There are links to two trailers I made for this story on my profile.
I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia.
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I am a common Narnian. Which one am I? I might be Finnigan, or the Mayor of Beruna, or Augustus of Galma, or any of the simple Narnian folk you will encounter. But this is not my story. This is the story of the people who shaped the land I lived and died in. For the fate of a world can hang on the caprices and failings and triumphs of a few. None of us are perfect; it was mistakes on the part of those whom we followed and admired which nearly destroyed Narnia. In retrospect, maybe I was even on the wrong side, but Aslan will not tell me. All I am is the scribe of the thoughts and actions He showed me; I have no claim to be the judge. That will be His job, when all things come to an end.
This is a story full of laughter and romance, and tragedy and death, and hope for a world I can no longer experience, till Aslan sings into being a new Narnia. Yet His Will compels me to write it, before it fade from the memory of those still living. It is a word of warning but also of hope, and perhaps one day it shall help those still living and suffering in my beloved land to avoid the mistakes we all made.
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Part I of "The New World", Being "A World Broken"
~Alicia~
"Nothing will shake a man-or at any rate a man like me-out of his merely verbal thinking and his merely notional beliefs. He has to be knocked silly before he comes to his senses. Only torture will bring out the truth. Only under torture does he discover it himself."
C.S. Lewis
Chapter 1- Shattered
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The world should never have come to this, she reflected bitterly. Across the valley, the red and green banners of the Narnian Army and the bright metal of cold spear-tips sparkled in the rays of the rising sun, and somewhere in that mass of Men and Animals would be many whom she loved, people she admired, people she had called family. Even one who could have been so much closer! It was ironic that the same banners fluttered near her, and soon two armies would be engaged in a stupid, fratricidal conflict, fighting in the name of the same lion displayed prominently as their emblem.
A deathly stillness came over those around her. From the opposite side, the contrasting cheers woke her from her reverie as horses came into view pulling those new weapons. She looked to her left, at the helmeted and armored man sitting stoically on his brown charger atop a knoll overlooking both armies. He nodded; it had come to this. Battle was inevitable. How was it possible? Everything she had known about life had been shattered, twice.
It was fitting that a new, florid dawn was rising, one that would soon be stained with unnecessary blood, the blood of hundreds of Narnians. What kind of land would the next sun rise on? They were the only ones who could change the downward spiral of their land, but it would have to be at the point of the sword and lance. There was no other way. And if they died or succeeded it would be for Aslan. The problem was that the people on the other side of the valley believed the same thing, or at least deluded themselves into thinking so. Or was it we who deluded ourselves, she wondered?
"For Narnia and the Lion!" rang out around her as across the valley another voice, all too familiar, gave a similar battle-cry. There would be no more soul-searching. No more waiting and arguing and discussions in lonely taverns. They would charge, straight toward those deadly black tubes. She thought of another ride through that same valley, six years earlier. Bitter thoughts came to mind of how in those six years she had learned to trust and to love, only to have her life shattered again. How Narnia had changed…no, it was not the fault of Narnia, but of its leaders…
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=Six years earlier=
It was taking too long to cross the valley, she thought grimly. There were too many trees- dark, fear-inspiring trees. And with the falling dusk, it was becoming harder and harder to see the path. Every minute mattered with the crazy plan they were contemplating. Well, it wasn't really crazy and it definitely wasn't being contemplated. A coup was in motion, and she was a key element in the treacherous plan. That was what they all were, after all…traitors. All for the best, supposedly.
She was interrupted by the fact that she was falling. Too late, she saw the rope stretched across the path as she fell hard on her back and her horse kept galloping.
How was it possible? Miraz's messengers used this path frequently; she was, after all, supposed to be carrying dispatches from him. She doubted that he would approve of her message, but he would never learn of it, if things went according to plan. She thought of the Narnian rebels, but they would all be gathered for the coming battle.
Or that was what she thought before four creatures emerged from the woods. Two were tiny little men, who would have barely reached her waist if she had been standing. The others two were horses…but then the girl started. Where was the head? Her gaze travelled upward, at the bare chests, and then the knotted arms with blades at the ready, blades far larger than any she had ever seen, and the heads of men. She had not seen any Narnians at all besides the dwarf the Lord Donnon had captured and delivered to Miraz, though the royal army had surrounded and was prepared to crush the creatures. She was even more shocked when a mouse emerged from the woods. It walked on two legs, stood over a foot tall with ears as large as a rabbit's, wore a circlet of metal around its head with a red feather attached, and carried a tiny little rapier. She did not hear anything it said as the shock and pain became too much. What had become of the world?
