A/N: Love to all my faithful readers that are still with me! The number of alerts on my list is growing with each chapter, and I am now on the favorites list of several authors (not just for this story.) I am euphorically happy! So, here goes: (by the way, it is looking like this story will be 10 chapters, possibly more if there is a need to continue. Rather short chapter, kind of transitional. More coming soon.
I trotted back to the castle with my head held high, but inside me I was boiling with fear and anxious excitement. How many would join me? How would I determine which were loyal, and which were not? How many would fight against the Witch?
If they had a name, whispered a voice in my mind. If they had a name, a banner, to gather to, more would come. I racked my mind for some legendary hero, some name that wolves and animals would flock to, but there was nothing.
I found my way to the castle easily enough. My feet knew the steps, but as I looked up at the icy spires towering into the sky, I felt a sudden dreadful fear.
What could I do against the power that dwelt within those walls? How could I fight against the dread that gave her strength?
I pushed back the thoughts. I had accepted that I would die in this last fight. I had no hope of winning. But I could fight back.
And yet, I thought I saw before my eyes the cage door, and it was locked. There was no way out. I was too deeply imprisoned to escape. I could not escape, would not escape. There was no way out. There was no use in fighting. I would only crush myself against the iron bars.
I pushed back the panic that threatened to envelop me. I had no choice. No choice but to die in service to the Witch, to die in slavery, or to fight back and die with some vestige of honor. And I had chosen the latter. There was no going back.
Lying in the dark chamber where the wolves slept, I did not rest. I searched for a name, a banner that wolves and woodland creatures would come to if I called. Nothing came to me, but be it fate or some mysterious chance, it was then that I heard a whisper from the wolves beside me gathered together. Fearful, but full of reverence, almost worshipful.
"They say that Aslan is on the move," they were whispering to each other, their voice were full of hope. "And that when he comes, this devilish winter will be over."
"Myself, I think that if Aslan challenged the Queen-" but then the voice was hushed hurriedly, and they said no more, glancing at me. I memorized their faces. My first followers. I would not forget them, and they would come to the name that they had given me for my fight.
Aslan. A name surrounded by legends and fear. Voices hushed in love or apprehension when his name was spoken. He had not been in Narnia for many a year, not since my grandfather was but a pup. Wolves of our kind lived long, longer even than the great bears of the north. My old grandfather had died seventy years ago. He would often tell us tales of the Great Lion in the den when we were still blind and barely able to hear.
"What was he like, Grandpa? Was he as big and terrible as the stories say?" I asked.
"Oh yes, my son," he replied, his eyes distant. "As great and terrible as anything you can imagine. There was a great power in him, but he was beautiful and kindly even in his terrible ferocity, and all who looked upon him loved him and were awed by his power, even those who came to see the lies and legends all proved to be nothing, and that there was no lion. His tawny coat shone in the sun, and I felt – I felt as if I was grown into a young wolf, frolicking in the long grasses with a lovely she wolf by my side. I was happier then than I have ever been since, but when I die I hope I shall see him again, as the tales say. That was before this endless winter came, and the snow fell without end in the marches of the north. Back then, all the year was spring and we hunted in plenty, never taking more than we needed. It has not been the same since the Great Lion left. No, not the same." Then my grandfather would stare into the sky, muttering to himself, and we had no more tales out of him.
Yes, if I called the name of Aslan, animals would come. They would rise to fight the witch if I spoke of Aslan. I was sure of it.
It would be Aslan, then. Aslan would be my leader, the leader for the last great fight against the Witch. And then we would fall.
But if we had to fall, I would make it such a fall as the world would never forget.
