Peter
Learning of Aslan's death was the worst moment in my entire life. I remember feeling stunned and then incredulous. Death was something that happened to normal beings, not One such as Aslan. But when I said as much, the Dryad who brought us the news tilted her head in confusion.
"I do not know what you mean by 'normal,' Majesty," she said, her lovely voice darkened with sorrow. "But for One as real as Aslan—indeed, He is more real than any of us ever could be on our own—it seems well within His power to experience anything." She didn't wait for me to respond nor did she offer an explanation concerning the circumstances surrounding Aslan's death, but left as soon as she voiced her declaration.
My heart sank, and fear welled up inside my chest. How on earth could we pull this off without Aslan? I looked at Edmund, and though I knew he had to feel as horrified as I did, he did not seem to be afraid. His eyes were fierce, his face determined. I took a deep breath, drawing strength from my brother's courage.
We would do this for Narnia, the world Aslan had created and loved. We would do this for Aslan Himself.
In the midst of battle, though, I found myself expecting to suffer Aslan's fate. For all I knew, Edmund already had. I had been watching, horrified, as the Witch mercilessly stabbed him in the gut with her wand. I had charged her recklessly, fury driving me forward, giving me the energy and power I needed to hack at her with my sword again and again.
I knew was losing. I knew it was only a matter of time. But I wouldn't—couldn't—give up. I was fighting for Edmund. I was fighting for Aslan. And that was enough to help me endure.
A tremendous force suddenly shook the earth, stalling the skirmishes going on all across the battlefield. It rattled my armor, vibrated in my chest and pounded my ears. For a split second I was stunned, wondering what it was. And then I knew—it was His roar. It was Him.
My eyes scanned the far end of the plain and my heart leaped joyfully to see the golden Lion at the head of a wave of reinforcements. Aslan had come, miraculously, and as if His own power and might were not enough, He was bringing us a whole other army. Relief and joy melded together within me and my heart beat painfully against my ribs as I stared at Aslan in amazement.
But the Witch was raising her swords again and coming at me furiously. I fought desperately, but I knew it was over. She was done playing; she was going to end it. She rid me of my sword. Then my shield. Then she pinned me to the ground, spinning her sword and preparing to deal me a fatal blow.
And then—He was there. And she was gone.
I freed myself as quickly as I could, jumping up to rejoin the fray. But then I saw Him, and time seemed to stand still. I was vaguely aware of my heart pounding wildly in my chest, but all my other senses were entirely consumed by Him.
Standing tall over the Witch's corpse, having conquered both Winter and Death, He seemed to me more beautiful, majestic, and powerful than ever before. His entire presence consumed me; His reality had never been more commanding than at that moment.
And I realized—He is Magnificent.