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When she came to, the first thing she noticed was the jostling. She was lying on a piece of cloth stretched between her horse and one of the half-horse creatures. The second thing she noticed was an animated discussion between one of the little men, who was leading her horse, and the mouse.
"And if it was a man, would you be so forgiving?"
"She was unconscious, Finnigan! And unarmed! What sort of valor would there be in killing her?"
"Then give her a sword when she wakes up and be done with it, Reepicheep! Or are we going to make Greydell carry her all the way to the How? And what happened to centaurs not being ridden or used like common horses?"
The girl started when the horse-man spoke. "I do as Sir Reepicheep asks, and am proud to be of service."
"And since when did you, Sir Reepicheep, start giving orders? Or should it be Lord Reepicheep now?" The sarcasm in Finnigan's voice hung heavy in the grey morning air.
"Since I was appointed by their majesties as fourth in command of the army."
"Fourth?" exclaimed the little man, almost letting go of the rope before catching it, giving the girl a jolt. "The Prince, Peter, Edmund, Glenstorm…"
The mouse turned angrily. "First, I object to the order you placed the prince and Peter in. It's High King Peter, and always will be. Second, as much as I respect King Edmund, both the Prince and Peter have virtually ignored him, and as such I consider him outside the…um, chain of command. Same for Trumpkin. And as for Sir Greydell…"
The girl heard the horse-man sigh as the other two fell into an animated conversation, if an argument could be called that. She tried to process what she had observed so far. The horse-creature was a centaur named Greydell, the proud mouse was named Reepicheep, and the equally proud little man was a dwarf named Finnigan. Their conversation was certainly not improving her trust of them.
Then again, she felt she had no reason to trust anybody in the first place. Everything she thought she knew about her land and those around was being shattered.
Her name was Alicia and she happened to be the daughter of a lord named Glozelle. She had never been close to him, and he had not seemed to mind this as he wove in and out of the endless, tangled web of Telmarine politics up to command of the army. She was just reaching the age when suitors were beginning to present themselves, though she dourly hoped that some ill wind would blow them into these Black Woods, where ghosts had been rumored to live. Otherwise, she was of little value to him in the dangerous games he played. So she had never expected him to use her in the way that he had.
"As a girl, Miraz's agents will be less suspicious of you," she remembered him saying. "Make sure this is delivered to my lords Donnon and Galma." So that was what she was worth? To be a messenger for traitors? But she had obeyed him, and now she had failed. Worse, she had not even been captured by Miraz's spies, but by creatures that were not supposed to even exist anymore.
She was interrupted from the bitter thoughts by a jolting and realized the makeshift stretcher was being untied and lifted by two creatures. They seemed half goat and half men, but after seeing horse-men and talking mice she was not as shocked. They were in front of a huge mound on a hill. A pathway sloped below ground to a little stone archway in the earth, leading to an underground chamber. This was surprisingly bright, lit by the light of forges as dwarves and centaurs and those goat-creatures crafted weapons. There were cheetahs, deer, dogs, and other creatures walking around and talking. The goat-men carried her into another, much smaller room to the side and set down. Eight creatures, a dwarf, a centaur, a badger and five actual humans, were gathered around a table talking quietly. She had resolved not to be shocked any more, but that was forgotten as the closest human turned around.
"Alicia?"
"Caspian?"
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This book will be divided into five parts. The three parts will focus on Alicia, Peter, and Edmund respectively and their growths. The last two…well, I don't want to give anything else away.
I'm trying to work from the book-verse of Prince Caspian as far as possible, with some major elements from the movie, namely: pushing up the ages of Caspian and the Pevensies, Suspian (gag, but I have my reasons) (hence, the girls being at the How), the battle of Aslan's How itself, and Edmund and Peter's personalities (but not Caspian's). In short, it's a mix. THERE HAS NOT BEEN AN ATTACK ON MIRAZ'S CASTLE, so only those in the Telmarine army besieging the How know the truth about Caspian. Alicia I imagine like a combination of Jill Pole and Eowyn from Lord of the Rings but with black hair, both physically and emotionally.
Fun book-verse fact: Aslan's How is a mound. I'm still trying to figure out how a cliff could have grown over Aslan's Table. Any geologists with an explanation, please enlighten us.