Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Chronicles of Narnia, C.S. Lewis's works, or the Disney movies. I'm simply playing in their playground.
Author's Note: As I was writing a much longer, much more involved Narnia fic, I became fascinated with this particular transformation. We watch Caspian go from an innocent youth to a vengeful young man to king of Narnia. While we're given hints of his growth over the course of the movie, I began to wonder what had changed in him. Why did he do what he did? This is just my take on what happened.
Special thanks to theicemenace for beta-ing this in spite of her unfamiliarity with the Chronicles of Narnia.
I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!
~lg
oOo
"You invaded Narnia. You have no more right to lead it than Miraz does. You, him, your father. . . .Narnia's better off without the lot of you!"
High King Peter's words echoed in Caspian's mind as he sat on the lookout of Aslan's How. It was quiet up here, exactly what he needed to sift through his thoughts. Between his flight from Miraz's castle, encountering the Narnians, the raid on the bridge at Beruna, meeting the Kings and Queens of Old, and the ill-fated assault on the castle he'd just escaped, he hadn't had time to fully grasp all that had happened.
How did he truly feel? When Professor Cornelius told him that Miraz had murdered his father, rage had flooded Caspian and overrode his good sense. He'd compromised Peter's already-flimsy strike, and dozens of Narnians had been killed. Those lives weighed heavily on Caspian's mind, and he knew he was responsible. "What kind of king kills his own people?" he asked himself softly.
The blue-gray dawn had no answers.
Caspian sighed deeply. If his quest for revenge had not destroyed his standing in the eyes of the Narnians—he refused to call them his people—then what he'd just done most certainly did. Of course, he should have known that Nikabrik was up to something. Ever since Caspian woke in Trufflehunter's home, the Dwarf had looked for reason to kill him. Finding that he was Prince Caspian and not some Telmarine soldier had only thrilled the Dwarf. Even when the Centaurs, led by Glenstorm, pledged their allegiance to him, Caspian had known Nikabrik didn't agree.
So, when Nikabrik approached him with a bid for help, he really should have taken a moment to consider the consequences. Instead, his overwhelming need for Miraz to atone for murdering his father overruled everything. He took the time to listen to the Dwarf, to hear the Werewolf, and to let the Hag draw her circle. Only Edmund's quick thinking and Peter's righteous anger had kept Caspian from making a disastrous mistake. In the end, Nikabrik died, and Susan looked at him as if he were a fool.
And maybe he was. Who was he to think he could lead the Narnians to freedom? He was a boy on the cusp of manhood, one who, while he trained for battle and strategies, had never led an army. What right did he have to argue with the High King of Narnia, a man who had led countless campaigns in spite of his youth? What did his opinion matter, anyway?
The sound of his professor's footsteps approaching drew Caspian from his morose thoughts. He listened as the old man settled next to him, slightly out of breath from the climb. "Why did you never tell me about my father?"
Dr. Cornelius sighed. "My mother was a Black Dwarf from the Northern Mountains." That, alone, would have gotten the professor killed if it had been known. Those with Narnian blood were exterminated simply for existing. Living in the castle and educating the heir to the throne. . . . "I risked my life all these years so that, one day, you might be a better king than those before you."
Caspian sighed again. He was no king. "Then I have failed you."
Dr. Cornelius shifted next to him. "Everything I told you, everything I didn't, it was only because I believe in you. You have the chance to become the most noble contradiction in history: the Telmarine who saved Narnia."
Caspian let the silence stretch after that. A noble contradiction. It was true. He, a Telmarine prince, was leading the Narnians to freedom. At least, that was the idea. The reality was far less grand. In reality, he was a boy angry at his father's murderer. "What if I can't?" he asked at length.
Dr. Cornelius stood and put a hand on Caspian's shoulder. "You already are," he said. "But you cannot do this without help."
Caspian snorted. "I listened to the High King once. It did not go so well."
"I'm not talking about High King Peter." Cornelius's eyes lifted and turned to the horizon. "There is another—One who defeated the White Witch herself—Who stands ready to help."
