Love

Caspian, Tenth of that name, knew he was dying, but somehow, he had never been happier in his life. When he had sailed out of Cair Paravel, he had hoped only for some revelation from the Great Lion as to whom should be king of Narnia after him, or, that failing, at least a graceful sail out of this world into the eternal peace of Aslan's Country. He hadn't expected that the Great Lion had planned as perfect, glorious, and joyful an end for him as He had for Reep so many decades ago.

Caspian wouldn't sail across the End of the World on waves of soft, sweet petals, but he would die beside his living legacy. His long-lost son, finally found again, was bending over him, and, when their eyes met, shining with tears of mingled sorrow and elation, met, all the many years that they had been separated faded from their memories, so that it was if they had never been apart. Aslan, as always, had been faithful. Everything that had been lost was restored, and Narnia's future was assured. He could hear Aslan's voice inside his soul, telling him to be at peace at the end of the long, sometimes hard, journey his life had been.

"Father," Rilian whispered, resting his warm forehead against his father's cold one. "I'm so sorry."

"No apologies." Caspian struggled to gasp out the words, and tried not to remember a time when he would have been able to run and shout at the same time without losing his breath or his voice. His frail body was about to be renewed by His Maker. Clutching Rilian's hand as tightly as he could, and thinking that his strong son was the only part of this world that he wished to hold onto, he continued despite the difficulty involved in speaking at all, "You're a good son, and a brave man."

"I love you, Father." Rilian brought Caspian's varicose hand to his lips and kissed the wrinkled fingers. "I always have."

Those words were all Caspian needed to hear on his death bed. They were his assurance that—despite all his manifold doubts and failings—he had been different than his uncle.

"Love you."Gently, Caspian withdrew his hand from his son's clasp and rested it upon his son's head in what he knew would be a final benediction. Gathering all his remaining energy as he said the words that would ensure that the Narnian throne passed seamlessly to Rilian upon his imminent death, Caspian went on hoarsely, "I leave you all I have. May Aslan bless, protect, and guide you and your kingdom until He calls you, and we are reunited in His country."

"May His will be done through all always," Rilian murmured.

Caspian could feel his spirit slipping away from his body now. Dying wasn't like he had feared. It wasn't falling into darkness. It was moving into a light brighter than he could possibly have imagined. It wasn't getting cold. It was finding a warmth he could never have imagined. It wasn't leaving behind those he loved. It was falling into the embrace of the one who loved him most. It wasn't running out of time. It was being lifted into eternity. It wasn't a final, panicking realization that he was alone. It was the revelation that Aslan was right there with him, and that the Great Lion had always been beside him, even when Caspian had failed to notice him.

As Caspian's last breath sailed out of his lips and his heart churned out its last beat, he was ready for his greatest journey—his trip to Aslan's Country.

The journey was by water, as Reep's had been, or at least, he thought that the stream he was lying in was water, although it was more rejuvenating than any water he had ever felt before. It seeped deep into his soul, cleansing areas he had never realized were dirty, and burning him like a fire that he somehow knew was forging him into the beautiful vessel Aslan had always intended for him to be. He wasn't in pain, so much as he was in a very hot bath.

Above him, he could see Aslan's face, weeping in sorrow over him, and he felt a terrible grief tear through him, as he finally understood the agony he caused Aslan. He had spoken to Aslan face-to-face. He had walked beside the Great Lion. He had felt Aslan's breath heat his cheeks, and still there had been times where he had doubted and stumbled—when he had lost his faith or his temper. Now he really understood what Aslan had suffered on his behalf on the Stone Table, because he at least realized that he had been the one who had slain the Great Lion—not just the one whom the Great Lion had died to save.

Whenever he shouted in anger, that was a hair that he had shaved from Aslan's face. Whenever he questioned the goodness or the power of the Great Lion, that was another insult he had hurled into the dying Lion's merciful face. Whenever he disobeyed the Lion or rebelled against His will, that was another rope he had bound against Aslan. He saw that with an awful clarity now, in a way he never had before, and, finally, he came not to hate himself—because Aslan loved him enough to die for him—but to hate the hideous parts of himself that had made Aslan's dying on his behalf necessary, in a way that he never could have while he was still fettered to his body. He rejected completely his faults and all his petty attachments to them. He wanted to be separated from them for eternity, but he knew that he could not make himself that clean, not without Aslan's help.

It was at that second that a drop of blood—a single drop with the power to redeem a whole world—fell from Aslan's paw, hovering brighter than a sun in the stream above him. The blood fell through the water, and landed on Caspian. He felt himself being remade. His soul was being reformed, so that it was filled with only love, joy, peace, gentleness, and faithfulness. Along with his soul, a new body—one that burst with the promise of eternal youthfulness and wisdom- was being created for him.

Then, the same power that had brought him to the stream brought him rising out of it. He was leaping out of the water, laughing and smiling as he had never laughed or smiled before. When he stepped out of the stream, he saw that he was surrounded by a lush, green country, but his eyes weren't drinking in the new land. His gaze was riveted on Aslan, and, finally, now that he had left behind all the bitter baggage, he could run to the Great Lion with his arms open wide. Never again would he doubt that the Lion would be ready to receive his hug, because he knew now that he had always been held in Aslan's paws. He had never been his own. He had always been carried by the Great Lion all his life, and thank Aslan for that.

Before he was aware of what he was doing, he was running to the Great Lion, hugging Aslan more tightly than he ever had before, and kissing the Lion's marvelous mane. In return, he received Aslan's wild kisses on his cheeks and nose, which told him more clearly and more deeply than words could have that Aslan was overjoyed that he was in His country, living a new life with Him. There were no questions left for Caspian now. There was only love and mercy stretching out into an eternity of bliss. All his life was meaningful only because it had led up to this moment, where the wanderer and the Guide, the hurt and the Healer, the criminal and the Savior, were reunited at long last.