A/N: Finally, an action chapter! And by finally, I mean I was bashing my head into my keyboard until my lovely beta reader Tom helped me write this one. So, hats off to Tom because the fight choreography would NOT have made sense without him.
Chapter 41 Content Warnings: battle gore and violence, physical injuries, reference to murder (fratricide), mentions of medical treatment
Chapter 41: this will be your legacy
Caspian
As predicted, Miraz accepts. The Telmarine army - cavalry, infantry, and catapults - descends onto the field at dawn. Thousands of boots trample the grass to mud, the Telmarines' armour shining in the afternoon light.
They haven't arrived ready for surrender. Miraz leads them atop a white stallion (ironic, Caspian thinks) and encased in the king's traditional armour, complete with a full face mask. Caspian trained in the Telmarine face shields; they were heavy and obscured his vision.
Good. Any advantage against Miraz is extra time for the Narnians.
Caspian turns his helmet over in his hands. His distorted reflection stares back.
The face of a son with no family.
The face of a prince with blood on his hands, who has stood by while others die in his war.
The face of a boy trying to be a man, floundering at every turn.
Caspian clenches his jaw, watches his mirrored self reflect his failures. His hope too - foolish, fragile thread that it is.
His life has been bought with the blood of hundreds - strangers, loved ones, his own parents. What will their sacrifices have meant if he falters now? If he meets his uncle in the circle of ruins and falls to the same treachery that has kept Narnia under Telmarine occupation for three centuries?
Will killing Miraz set the past right?
Caspian traces his reflection. Like his uncle, his eyes are brown, almost black. Dark, thick eyebrows, slightly aquiline nose. Traits they both share with Caspian's father.
Miraz's list of crimes could pave a road from Beruna to the castle, but he - and his newborn son - are the only blood family Caspian has left. When he was younger, Caspian used to think Miraz would approve of him, might have a kind word or flash of pride if he tried hard enough. If he studied, if he trained, if he fulfilled every princely duty without complaint.
As he came of age, he learned better. He realised Miraz would never be proud of him, that it was easier to stay out of the way and cling to the hope that his uncle hated him for his resemblance to his father and not for who he was. As the years ticked by and Caspian's allies disappeared or turned up dead, Caspian realised his uncle would never let the crown pass to him uncontested.
Caspian clasps his hands, years of callouses and sparring scars rough under his fingertips. Miraz tried to kill him, would gladly see the line of Caspians ended by sundown. Family means nothing to Miraz except another obstacle to eliminate. A nuisance to be rid of.
Family or not, Miraz has to be stopped. The crown must not fall to him or any other Telmarine lord.
But killing Miraz will leave his child fatherless. As Caspian has been all his life.
This is necessary, Caspian reminds himself. Miraz's designs on Narnia affect more than just him; Miraz and many of the lords would see the Narnians wiped out, would water Narnia with the blood of her own people. He can't afford to hesitate now. It would be a betrayal of every promise, every oath he has made to the Narnians.
You have a chance to become the Telmarine who saved Narnia. You must.
Caspian sets his helmet at his feet and, closing his eyes, turns his face into the sun. It is his duty to face his uncle in single combat. But more than that, it is right. No more letting others fight his battles for him. No more hiding behind raids and armies.
Perhaps the throne should not be claimed by any Telmarine. No matter what Doctor Cornelius believes.
Exhaling, Caspian soaks in the sun's heat, heady with summer humidity. He will face his uncle at last, and if he survives - and he must, for Narnia's sake - then he will settle the question of the kingship. Perhaps it would be best to stay out of the way once again, to turn the throne over to the Kings and Queens.
We've not come to take your place, you know, but to put you in it.
Look where your best got us, boy!
Perhaps Narnia would be better off in their hands.
Caspian sighs through a tight throat. The question of the crown will wait until after the duel. If Miraz prevails, it will be no question at all.
When Caspian opens his eyes and looks to the ruins, General Glozelle, Lord Sopespian, and Lord Gregoire are busy settling an ornate chair for Miraz on the far side and taking their places as Marshals of the List.
