Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia.
A/N: This one shot takes place during Prince Caspian, before Caspian blew the horn, but after the Old Narnians retreated to Aslan's How.
Enjoy.
A Sleepless Night
In the stories, they always tell about the victories and feasts and good times in a hero's life.
But why don't they mention the sleepless nights and all the failures and losses that come with it? Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm the one that can't do anything right.
With a sigh, I sat up and looked around. As it was the middle of the night, no one else was still awake in the biggest chamber of Aslan's How. Trumpkin was snoring loudly on one side of me and Dr. Cornelius was muttering in his sleep on the other. Carefully, so I wouldn't wake them, I got up and picked my way though the various creatures in my "army" that were scattered about the room. It wasn't easy.
I found my way out of the main chamber, eventually picking up one of the flickering torches that had been set in the wall so that I could see my way. The tunnels looked eerie in the dim light. As I passed the murals of the Golden Age that were scratched into the wall, I hesitated and touched one, gently, gazing at them longingly. The lion-figure was almost certainly Aslan. Aslan. Swallowing, I turned away from the etchings and walked the rest of the way to the outer door without stopping. After glancing backward just briefly, to make certain no one was watching (Doctor Cornelius would have my head if he caught me outside the How this time of night without a guard or anything), I grasped the smooth iron handle, pushed it open, and stepped outside.
For a moment, I just stood there and let the cool night air wash over me. A delightful smell was drifting on the breeze; the smell of some obscure Narnian flower, I doubted not, mixed with pine and a little bit of rain. At last I turned and climbed halfway up the hill, tripping over half a dozen stones as I went, and slipping and sending a cascade of pebbles down near the top. I lowered myself onto a large, cold mossy rock, and ran a hand through my tousled hair, as if trying to comb the worry from my thoughts.
And then I looked up.
The stars were bright that night, but it still took my weary eyes a few minutes to adjust. I could pick out a few of the more familiar constellations that my professor had taught me; the spearhead, the North star; the leopard; the ship.
Of all the constellations that graced the night sky, the ship was my favorite. If I'd said as much to my uncle I would've gotten a stern telling off, as ships were considered obsolete and useless. Definitely not for the noble-born. Oh, it was alright for fishermen and such, but there was something decidedly odd about the way every Telmarine shuddered at the mention of the sea. I, however, was different (little surprise there). Although I had never seen the sea before, back at the castle, I had always longed to. The How had an excellent view eastward, and whenever I caught a glimmer from the sparkling sea to the East, my heart leapt with a fierce joy. I knew I would see the sea some day; perhaps even make a ship of my own.
The moon, which was off to my right, was only a sliver; a crescent, I remembered from my lessons with my tutor. Yet even in the dim light the moon cast, I could see the dark woods that surrounded Aslan's How. The woods, and the tents of the soldiers in them.
I bit my lip and looked down as my heart sank at the bitter reminder. The soldiers had arrived two days ago, marching in unison with armor and weapons sparkling; some riding horses and others on foot. They were yet another reminder of how foolish all my grand plans were. We were surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered. My outlook might have been bad before I ran into Trumpkin and Trufflehunter and Nikabrik, but now it was not just my life that hung in the balance, but those of all the faithful Old Narnians who had decided I was their king as well.
A dark cloud slowly rolled over the moon and the stars, veiling them from my sight. It would have been better if I had never left the castle, I realized. Miraz was going to kill me sooner or later anyway, with or without my friends' sacrifice.
What could I have been thinking? I wondered. Me against Miraz? My army against his?
I put my head in my hands and just sat there in the stillness of the night. Some king. My first action as king of Narnia would be to get all my loyal comrades killed on my behalf. How could I ever honestly have thought that I had a chance against Miraz?
I've had no experience, I thought, and he's had thirty years of it.
And if we did win, (a very big if) what kind of king would I be? A cowardly boy who ran away and only survived because of a lucky accident? A child who would sacrifice his friends for his own wretched life? I hadn't done very well so far. Honestly, what would I be remembered for, in the end?
"This Telmarine boy will be king of nowhere and nobody in a week unless we can help him out of the trap in which he sits," said Nikabrik again as I recalled the harsh gleam of his eyes in the firelight. His angry words resounded in my mind.
The days and days of running and hiding had made me stronger, yes, but they were a torment once the fun of finding Old Narnians had faded. I couldn't do it. I was too young for this-too young to be a king, to lead an army. I was afraid. Angry at myself. And as the thought of Miraz, the killer of my father, flashed through my mind again, I was full of sorrow too, as well as a frustrated lust for revenge.
They bottled up in my throat and then choked past my clenched teeth in a sort of sob. I felt tears welling up in my eyes and tried to swallow my emotions, but found that I couldn't hold them in any longer. Frustrated at myself, furious at Miraz, I hid my head in my arms and cried. In the back of my mind, I could hear my uncle:
"Stop that noise, boy. Stop it at once, d'you hear? What kind of king do you think you're going to be if you cry when things get hard? Soft. Weak. Stop that!"
With a great effort, I took a deep breath and managed to stop the sobs. Just when I'd gotten myself in check, there came a quiet but squeaky voice from behind me.
"Sire?"
I whirled around, my hand tightening around the pommel of my sword, but I did not draw my weapon. Beside me stood a small creature with dark fur and a tiny sword hanging at its side.
