Lost and Found
King Rilian stared at his father's marble tomb—etched with elaborate gold reliefs of Caspian X's many adventures and triumphs—and hated his new title with a degree of loathing that he once had imagined he would only feel for the cunning, despicable Green Lady who had abducted him.
Being king sounded good on parchment. As a young boy, Rilian had even liked to imagine the wonderful decrees he would issue when the heady power of the kingship was his. Most of those envisioned proclamations would have made it a serious offense to deny royalty, however youthful, second helpings of dessert, or to tell little, definitely not sleepy princes with nodding heads that it was time for bed. But nobody had ever really sat him down and explained the truth that should have been obvious to him—that he would only become king over his father's dead body. That's what being heir to the throne meant: waiting until your father died, so you could try, and fail, to take his place.
Oh, and Rilian knew he was failing to take Caspian's place. His judgments lacked the piercing insight of his father's, and Rilian hadn't proved his right to rule by winning a war against a vile uncle. Caspian had burned so brightly that Rilian couldn't help but stand in his shadow. Rilian could see that truth on all the faces of the nobles—human and Talking animal alike—that he encountered. His crown felt more like a grim condemnation than a weighty honor. It was made of gold, but it felt like it should be made of thorns.
"I wish you were here, Father," whispered Rilian, stroking the long stone beard of a depiction of an older Caspian, and wishing that the beard felt soft and prickly (as his father's beard had felt when he tugged on it playfully as a child) instead of cold and hard. "I miss you so much."
He could feel his throat constricting, choking him. How he wanted his father to be king again. How he missed his father's strong hand on his shoulder, ever ready for an affectionate squeeze or joking pat. How he missed his father's voice and the stories and jokes it had told. How he missed fencing and riding with his father.
They had spent so many years apart Rilian had barely been able to recognize the frail, white-haired king as his father when they had been reunited. Then, and maybe this was what Rilian mourned the most, just when they had finally been reunited, Caspian had died before they could exchange more than a few words and a final benediction.
Every bone in Rilian's body screamed that this was a cosmic injustice to both of them. Yet, a part of his brain knew that his anger and grief was all for himself—for what he had lost—because, after all, Caspian had to be at peace in Aslan's country now.
Feeling again a spurt of shame at his selfishness, Rilian sharply reminded himself that Caspian, who had ever been loved and favored by the Great Lion, was surely lying in a verdant meadow, sharing old and new stories with friends like Doctor Cornelius, Trufflehunter, and Reepicheep who had also fallen into the Great Lion's gentle embrace, or else was picnicking with his beloved wife by a rippling stream in Aslan's beautiful land. He would be at peace in the presence of Aslan, Whom he had served devotedly for so long, and it was pettiness for Rilian to wish for his presence in an imperfect world when Aslan had seen fit to transport him to a perfect paradise.
"Not all tears cried over a loved one's grave are selfish, Rilian." A soft voice that hummed with all the might behind the creation of the universe came from behind him. Gasping, the young king spun around to find himself gazing at Aslan's golden form approaching him. Ignoring Rilian's astonishment, the Lion went on calmly, as though continuing a casual conversation about the weather, "I wept when your father died. There's no guilt in grieving the death of a good man."
"He was a great king, Aslan," Rilian said, wishing that his eyes were strong enough to break free from the Great Lion's penetrating, all-knowing gaze. It was disconcerting to look into them and feel like Aslan already knew everything that he would ever think and say when he didn't understand exactly what he was feeling or what would be shooting out of his mouth next. "I fear I shall never be half the king he was."
"You shouldn't try to be half the king he was, or all the king that he was," Aslan answered, shaking His mane. "Just try to be the best king you can be, and with My help, which I assure you will always be forthcoming so long as you have faith in it and in Me, you will succeed."
"I'm afraid," confessed Rilian, his cheeks blazing with the humiliation of admitting to a feeling he had never believed, even in his worst nightmares, that he would have.
"That is how I know you are indeed fit to rule Narnia," Aslan said, His voice so quiet that it was difficult to hear over the wind, but still strong enough to bring shivers to Rilian's spine. "Your father was nervous and convinced of his own unworthiness when I named him king, and so many centuries ago, it was the same when I crowned High King Peter and his siblings."
"You comfort me. Thank You." Rilian could feel the knots around his stomach and lungs easing. Bursting out with the question scorching on his tongue before he could lose his nerve, he asked, "Would You advise me like You did my father? If I was really good and never did anything to anger You?"
Aslan was silent for a long moment in which Rilian didn't dare to breathe or even think about doing so. Then Aslan responded sternly, "No, Rilian, I don't think that would work at all."
"I—I see." Rilian nodded, supposing it had been arrogant to even ask such a thing of the Great Lion. How could he even have imagined that he was deserving of the same favor that his father, who had sailed to the end of the world and married the lovely daughter of a star, had received? "I understand."
"No, Son of Adam, you do not." Aslan sounded both amused and serious now. "I advised and corrected your father even when he was not very good. Even when he angered Me, I never stopped loving him, and he, no matter how much he was beset by rage or doubt or pride, never stopped loving me. Our relationship would have to be like that, Rilian, or else it wouldn't be one at all."
The Great Lion purred deep within his throat. "Now, the only question that remains is if you will accept My offer to be My child and My friend."
"I accept," Rilian said seriously, feeling as if his entire life had led up to this single, glorious moment, where he finally got to meet Aslan face-to-face, and declare his love and allegiance to the Great Lion. "I will remain Yours to the grave."
"And beyond." Aslan leaned forward to breathe on Rilian, filling the young king with a sense of such great peace, faith, and hope that, for an instant, he felt as if he had already died and slid into the eternal bliss of Aslan's wonderful country. "My creatures always have the promise of a resurrection. May you ever grow in faith, wisdom, and charity, Rilian—King of Narnia."
"May I prove in some way worthy of the blessings You have bestowed on me." Rilian knelt and kissed the silken fur of the Great Lion's Paw, again feeling infused with serenity and wisdom. "Thanks to Your love and mercy, I no longer feel like an orphan."
"Then be at peace," pronounced Aslan, as Rilian rose, and He turned to leave as abruptly as He had arrived. "Lead your country in war and in peace, and doubt that My power to help and save you and your people."