Chapter Eight: Sin, Sword & Treachery

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~ England ~

Peter wondered if he would ever truly feel free again. Free from the worry and guilt thrust upon his shoulders; from the pain of knowing he could never return and set things right; never beg for forgiveness from the woman he had loved. It was strange to think of parts of his life in the past tense. To realize so much was now behind him and could never be again.

At times, he frightened himself with the thought that Narnia was a dream and he was only beginning to let it clear from his mind. In those moments, he wondered as to his sanity. He was eighteen – too young to consider himself ever in love! When his logic warred against his memory, he would grasp for anything, everything, he could hold on to. Usually, he thought about Edmund and Lucy, about Susan, and knew that if his mind was playing a fantastical dream as memories, his siblings would certainly not be privy to it!

It was on thoughts akin to these that Peter was musing as he took his daily walk through the streets near Hendon and St. Finbars one bright fall afternoon. As he turned onto a street just off the park, he suddenly felt a presence beside him. Turning, thinking perhaps someone was looking to pass him, he stopped. But the street was empty save a butcher rehanging his sign and a woman entering a milliner's shop. Just as he was about to continue on his way, he heard a soft voice on the breeze.

"Faith and courage, Son of Adam. To love is to never forget, but for a season it will bring pain. You must continually hold fast to my words: once a King of Narnia, always a King. . . Tell Lucy to be patient, I shall call her in my own time, not yours; and tell Edmund to be strong; to never give in to the temptations any world should offer. Farewell, Son of Adam. . ."

"Aslan? Aslan, wait, please! What of Susan and Caspian? Will I ever find the peace you spoke of? To know nothing is to die!" Peter cried, feeling for a moment as if he had been touched by Aslan's warm breath and his heart brushed by the Lion's knowing spirit. Peter looked around, feeling far more lost than he had wished to be, especially after hearing Aslan's voice; or, what he believed to be Aslan. He could be only hearing something he dearly longed to.

However, the images in his mind's eye were too vivid and too real to be something as slight as imagination. Susan, she seemed so close; if he had not been smarter, he might have reached out in the air towards her or asked how Narnia was faring. She looked up, but not at him, and Peter noticed her eyes held grief and doubt. And then Caspian came. He stared out over a great panorama of mountains and valleys and forests, but his dark eyes were grave; full of bitterness and confusion. Like Susan, he remained alone.

As they faded away from him, and he blinked, realizing he had never been transported back to Narnia, Peter remembered what Aslan had told him.

"Aslan wished I tell Lu and Ed those words; I cannot fail Him," he decided. So, turning around, Peter brought his walk to an end. Though now, the young man puzzled over what could be so sobering as to give his sister and friend such hopeless expressions.

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~ Narnia ~

It was an inky darkness that had fallen, and the soldiers on guard along the castle walls declared that it seemed a storm was passing through in the night. There was a full moon, but the great silver light was obscured by heavy clouds. A breeze whipped over Zadvede, causing the standards to flutter eerily in the darkness as they changed direction with the wind. The navy balcony drapes of Caspian's bedchamber – drawn to let in the cool air after the warm day – billowed lightly with the wind's pressure.

Finally, when the moon chanced to peek out from behind the clouds momentarily, it glinted against the coat of arms over the king and queen's bed. Swallowed again, the moon's light was extinguished, and the chamber was thrown into shadow upon shadow. When the light finally reappeared, it glinted along the length of a third sword. The blade wavered in its master's hand as he eased the door closed, careful that no one should know of his presence in this part of the castle.

"Terrible shame to wake him; he hardly gets enough sleep what with everything we have done to occupy his time." With great care, Lord Berengarius made his way to the bedside, lifting his sword hand.

.

.

In his dream, the falcon refused to lessen the grasp of his piercing talon on his shoulder, and it annoyed Caspian. Moving, he tried to force the raptor off, but it staunchly kept to its place. The sensation was so discomforting that he woke from his sleep to rid himself of it; but it seemed, even here, that the feeling did not wane. Caspian started when the point against his shoulder moved more to the center of his chest. He'd only felt that once before, when he was learning swordplay with his instructors years ago. The fogginess of sleep dissipating rapidly, Caspian looked up in the moonlight along the length of a blade.

"What are you doing?" But even as he spoke, he knew. "How could you betray me?" His voice was steel; hard and unyielding with anger. At his side, Susan shifted, roused slightly by the harsh sound of his voice in the night.

"I thought Your Majesty would have some recollection of this; my but you are disappointing! Not to dwell on the fact that you have been horribly disagreeable these past months either." The man feigned displeasure. "Do keep your voice down, I would be deeply grieved were the entire household to become aware of what is to transpire here; you would rob me of the chance to delight in your death." Berengarius had the audacity to appear plaintive while he spoke.

