And the stars did fall from heaven
What happened to the lamp post? One-shot; The Last Battle.
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This was it!
One clear call, as unmistakable and unavoidable as that first call which had brought them all into being to sing with joy at the dawn of time. They were not called to sing now, only to come. But still, he felt joy. Joy at the call, for who in all the Worlds could hear that Voice, that call, and not rejoice? And a lesser joy, too. For the call was to come to Him. And where He was, she was too.
Down, down, down. Down through the vastness, in a rushing of silver. Down, down, down. Come, come, come.
His brethren were coming too. Those he had passed only at a great distance, in the vast leagues of space, rushed downwards, drawing closer together as they drew nearer to the world where He was. How many aeons had they looked down upon it? Or rested upon it, waiting to grow young again and resume their places in the dances of the spheres? And now, the call.
Down, down, down. Come, come, come.
In their light, the first features of the land below were becoming visible, starkly bright as they had all seen them on so many moonlit nights. All about him, his fellows moved and altered course, each turning towards their alighting point. Come, said the Voice. We come, said they.
He would, too. In a moment. Down, down, down. How could anyone but obey that call? Yet he had one, last, errand.
Down, down, down. The land was brighter and brighter, nearer and nearer. Out at the Eastern End of the World, he could see the Island. But that was not his duty, not any more. Another witness called him. The one light which shone back from the darkened land. The one light which had borne witness through those same aeons of time. The one light which marked the land where she had gone.
Down, down, down. His brethren were gone, away to the west and still he rushed downwards towards that light. The land grew bright about it, showing fallen trees torn down by the black hearts of men and beasts, but still it shone out. His friend, his own familiar friend from the day he had remounted to the skies and looked down once more.
For it shone from the country she had gone to. There, she had been. Had the two of them met? Had she-? And there his thoughts broke off, for he alighted, the grass hissing beneath his feet.
It was a tree. An Iron Tree – and yet no more only an iron tree than any of the fallen trunks about him were only sap and heartwood, not the living Beings they really were. The Friend, the Witness – the symbol that even a hand lifted against Him would become an everlasting testimony for Him.
Everlasting, but not in this world. All worlds draw to a close, save His.
Come, come, come. The call grew stronger, and he held out his hand. Out from the tree, she came. Smaller than a star, dimmer than their light, but one of His servants all the same. The Adopted Star from the land which had adopted the Star's Daughter.
Ramandu smiled down at the friend who had smiled up at him from Narnia for so many centuries. "Come, my little one. Let us go together to the King."
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