Disclaimer: Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.
DEATH'S STING
It was then that I knew.
Earlier, after the Cherry-Tree Dryad appeared before me and Edmund in the middle of the night and gave us Lucy and Susan's message, I had known. At least my head had known. My heart– My heart had denied it. My heart said it could never be. He was the Great Lion, the Son of the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. He couldn't be dead. Somehow His words would still prove true, and in His Name, we would defeat the White Witch and bring His rule to Narnia.
But then came the battle. Endless hordes of Jadis's creatures, their misshapen bodies mirror to their evil souls, flooded from behind her, overwhelming my soldiers, rending them with sword and tooth and claw, driving them back even as their mistress with cold satisfaction turned them into stone. I knew then we were losing. I knew then it was hopeless. We were mere children.
I didn't know where the girls were. I couldn't help them now. Edmund– Brave, stubborn, stupid Edmund hadn't listened to me. He'd been clever enough to break her wand, but his brilliance had doubtless cost him his life. I didn't know. I couldn't even find out. I'd seen his face contort with pain. I'd seen him fall. I'd felt my blood turn to vengeful fire in my veins as I charged towards the Witch who had stabbed him. But when we fought, she had only toyed with me, amusing herself like a cat with a mouse.
It was then I knew. Aslan could not help me. He was dead, tortured to death for her pleasure. I was no King. I was just a schoolboy with barely a day of sword training, and she had ruled Narnia with ice and snow and terror for a hundred years. Why had I thought I could do this? Why had I believed Him when He told me so?
Then I heard it, the sound of His roar. Both of us, the Witch and I, lifted our eyes to the rocks above us. There He stood, golden and magnificent and bigger than I remembered, and I felt hope flood through me.
"Impossible," she breathed.
Then in fury she drove at me, her sword clanging against mine until, with one swift motion, she pulled my feet from under me, knocking the breath from my lungs. But I still had breath enough for a cry of pain as her sword pierced my flesh, pinning me to the ground. In another instant, she swept the shield from my grasp.
I lay on my back, fire shooting through my arm, still clutching the sword I could not lift. She was going to kill me before Aslan could reach us. Even if He had somehow come back to life, He couldn't save me now. He'd never get to me in time. She would make sure His prophecy was never fulfilled. She would win. No matter what He did to her afterward, she would make sure His plan for us was never realized.
Soulless black eyes gleaming with hatred, white face twisted with rage, she leaned over me, sword raised for the final blow, and I braced myself, not daring to breathe. Let me die with courage.
Then a flash of gold shot past me, throwing her onto her back in the grass near the rocks. I heard Aslan roar and somehow struggled to my feet, somehow managed to keep hold of my sword. I didn't know how, but she was gone. She was gone, and He was here.
"It is finished."
Bewildered, I could only look at Him. He had conquered the Witch. He had conquered death. But the prophecy– Edmund–
Then I heard the girls calling my name and we were running to Edmund's side. He was dying. He had saved me, and now he was dying. There were four thrones in that shining castle by the sea. How if only three were filled? Lucy gave him a drop of her cordial, but it was too late. His labored breathing stopped. Jadis had won after all. She had won! Aslan, please–
My heart lurched as I realized Edmund was breathing again. The color came back into his face and I pulled him into a hug. Then all four of us were pressed close together, alive and whole and free, watching as Aslan breathed His life on everything Jadis had cursed.
Yes, He had conquered the Witch. He had conquered death. Not just for Himself, but for all of us and for anyone who trusted in Him. Not as I had thought it would be, but precisely as He had said, the prophecy would be fulfilled.
It was then that I knew.
Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?
I Corinthians 15:54-55
Author's Note: Happy Easter! Christ is risen. He is risen indeed!