Author's note: As far as I know, I don't own any part of the Chronicles of Narnia. All characters belong to C.S. Lewis, except for King Olan and Lombric the centaur.
This is the beginning, Aslan thought to himself. And already it is in danger. But Adam's flesh would mend it, for a Tree of Protection had just been planted, and apple picked and a woman saved. There was only one thing left to do. His father knew what the purpose of the table was, and Aslan knew that it had something to do with him.
He found a low hill, one with a perfect view of the Eastern sea, in which direction his Father dwelled. With a loud roar, four thick, short stones came flying towards the hill. They landed with a soft thud on the new earth. The stones were carved with runes of a language so ancient, so forgotten that few understood any of it. It was the language of the Deep Magic. Aslan exhaled with a note of finality in it. A larger, thicker stone than the first four flew and landed softly atop the four. It was carved with the same runes. Aslan pawed silently over to it and exhaled again.
"Fulfill the purpose that you have been made for," Aslan said as a sort of blessing. As he turned and walked away, he let out a low sigh.
King Olan of Narnia, a descendant of King Frank I, climbed the low hill that had stood since the beginning of time, unchanged. He was going to the Stone Table. Many stories had been told of it's creation, but the only common thing that linked them all was Aslan. Aslan, the creator of the world. He had not visited Narnia since his father's time, before Olan's birth. Olan wholeheartedly wished he'd been able to see the noble lion, the highest king over all high kings of Narnia. He hoped Aslan would approve of his offering; fresh fruit with wood to burn it.
"Aslan, accept my offering. May it glorify you. Amen." He placed the offering on the table and bowed low. When he looked up again, before him there stood a lion so great, he could have no doubts as to who he was. "Aslan!" he exclaimed, kneeling before him.
"Rise, you son of my chosen king. You have done well. Continue to do so, and you shall be blessed." He breathed on Olan's forehead, blessing him. And then in a flurry of light, Aslan was gone.
Jadis stood by the Tree of Protection that the human boy had planted all those years ago. Fools. Did they not think that one day she would return? That one day, she would rule Narnia with her iron fist? Fools. There was only a matter of the Tree. She had already planned the way she would get rid of it. Jadis had spent many years studying darker secrets than those of Charn, far darker. She'd spent years learning things that Aslan would shiver at. Aslan. The great lion who thought he knew all, when really, Jadis was master. With her wand, Jadis and her army of Fell creatures would make the Aslan rue the day he'd created this world.
No, she would need more than that. She carefully plucked an apple from the great Tree, such a simple act that would lead to its downfall. She threw the apple up in the air and stabbed it swiftly with her knife. With the juice running down the blade, she placed some on the tip of her wand. Before it could turn to stone, she stabbed the Tree with it. As the life left the Tree, Jadis commanded several of her dwarves:
"Knock it over. Make sure that no one could ever put it to right again." With that final action, Jadis and her army entered Narnia.
Lombric, a noble centaur, knew exactly when Narnia fell. It was when the Narnians stopped following the ways that Olan had re-instated. For a few generations, the kings and queens had followed the tradition, but it had slowly died out, until it was naught but a memory. He knew the moment that the White Witch entered Narnia, they were no longer Aslan's people.
One night, a year into the Witch's reign, Lombric was observing the skies, hoping to find a sign that Aslan would return and save them from this terrible winter. He received an answer. A prophecy.
Jadis observed the centaur who stood atop the Stone Table, fighting off several of her wolves. He would only last so long, for he was only one, up against four large wolves. How dare this so-called prophet think he could make up some child's rhyme predicting her downfall. But soon he would be dead, and the rebel's hopes crushed, and she, Jadis, would keep her title. The centaur was already bleeding profusely, and would be dead within the next few minutes. One of her wolves jumped onto his back digging his claws in. The centaur reared and another wolf leapt at his neck. The centaur fell to the ground, his breathing shallow. The Witch called her wolves away, their jaws dripping with blood.
"Now you see, traitor, what happens when you rise up against me?" she whispered in his ear. She drew a long, curved knife, and in one motion, stabbed the centaur's heart. He gasped once, and then he died. "Leave him there, atop the table. Kill anyone who tries to take his body. And don't eat it." With that she stalked away.
Are you pleased with this sacrifice, Aslan? She thought cruelly to herself. Jadis laughed, and the wolves howled.
Later that night, while Lombric's body lay stiffly on the Table, a barn-owl watched the wolves pacing below. She keened mournfully, in a way only barn-owls can. Lombric had been her friend and a great warrior and prophet. She flew to a small meadow, and picked several small flowers. With them clutched tightly in her claws, she flew silently back to the Table. While the wolves had their backs turned, she lighted down and deposited the flowers on the centaurs chest. As she flew away that night, she thought to herself, Accept Lombric, Lord Aslan, Accept him into your country.
Lucy watched Aslan willingly walk toward the Witch, put up no fight as the creatures clawed, kicked and abused him. He did not cry out as they pulled at his mane, cutting it away.
"Oh Susan! Why doesn't he fight back? Why doesn't he? They know he could kill them all easily!" Susan didn't answer her, crying quietly as she watched the scene before them.
"Tonight," the Witch's voice rang out, "The Table is returned to its proper use. Tonight, We defeat the Lion!" She pulled a long, wicked stone knife out, held it above her head, and quickly plunged it into his chest. Lucy saw Aslan's eyes widen, and then the life slowly faded out of them. The Witch and her army ran by them, running to go defeat Aslan's army. Lucy and Susan came out from their hiding spot when they were sure they had all gone. They fell at Aslan's side, crying their hearts out into his cold body.
When the sun had risen, Susan and Lucy began to walk away from the Table. Before they had gone much farther, a large crack rang out through the air. They turned around quickly, and saw that the Table had been cracked in half.
"Where is Aslan? What have they done to him!" Lucy cried. They ran to the Table, when suddenly they heard deep laughter behind them. Aslan. "How are you alive, dear Aslan?" Lucy asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"If the Witch had read the Deep Magic carefully, she would have known that when a willing victim has committed no crime and is sacrificed upon the Table, death shall be re-written."
The Table stayed broken through the centuries. Never again was a victim sacrificed upon it. At the end of the World, when Aslan called the Stars out of the sky into his country, Aslan left behind the Table in the dark. It had served its purpose.
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