"Reepicheep!" I exclaimed, a little relieved and a little embarrassed that he should find me in such a state. Hastily dashing away my tears, I asked, "What are you doing up so late?"
"Do not think ill of me, sire, but I followed you when you left the How." The mouse looked a little embarrassed, too. "I feared there was some danger."
"Oh," I replied, for the first time considering the possibility that I was being watched so carefully not because they distrusted me, but because they wanted to protect me. Doctor Cornelius had been the one to advise me to remain inside the How at night, but I hadn't thought that the others were worried, too.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be out here alone. It's just..." I looked down at my hands. "I had to think."
The silence that settled on us was a comfortable sort of silence. The wind kept whispering things to the rocks, and the trees moaned in reply. It was a cool night, but the breeze was soft as a kiss on my face.
"Sire," said the dark-furred mouse after a moment, "I do not mean to be forward, but my father, who was the Chief Mouse before me, oft found it helpful to talk to someone about his troubles."
It was a moment before my sleepy mind comprehended that he was trying to ask, politely, what was the matter. After a few moments, I sighed and glanced over at Miraz's men. My eyes welled up with tears again, but I managed to blink them away (most of them, anyhow) and swallowed the lump in my throat.
"I feel as though I brought this war upon you unnecessarily. Your people were well hidden before this; safe. I'm the reason this conflict began. The Old Narnians that...that die will die because of me."
When the wind blew against my face this time, I knew I was crying again. My cheeks were wet with tears. More anger, as well as some hopelessness flashed through me, for now that I'd actually come out and said it, I knew there was no getting around the fact that everything was my fault. But then I felt the featherweight of a small hand on my knee.
"Let me tell you plainly, sire," the mouse began, "My people may have been hidden, but we were neither safe nor happy to live in bondage. When I was a mouseling, I would pray, in the midst of my daydreaming and adventuring, for someone who would come make the idle hopes we held become more than just fantasies. Someone who would lead us against our oppressors and unite us as one people again."
His dark eyes locked with mine, and I saw in that hopeful, triumphant gaze something that both encouraged and terrified me.
"You...you think I'm the one?" I shook my head. "Oh, no. I can't even diagram sentences properly. I'm only a kid! And he...he's a king. He's already murdered for the throne. And now that he knows Old Narnia is alive, I don't think he'll rest until every one of us is dead."
The last few words caught in my throat, but Reepicheep was not dismayed by my words. "When I was a mouseling," he continued, quietly, "my mother told us stories of the Golden Age (that's the true Old Narnia, sire). It is said (although I never believed it before) that even High King Peter felt unready to rule Narnia when Aslan first chose him."
"At least he was chosen," I said miserably, wiping my eyes and sniffing a little. "At least he didn't stumble on the Narnians after ramming his head against a tree during a thunderstorm."
"Ah," said the mouse, pressing his paw against my leg. "But sire, don't you see? You were chosen. There are no accidents."
His eyes were really shining now, reflecting the light from the stars and the moon. "I do not know whether we shall prevail against the Telmarines. But I do know this: whatever happens will happen only because Aslan allows it to. This is his plan, and nothing you or I or the Usurper can do will keep him from seeing it through to the end. I and my fellow Narnians would gladly give our lives to defend you. Aslan has chosen you, and we choose you too."
I hardly know when the fear and anger drained away, but in the midst of his words, a new feeling started up somewhere inside me. The idea that I was not taking the Narnian's safety or lives, but that they were instead giving them up willingly for something greater than themselves was breathtaking. It made me ashamed of my own self-consciousness and doubt. And it gave me hope.
"Thank you, Reepicheep," I said in a low voice. And there didn't seem to be anything else that needed to be said.
The moon hid behind a wisp of cloud, and then shone out more brightly than before. For an instant, I caught a flash of gold in her long silvery mane, and had the oddest feeling that she was watching me, smiling at me, bowing in respect. How odd. Her light shone upon the tents of my uncle's men, but this time I felt less despair when I faced them, and more hope than I had in a fortnight.
"Sire, will all respect, you will need rest before tomorrow," the dark-furred mouse said quietly. "As my father used to say, 'Thinking is a good occupation, but one's first duty is to one's people'."
It struck me, suddenly, that because Reepicheep was the Chief Mouse, he was doing me great honor by showing me such respect. I slid off the rock and knelt next to him.
"Your father is a wise m...mouse, Reepicheep. Won't you lead the way?"
As the mouse fingered his whiskers and began the scramble down the hill, I glanced up once more, looking for something specific this time. In a moment I found them: two planets, as bright as two moons, still circling each other in the graceful dance of the stars that stretched across the heavens. I bowed my head to them, slightly, out of respect, remembering...
"Tarva and Alambil have met in the halls of high heaven, and on earth a Son of Adam has once more arisen to rule and name the creatures."
Reepicheep was right; the Narnians were more than willing to serve me. To die for me. Not only that, but even the stars were telling me that I was destined to be king. My run-in with the tree had been no accident. It was all according to Aslan's plan, and that was something I could trust.
"Sire?" came Reepicheep's voice, a little stern now, as it broke the spell the stars had cast.
Smiling, I turned away and followed the chief mouse down the hill. I had climbed it full of anger and despair, but as I returned through the door of Aslan's How...this time I had the confidence of a lion.
Fin.