By sundown, the war will be decided.
Caspian retreats inside to strap on his armour.
He's ready.
He has to be.
Caspian emerges from the How to a cheering army with High King Peter at his right and King Edmund at his left. The few hundred remaining Narnians shout and howl and bang their shields in a show of force impressive for their number. The morning summer sun is already sweltering, sending the first drips of sweat down Caspian's brow.
As he approaches the ruins, armour clanking with every step, the roar of the Telmarine army rises like a tidal wave over the field, echoing off the ruins and drowning out the cries of the Narnian army.
Caspian flexes his hands in his gauntlets. Rainroot bandaged him well; he feels only a twinge. At first he protested the light numbing poultice, but with Queen Lucy and her miraculous cordial out of reach, Rainroot's insistence won out.
"None of that, Sire," the centaur said. "Win this and we'll need far fewer medical supplies anyway."
Caspian sat obediently as Rainroot's poultice soothed his stinging elbow and hand. When she tied the last bandage, Rainroot offered a rare, stiff smile.
"Try not to ruin my handiwork."
Caspian agreed, murmured thanks, and bit his tongue so he wouldn't voice his nagging doubt that the Telmarine army will not keep their word if Miraz falls. The Narnians need all the hope they can muster.
Caspian stretches his left arm, testing the strength of Rainroot's stitches. The sting at his elbow is sharper than in his hand, but manageable.
Still, his arm isn't strong enough to carry a shield. He will face Miraz's sword and shield with only his blade.
"Miraz won't have your stamina with that shield and his age," murmurs High King Peter, quieter now that the armies' shouting match has died down. "Especially in this sun. Try to tire him out."
"Feint whenever you can," King Edmund adds, nodding to Glenstorm and Bulgy Bear, two of the Narnian Marshals of the Lists. "Keep out of range, make him come to you."
Caspian nods and wipes a bead of sweat before it trickles past his eyebrow. He hasn't sparred Miraz in years, but Caspian spent years on the training fields observing how his uncle fights.
"He's reckless when frustrated. I'll provoke him if he's too cautious."
King Edmund nods toward a fallen column on the right. "Watch your step over there."
"Or use that column base as a boost," says High King Peter. "Add to your height advantage."
Caspian squints and gauges the layout. He'll be boxed in if Miraz attacks from straight on, but if he keeps his right side open, it's a good spot for a feint.
Across the ruins, Miraz sits in full armour with Glozelle armed with a crossbow to his right and Sopespian and Gregoire to his left. Lord Sopespian is even craftier than Caspian anticipated if he's won Miraz's trust enough to be a Marshal of the Lists.
Caspian tightens the straps of his vambrace once more, breathes, and draws his sword. Sunlight glints off the blade and the Narnians' cheer rises again, buzzing alongside the adrenaline hammering through Caspian's veins as he steps into the duelling circle.
He can do this.
He can do this.
Miraz mutters something to Glozelle, stands, and dons his bronzed helmet and mask. After a comment to Sopespian, Miraz draws his sword from the scabbard held by Gregoire and enters the circle.
Caspian squints against the sun and paces the ruins' edge, his sword hilt unyielding against his palm. A reassuring, familiar weight whose contours he knows well.
Miraz sneers as Caspian raises his sword into position with both hands.
"You make this too easy, nephew." Miraz mirrors his path, circling like a wolf. "From the first battle, you've made this too easy."
Caspian grips his sword tighter. Miraz will have to try much harder than that to bait him.
"Not so easy," he counters. "Or you would have refused. Have you felt it, uncle? The stirring of Old Narnia?"
Miraz inches closer. "Dwindling beasts destined for extinction," he says. "Your fairy tales can't save you."
Caspian shakes his head, matching Miraz's every step. "Surrender, uncle. Mine is the only rightful claim to the throne."
Miraz smiles through his mask, a flash of teeth closer to a snarl. "Come claim it, then."