Caspian felt only spite and contempt. "You're a cunning traitor, but your actions are rash; you show too much impulsiveness with the thought of being rid of me. A wiser man might have waited until I was in a place where I could be easily slain. But then, you have always been a man of action and not of great thought." At his words the pressure behind the sword point increased.

"Why is it that in death you now speak the words of a great king?" Berengarius demanded through clenched teeth, feeling a momentary sense of dread which he quickly thrust aside. Now was not the time for fear, though the words the king had spoken reminded him of the young man's father . . . and Lord Miraz.

"I am king because Aslan has seen fit to bestow upon me the right; whether I am great or not only time shall tell. Why have you chosen now to bring about my end? Before I am to die I should dearly like to know; it cannot be some slight matter you hold against me," Caspian remarked caustically. He sensed Susan move again in the shadows to his right, and wondered if she was awake.

"All men die; they cannot live forever!" the lord answered savagely. "Now simply happens to be your time; excluding that it will also be the most convenient moment, since alliance with Calormen is but a hairsbreadth away from our grasp. Your ideas of unity with the Narnian barbarians are the fantastical delusions of a young man who has not seen nor heard enough of the strange fears of the world, and that is another reason why you must die! We cannot allow you to poison the next generation with foolish notions!"

"Listen to what you say, Berengarius; you're afraid. You fear me. You fear what I will bring to this world; the alterations I will make to your life and your small dark pleasures. The Narnians are vile creatures you have been told; not worthy to stand among us. And so, because I have sided with their cause, I am also, is this not true? You cannot deny it, surely." Though he was at the wrong end of the blade, he felt a strange sense of power.

"No! I mustn't fear some foolish boy with flights of fancy that shall burn in the searing heat of reality! What you have promised for the Narnians and our people is nothing to me or any of those who believe as I do; nothing, understand?" His voice held a note of wild desperation.

Caspian resisted the urge to wince at the twist of the sword point against his skin; instead he pulled back slightly. "You're a coward, to murder me in the night."

"And yet, I shall be regarded as a great man among the peoples once this is over." He sounded pleased in the darkness as he pushed the blade with greater force. Abruptly, it stopped, and the man stilled. "Ah, one more thing, since you seem to have forgotten. It was on a night much like this when a band of Narnian rabble raided this castle; three outlaw leaders attempted to assassinate our last king of note in his bedchambers," he paused, and suddenly, Caspian felt ill at heart.

"But, wait. . . Wasn't that you, my lord King; you and that Narnian high king and his queen sister. . . The same queen who shares your bed even as we speak?" The cunning in Berengarius' tone was distinct and not to be misheard. "I could never decide what could be the greater evil of the two: having a Narnian sympathizer on the throne or having a Narnian-Telmarine half breed sitting in the place of great kings. Neither is a favorable option." His voice dripped aversion.

Caspian gritted his teeth, recalling Glondäl and Cornelius discussing a similar matter regarding heirs. Their offspring's acceptance would be hard-won indeed. But what pained him the most about the thought was that they might have to fight for loyalty the whole of their lives; men like Berengarius would not allow his children and descendants peace while they had power to make them live in misery.

"I would rather our King's heir have the hardy blood of two veterans of betrayal and war than the thin blood of an ill-trained Telmarine dog who dares hide behind the delusion of easily gained riches and notions of peace with Calormen!" Susan's determined voice struck the two men from their locked stare.

While Caspian had been arguing with Berengarius, Susan had managed to pull one of the heavy greatswords from the coat of arms above the bed. Now, though her arms trembled slightly under the weight of the large and heavy blade, she directed the point of the weapon at the traitor. "You must not have heard the proverb from Muil, milord: 'Nothing good cometh from Tashbaan.' And nothing ever has." Her blue eyes gazed without wavering at the man standing by the bedside.

"I believe, little woman, that the winds of time are changing." Berengarius smiled cynically, staring back at the queen kneeling in the bed.

"For some things, time does not alter."

With a low cry, Susan began bringing her blade down. Quickly, to defend himself, Berengarius jerked his sword away from Caspian, raking the point across his arm as the king lunged to grab the second weapon in the coat of arms. Susan moved across the bed and slid her legs to the floor while at the same moment Caspian stood, forcing the traitor lord back. Blades glinted and flashed in the moonlight as they struck one another, going round and round in an arch. Eventually the monarchs managed to force the lord toward the balcony, hoping to get him to admit defeat once he was without escape.

Lunging once more, Susan locked her blade over Berengarius's. Caspian's followed with a resounding crash that echoed into the night. Momentarily glancing at one another, they focused their efforts into pushing the lord out on the balcony. He stumbled back against the balustrade, dropping his weapon. Quickly, Susan slid her sword under their opponent's hilt as Edmund and Peter had taught her long ago, and pulled it away.