Aslan. The name resonated within Caspian. He'd listened closely to all of his professor's stories, but those about Aslan had appealed the most. He strove to live his life according to Aslan's teachings, like the Kings and Queens of Old would have. And he wanted their approval more than anything else.
But does their approval truly matter now? Caspian considered the question. Was it really all that important to be like them? He'd seen how Peter ruled: with an iron fist and anger. He'd watched Susan contradict the High King several times, and Lucy advocated waiting for Aslan while Edmund supported Peter. The Kings and Queens of Old were divided, and Caspian's childish need for revenge had driven a deeper wedge between them. The deaths of the Narnians was merely another complication they'd have to overcome.
What sort of king did he want to be? One like Miraz? Or this noble contradiction that Dr. Cornelius spoke about? Where would his path take him? For long moments, Caspian allowed his mind to imagine what life would be if he killed Miraz. His path to the throne would be secured, but it would be secured through blood. He would begin his reign having murdered—or arranged for the murder of—the Telmarine king. Not one Telmarine would serve him from anything more than fear.
Was there another way? Lifting his eyes to the gray sky that was lightening with every passing moment, Caspian sighed. Show me, he prayed silently. If You're there, help me. After another moment, he frowned. Aslan?
No answer came to him now or when he eventually spotted the oncoming Telmarine army. He sent for Edmund, who gathered Peter and Lucy from wherever they'd holed up while recovering from the encounter with the White Witch. Throughout the coming moments, when Peter explained his plan, Caspian kept himself silent. This wasn't his army. This was Peter's army. Peter was High King, and Caspian had no right to speak up.
Until he did. His suggestion of a duel was accepted, and he found himself helping Susan and Lucy break through enemy lines in order to find Aslan. And, later, Peter defeated Miraz in a momentary flash of brilliant swordplay and desperation.
Now, Caspian stared at his uncle, who knelt in front of him. Defeated. Shamed. By rights, Caspian should take Miraz's life just to spare the Telmarine king his disgrace. He'd already taken the sword from Peter and now held it over Miraz. Here, in this moment, he could avenge his father's murder and claim what was rightfully his.
"Perhaps I was wrong," Miraz said softly, just so Caspian could hear it. "Maybe you do have the makings of a Telmarine king after all." He bowed his head, accepting his fate.
The words caused Caspian's hands to tremble. This was what he wanted? To shed more blood for the sake of establishing his throne? He had no doubt that Miraz's treachery would lead them to a battle, but he was no murderer.
Lifting the sword higher, he let out a shout and buried the tip of it in a patch of bare earth between the stones of the dueling ring. Still shaking, this time with righteous indignation, he held Miraz's gaze. "Not one like you." He straightened as the reality of his choice hit Miraz. "Keep your life. But I am giving the Narnians back their kingdom."
Caspian felt the weight of revenge slip from his shoulders with those words. He might have considered vengeance, but he wanted to be the noble contradiction. He wanted more than what the Telmarines had offered him. He wanted life, to rule with grace and mercy.
Yes, he had a battle to fight. The death toll of Miraz's reign would climb higher this day. But, for this moment, Caspian knew he'd done the right thing. That he'd put the good of the Narnians—his people—before his own. He prayed that, one day, Aslan might find him worthy to bear the same honor that High King Peter now bore.
Hours later, aching and exhausted from the battle, Caspian climbed the far bank of the river to come face to face with Aslan Himself. The Lion eyed each of them regally as they fell to their knees. For a long moment, only the sound of Miraz's army surrendering could be heard. Then, Aslan spoke. "Rise, Kings and Queens of Narnia."
Caspian stayed in place as Peter, Edmund, and Susan stood their feet. He wasn't a king. He was simply a boy who had wanted his father's murderer dead.
Aslan spoke again. "All of you."
Caspian lifted his head and saw the Lion staring at him. "I do not think I am ready."
"It's for that reason I know you are," Aslan replied.
And, in that moment, Caspian recognized the gift he'd been given. It didn't take Edmund placing the heavy Telmarine crown on his head or Peter handing over Rhindon to a new bearer. It only took one word from Aslan, and he knew. He'd become the noble contradiction, as Dr. Cornelius put it.
He was the Telmarine who saved Narnia.