Caspian eyes two pillar bases nearby. Without a shield, striking from above is too risky. But Miraz has a habit of underestimating him.
Caspian looks to the stones and sprints. At the circle's centre, Miraz settles into a defensive position - shield up, sword high at his shoulder. As predicted.
Feint whenever you can.
With a yell, Caspian pushes off from the first stone, sword raised like he intends to strike from above. Instead, when Miraz raises his shield to meet the attack, Caspian brings his sword low and ducks beneath Miraz's slash. Caspian's blade scrapes over the leather protecting Miraz's ribs, cutting off his matching war cry.
Miraz recovers too quickly and drives his shield into Caspian's left arm. With a curse, Caspian stumbles back, trying to breathe through the sharp stab of pain.
"You are too weak to claim anything," Miraz growls. "Just like your father."
Caspian dodges Miraz's second shield bash and parries his swing. "Leave my father out of this."
Miraz smiles grimly. "I loved my brother, but he was a fool. He was weak. You've never kept a garden, boy, so I wouldn't expect you to understand, but sometimes a family tree must -"
A thrust that meets air.
"- be -"
A slash, nearly catching Caspian's arm.
"- pruned!"
Miraz presses the attack, driving Caspian backward and baring his teeth in a vicious grin.
"Will you look the same in your last moments, I wonder? Will you beg for mercy as he did?"
Caspian's breath catches deep in his chest. He suspected, of course he suspected, but it's different to hear it confirmed. To hear his uncle admit to it with relish, wielding the truth sharper than any sword.
"It was you!" Caspian grits, jumping left to avoid being backed into a pillar. "You killed my father?"
Miraz bats away Caspian's lunge and riposte with his shield. "We Telmarines would have nothing had we not taken it. If your father had been a worthy king, he would have struck me down first. Alas, he was the weaker branch."
Caspian blocks Miraz's swing and locks their blades, metal grinding on metal, flashing bright under a merciless sun.
"How?"
He can't keep the rawness from his voice as the satisfaction dawns in Miraz's dark eyes. Miraz bashes his shoulder with the shield, denting Caspian's pauldron.
Caspian grinds his teeth. Is this hate, this venomous roil in his stomach?
"Does it matter? Your father couldn't keep allies." Miraz lands a breathtaking blow to his ribs. "And the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree."
With a cough, Caspian jumps around a pile of rubble, favouring his aching side as he tries to gain some distance to catch his breath, but his blood is boiling.
"You killed my father's allies! And mine!"
Miraz follows him around the fallen stones, flourishing his sword as he approaches.
"And you let me."
Caspian's pulse thunders as he grips his sword so tightly his bones creak.
"I… let you?"
"You weren't strong enough to save them." Miraz spreads his arms in a grand gesture, still well out of striking distance. "Nor were you strong enough to take more. Am I wrong? Or do you have more allies ferreted away in that dark hole? More servant wenches to aid you?"
Caspian grits his teeth and lunges at Miraz's open guard, only to have his blade swept aside. Miraz counters, and Caspian deflects the blow as he retreats from Miraz's advance.
"You have fewer allies than you think," Caspian manages, jumping back to avoid a slash at his neck. "Fear isn't loyalty."
"I have all the loyalty I need because I -" Miraz parries Caspian's counter attack and smashes his sword pommel into Caspian's face. "- was willing to take it!"
Caspian spits to the side, blood and saliva stinging his split lip.
"Lord Arlian was ready to defect to me. There will be others."
Miraz smiles cruelly, stalking around the rubble as Caspian shakes his head to clear it. Caspian gives ground, trying to catch his breath, trying to think.
Trying to hold the fire in his veins in check.
"And where is he now? It's a shame; he had such a promising family."
If you had a family, you would have done the same.
Caspian's stomach roils.
Still, Miraz advances. "And where is your little whore? Has she come to witness the excitement?"
The fire in his blood roars.