Instead of pleading for his life to be spared, Berengarius straightened painfully, his leg feeling the brunt of the hilt of Caspian's sword. He smiled, blood dribbling down the side of his mouth from where one of the monarchs had managed to land a glancing blow.

"I relished this immensely. Pity that it appears my time is up; perhaps we shall meet on the fields of battle between Calormen and Narnia. Unless, of course, the king can artfully slip out of that as he did his much-deserved death. Farewell, Sire." Dipping his head, he glanced over the balustrade and the braced his hands against it. Before they could stop him, he vaulted the railing and leapt. Running to the edge, Susan and Caspian peered out into the night.

"Do you see him?" Susan asked anxiously. Though he had just tried to murder them, she disliked the idea that he sacrificed himself because he would rather die than fail in his cause.

"No. How could he vanish like that? Surely he. . ." Caspian stopped, not wishing to disturb Susan with his thoughts on the subject.

"He couldn't just disappear; perhaps he knew there would be something to break his fal–– Caspian, you're bleeding!" Susan had at first glanced at him, but turned back when she realized he was injured. Now, she came over to him, taking his arm in her hands and inspecting the wound, turning Caspian away from the balustrade.

"Susan, I'll be all right. This has happened before, though I never expected it to occur again. . ." he trailed off, looking over his shoulder into the darkness below. Making a small sound of annoyance low in her throat, Susan forced him back around.

"We'll notify the guards, but for the moment this needs tending. She drew him back into their chambers, leaving him in the center of the room and going to her dressing table to remove a shawl from one of the drawers. Coming back to him, a damp cloth in her hand from the wash basin, she began cleaning the slight wound. She glanced at Caspian's face and noticed he appeared to be thinking deeply.

"How could I have missed the signs?" he whispered, almost to himself. Moving back after tearing a strip of fabric from her old shawl and binding the injury, she searched his eyes, coming to stand in front of him.

"You were kept blind to it all; worried about Calormen, restoring Cair Paravel, the Giants refusing the treaty of peace, and trying to solve the murder of a supporter and good friend; a man who was probably murdered by Berengarius and his allies! How could you have been expected to see this lurking secret when you had everything else to attend to?" Her eyes remained on his face patiently, waiting for him to meet her gaze. Finally, he looked at her and sighed in agreement.

"This means that there are others among the Council and the court that are against us. We cannot know whom to rely in without fear that they mean us harm," he realized, his voice soft with concern and defeat.

"Then we confide in no one unless we are absolutely certain of their loyalties! We give no quarter to these traitors and we cannot show that this has made us afraid; I have nothing to fear, do you?"

He smiled slowly. "No, though I fear for them; they did not think of your wrath." She laughed quietly at his words.

It was silent for a moment, and then, "I believed for an instant that surely this was how Miraz and Pruniprismia felt when we burst into their private chambers that night of the raid." Caspian could detect a light strain of amusement in her voice.

"Though he was a tyrant. . ." he glanced around the room before settling his eyes on Susan's face. "That was badly handled on my part," he admitted at last. Quietly, they burst into laughter. The matter had been nothing to laugh over when it had occurred, but now it seemed much lighter compared to their circumstances. Eventually, they quieted, each becoming lost in their own thoughts.

Caspian watched the sky begin to grow lighter, and suddenly, a thought struck him. "Susan, did it ever occur to you that if we do go to war, your brother and sister might return?" He looked down at her. At her sharp intake of breath, he realized his thought was a revelation.

"Oh, how I would adore that. . . Not going to war, of course, but seeing Edmund and Lucy. What if we didn't have to wait until Aslan's Country to see them again?" She looked up at him with excitement in her clear eyes. He smiled back halfheartedly.

"I know you tend to rise before the castle, but perhaps you would care to return to bed with me, my Queen?" He slipped his arm around her waist, his expression changing to pure exhaustion.

"I do think that would be perfect; oh," she moved away from him and picked up one of the long greatswords. "We cannot go to sleep without some means of protection, my Lord." She held it up with some enthusiasm and he chuckled, pulling her close to his side and taking the sword by its hilt from her fingers as they walked back to bed.

"Of course, my Lady."


A/N:

Annnd that's a wrap for chapter eight! (Originally this was part of chapter three, and there was lots more after this scene.) I much prefer this compared to the original. The dialogue here is by far better; Caspian has a bit more of Miraz' attitude than he did. He's more of his ancestor Caspian the Conqueror than Caspian boy king, I think. I also think Susan is better written in this chapter; in the original she was more weak and childish. My favorite part is where Berengarius calls her a little woman; it's such an obvious insult, and yet she doesn't even flinch.

R&R if you have questions. Happy reading,

WH