amount of time and then he would be rescued.
When the lamp had gone out he lighted it with another candle. Rolf had brought five candles besides the one already in the lamp. And what if he were here when the last had burned out? No, he must not think of that. He would have to explore the island at some point. But what if he lost the boat? Supposing they came for him and he was not there? So he stayed as the second candle burned down, so much faster than the first one it seemed. And then the third.
"They'll come," he said, over and over. "They'll come. They must. Oh, they must."
At last the thought came to him to leave a lit candle on the shore, far enough away from the sea spray that it would not be put out, and then to take the lamp and find out what he could of it. He put the candle into Rolf's tin cup and set off. The rocky ground seemed to go on forever, but at last he stepped into tall, coarse grass. He stooped down and broke some off, and it crumbled between his fingers like ash. He had heard no sound for hours except his own heavy breathing. There was not likely to be any game on this island. But then, strangely, he did not feel hungry. At last he came to the opposite shore. The grass went almost right to the edge of the water. So there was nothing on this island. He had to get back.
His heart was in his throat the whole time, wondering if he might veer off course and never find the boat again; but at last he came to it. The candle was a third of its original height.
Where were the others? He could not imagine why they had not come. No reason that he could dream of would have induced any of them, Mavramorn especially, to leave him behind. The sea was calm; there had been no storm to sink them. They were stout hearted and would not be afraid of the dark as long as they had lights. They would never abandon him. Never.
He tried not to think of Rolf's last moments, nor of the screams he had heard, but as hour after hour (or perhaps day after day) passed, the thoughts forced themselves in upon him, willing or no. Rolf had sunk like a stone, had not even come up like a drowning man. Rolf had heard something. Rhoop also had heard something. The sudden calm of the sea after the raging storm. The long, unnatural darkness. Perhaps the ship had been sunk by some devilry and he was alone. Completely and utterly alone. He forced back the terror of the thought, but it returned again and again.
When he was down to his last candle, he hesitated before lighting it. But what if they were coming for him and needed the candle to see by? At last, after much debating within himself, he lit it.
He felt neither tired nor hungry. The absence of hunger and weariness deepened his fear. He watched the light go down. They would come for him before he was left in darkness forever. It burned to half, and then to a third, and then to a fourth. They would come. They must.
And then, darkness.
He stood in a sudden terror and bellowed out towards the sea.
"Mavramorn! Argoz! Revilian!"
Not even the echo of his words came back. He scrambled around in the boat. There must be more candles. Nothing. Nothing. Oh, why were there no more candles? He cursed Rolf for being so shortsighted as to bring only five extra candles. He cursed Rolf for drowning and leaving him alone. He cursed his three friends for sailing away without him. He cursed Bern for staying behind in the Lone Islands, Octesian for disappearing, Restimar for diving into an enchanted pool. He cursed himself for coming to this island. What a fool he was. What a fool!
At last he came back to shore, trembling with the thoughts that coursed through him. How long would he be here, or how long could he bear it?
He thought of casting himself into the sea. There was nothing for him here. Nothing but dead darkness.
As he stood on the edge of the rocks, he heard far and away the same scream. He fell to his knees.
"No," he sobbed. "No, let me alone."
For now he knew where he had heard it before. A recurring nightmare that he had had for years. He could not stop himself playing it over in his head.
In the dream he always awoke to that scream. He ran to his window and looked out, but saw nothing. He ran downstairs and everyone seemed to be going about as normal. But Gwen was not there. All the other ladies-in-waiting, but not her.
"Where's Gwen?" he would shout. He would seize courtiers and maids alike, shaking them, but they always shook their heads at him as if they did not understand what he was saying.
He would run through the whole castle, shouting her name. He would hear her scream, sometimes faint and far away, sometimes so close that she must be in the next room. But he could never find her.
Somewhere in the midst of all this he would awake in truth, trembling and sweating, and run to her door. He would hammer on it until she came, usually in her nightclothes with eyes bleary from sleep. She had been very annoyed the first time; but after she had learned the reason, she had kissed him, and done so every time he came in the same way.
But that had never taken the dreams away.
"Rhoop!" Her terrified voice startled him from his recollections. "Rhoop!"
So this was how it would be. An endless nightmare. Here he would never awake to find her safe and sound. Here she was always in danger, always crying out for him.
"Gwen is safe. She is in Narnia," he said, clinging to the words in desperation. "Gwen is safe. This is only a dream. Gwen is safe."
But was she? The thought haunted him. It came to consume his thoughts. He had begun to have those dreams, now that he thought of it, as soon as Miraz came to the throne. Miraz had a notorious reputation among the former queen's ladies. Supposing now that Rhoop was gone, he had taken a fancy to Gwen? It did not bear thinking of.
"I must get back to Narnia," he said. "If I despair or if I throw away my life, I cannot protect her."
A bitter smile curled his lips. Protect her? Here he was trapped on an island, unable to find her even in a dream. How could he protect her?
"Gwen, Gwen, Gwen," he sobbed. "Oh, Gwen, if only I had married you and taken you with me. They did not need you. They could have found another lady to take your place. We could have settled in the Lone Islands with Bern. Why did I leave you? Why?"
He closed his eyes and saw her. He could almost reach out and touch her. But the scream came again, and the vision vanished. He took hold of his hair with both hands and cried out, a wild cry of grief and rage.
"Gwen is safe! Gwen is in Narnia! You cannot … you cannot make me think otherwise! She is safe! Safe I tell you!"
And so it was. He could not bring himself to die by his own hands. Often when the screams came he would bury his head in the bedroll, trying to block out the horror of it. At first he never dared run far from the shore, but sometimes he would search in a short area, calling out for her, if only to feel as though he was not ignoring her pleas for help. But that was not the only terror.
Nightmares that he had forgotten, horrible things he had dreamed of as a boy. Monsters, invisible, but he knew they were there, grunting, growling, coming to devour him. The dream of falling into a black pit, falling forever, came back to him, and for hours at a time he would sit huddled in a tight ball, knowing that if he moved an inch he would stumble into the abyss.
The dream of something scraping at the window in the darkness. He could hear it, so clearly that it made the bile rise to his mouth. If only he knew what it was, perhaps simply a branch moved by the wind, it would have no ability to frighten him. But the unknown … that was the worst. And so it was with everything. He did not know where his ship and his friends had gone. He did not know if Gwen was truly safe, though he said it over and over until the words had almost lost their meaning. He did not know if he would ever get off this island. He did not know if he was going mad or if there was a sinister enchantment at work.
Often he would lie down, though he could never get to sleep, and bring Gwen's face to mind. Sometimes she would be doing her daily duties as lady-in-waiting. Once in a great, great while, it would be a memory of what he and she had done together. Walking hand in hand, or talking earnestly together, or sharing tea and biscuits on the castle lawn.
But so many times the nightmare would take over and shatter the visions.
And slowly, he did not know after how long, he could not envision her. She became only a name that he cried out after her.
"Gwen! Gwen is safe! Oh Gwen, where are you? Just tell me and I'll come to find you. Gwen is in Narnia. She is safe. Gwen! For pity's sake tell me where you are!"
He put aside all hope of rescue and traversed the island, sometimes to escape the horrors that pursued him, sometimes to find and rescue her. The nightmares were not constant, but they never stopped altogether. Sometimes he might go what seemed a long time without hearing anything, and then the black pit would open before him to swallow him, or Gwen would cry out.
"Gwen is safe," he would say. "Gwen is in Narnia. Oh Gwen, oh Gwen, where are you? If I could only find you. Gwen is safe. She is in Narnia."
And so it went on. And so he went on.
Finis