Victory

by mokatster

You, Jadis, have always relished your victories. But, blinded as you are, you cannot see that in your triumph, you have lost.

Victory

by mokatster

Summary: You, Jadis, have always relished your victories. But, blinded as you are, you cannot see that in your triumph, you have lost.

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia!

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You are calm, your face betraying no emotion as your accursed sister climbs the stairs to meet you. You stand unmoved at her declaration of victory, not even letting a hint of the triumph you feel bleed through in your expression.

"Yes, victory," you respond evenly, your voice steady. "But not yours."

You then proceed, with a single devastating and deplorable word, to summon the destruction of your world.

Death swoops down, stealing away the breath of all creatures, sucking their souls into a dark abyss that offers nothing but complete and total annihilation. All plants shrivel and die, curling up into themselves just before withering as if in a final effort of self-defense against the dark magic you unleash. Buildings groan as they fall, the rocks shuddering as they tumble down. They will lie untouched for many thousands of years, miserable in the knowledge that the only fate left for them is to crumble into dust, which will then be blown away by cold and desolate winds.

You are made complete in the knowledge that you have wrought this destruction, for you know that it all existed to serve you. Many people you had known would have said that this bleak and empty city isn't Charn—they would have said that this place is Nothing.

You think this city is as marvelous as ever it was; in its ruin it stands as a testament to your power. But you are aware that, having destroyed it all, there is nothing left to exploit. You wait, knowing that it is not over, that the future holds more triumphs, that your doom is not yet upon you.

But you feel the end then, when thousands of years later you are dragged to that empty world. You cast around, feeling nothing but empty space, seeing nothing but darkness. This is a void. This is Nothing.

But worse than Nothing is the appearance of Something. A singing Voice.

The Song is abhorrent, it makes you want to kill something, tear it apart, rip it to shreds, because the noise is pounding on your eardrums and making your head ache and tightening your chest and burning you inside and it is pain like you have never felt before and ithurtsithurtsithurts.

When He appears, your heart stops in terror, for you know that you are facing a Power greater than yours. He is coming toward you. Though you try with all the strength you can muster, you cannot stop Him. So you flee, searching for something that will destroy Him, defeat Him. That such a thing does not exist does not occur to you, for you have convinced yourself that everything exists to serve you, and that all those who oppose you are destined to be brought down. And you have never faced a Being that is so completely and entirely the opposite of you.

You travel fast and far before finding it. The fruit smells disgustingly appealing, and you know that it will give you what you seek. You ask for a power to rival His, one that will defeat Him. You are given that power, but in it you find despair, for His is a Power that cannot be defeated.

But you effectively blind yourself to this. "Happiness is for fools," you scoff. You convince yourself that true happiness doesn't exist, that there is only power, and you are the one with the ability to wield it. You see yourself as a force unstoppable, and believe that nothing can stand in your way.

This conviction is only strengthened as you stand on the fallen trunk of the so-called Tree of Protection, feeling the rush of exhilaration that comes from finally breaking the barrier between Narnia and the wild lands you've roamed for so long. You kill, oppress, and twist the weak and pathetic Narnians to your will—that they would exist for any another purpose does not occur to you. And you suppress the despair you feel, refusing to acknowledge that, deep down, you know that you can glory in your triumph now only because He has allowed it to be so.

The soil is soaked with the blood of those who refused to step aside for you, the ground littered with the statues of those who resisted your demands. Indifferent to the landscape of destruction stretching as far as the eye can see in all directions, you raise an arm high above your head. All it takes is a single, sweeping gesture to summon an ice-cold wind, to coat the land with a biting frost, to darken the sky with snow-laden clouds. The dancing Trees grow stiff, the rushing Waters are stilled, and every living Creature burrows in its own hiding place, overcome with fear.

You smile, a stretching of the lips that is as cold as the winter you have summoned. You know that once it has begun, it cannot be stopped. The deterioration of this land will be slow, but it will be complete. You know of the Stone Table, and what it means. You know that in eating the apple you have been given the authority to kill.

You do kill. You plunge the knife into the golden fur with all your strength. Seeing the Light fade from His eyes causes something akin to joy to explode in your chest and course like fire through your veins. You have done it, you have won, He has been defeated! Yours is the only rule in this land, yours the unrivalled power! You summon your army to yourself, ready to obliterate the vermin and the repulsive Sons and Daughters of Adam and Eve, ready to claim this land for yourself at last!

Victory, you think, is finally yours.

In your short-sightedness, you fail to understand that your victories are short-lived. Even your great triumph in Charn ended in nothing, dissolving when the destruction of that world was made complete. For your victory was tied to that world's existence, and when it disappeared, so too vanished the evidence of your conquest. It is Nothing. And here in Narnia, all your triumphs have merely paved the way for His.

You have seen your victories as ends in and of themselves. But in reality, they are bridges, serving to reveal the Joy, Freedom, and Life in Him. In your zeal to destroy, kill, and consume everything for the sake of your power, you have lost sight of even the Deep Magic. You cannot see that the frost can be melted, that oppression makes way for Liberation, that from Death springs Life.

In the end, victory is not yours.

You hear His roar, and even in the midst of your disbelief, you know that it is over. You are thrown to the ground, shrieking, in a whirl of hot breath and claws and golden fur.

It is the end.

The end does not bring understanding for you. But moments before your destruction, looking into the eyes of your Foe just inches above your own, you are forced to acknowledge what you've been denying all along:

It is not your victory that prevails, but His.

And in His triumph, you are Nothing.

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A/N: After re-reading the scene of Aslan's death, I wrote this as a catharsis. I desperately wanted to say to Jadis, "Ha HA! You think you've won, but you've LOST! In your FACE!" Hence the second-person perspective. I hope it worked out.

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think, if you feel so inclined. :)