With a yell, Caspian leaps to close the distance and hammers three quick strikes, two to Miraz's shield and the last to block his uncle's sword before it strikes his left arm again.
Miraz's triumphant grin is all teeth, gleaming yellow-white between their crossed swords.
"After I've finished with you, I'll hunt her down, too. My son will be the only living heir by sundown." Miraz's grin widens. "Does she carry yours, I wonder?"
No! The fire in Caspian's blood surges into an inferno. Miraz has taken everyone else. He will not take her too!
The sudden rush of fury overtakes his caution, erases everything but the need to hurt, to strike, to kill.
To protect.
Caspian lunges and rains a flurry of blows from above, the side, any opening he finds, hammering at Miraz's shield, driving him toward the pillar.
Sweat drips into his eye, a curse of wearing a helmet in this heat, but Caspian presses the advantage. Miraz isn't the only one who can strike with brutality, and in another three steps, Miraz's back will meet stone.
Caspian hammers at Miraz's shield, every strike echoing up his arms and aching in his shoulders. He just needs to damage the shield or Miraz's arm, even the scales -
He sees Miraz's swing too late. His uncle's sword flashes toward his head and deals a deafening blow over Caspian's ear, sending him careening to the side. Caspian's head throbs as he struggles to shake off the dizziness and blink the world into focus.
Miraz takes the offensive and deals another blow that Caspian barely deflects. His left arm burns from the effort, his cut palm throbbing despite Rainroot's poultice. Caspian stumbles away, panting as he visualises the layout behind him. Is that fallen pillar straight back, or off to the right? With all this sweat dripping into his eyes, he can't see.
Miraz's eyes dart right, glancing past Caspian's left shoulder.
Perfect.
Caspian dodges and blocks Miraz's swings in equal measure until his left heel bumps stone. Miraz's eyes gleam through his mask.
"Nowhere to go, nephew?" Miraz steps forward on his right foot, his shield held close to his torso as his sword descends in a flashing arc. But Caspian is ready.
Caspian ducks sideways at the last possible moment. Metal rings against stone as Miraz's strike meets the fallen pillar. Miraz spits a curse as his blade catches in a crack. By the time he frees it, Caspian is already swinging, his mouth set in grim satisfaction as he strikes Miraz's helmet.
Miraz yells as Caspian's sword leaves a dent in his mask's cheek; he lifts his shield, but not fast enough to block Caspian's second swing.
Caspian's sword catches the helmet's bottom edge and wrenches it off
Teeth gritted, Caspian lunges to press the offensive. Miraz gives ground, his wide eyes darting between Caspian's advance and his Marshals somewhere past Caspian's shoulder.
Caspian's sword catches in the shield as Miraz lifts it to protect his neck. The metal groans as Caspian bears down with all his weight, all his fury.
"Respite!" Miraz yells from behind the shield. "Respite!"
Caspian snarls and bears down once more before breaking free. Tash-cursed coward!
"Tired already, uncle?"
Miraz lowers his shield and points his sword inches from Caspian's chest.
"Consider yourself fortunate that I agreed to this waste of time."
Caspian grinds his teeth but says nothing, watching warily as Miraz fetches his helmet and returns to his elaborate armchair to mutter with his Marshals. Only when Miraz sits does Caspian retreat to his side, where the Kings and Glenstorm wait.
Caspian pulls off his helmet and wipes the sweat dripping down his face.
"I had the advantage," he grits as King Edmund takes his helmet and inspects the shallow dent over his ear. "That's the only reason he called a respite."
"Agreeing was the honourable thing to do," says High King Peter, holding out a cup. "They'd have cried treachery and attacked if you hadn't."
Caspian accepts the offered water, grimacing down at his warped reflection. "They'll do that anyway when I kill him."
He lifts the cup to his lips, drinking his fill as he remembers crossbow bolts thumping into his headboard in the dead of night. He can always count on Telmarine treachery.
High King Peter takes the empty cup and sets it aside. "We're ready if they try it. Here's hoping Lucy and Aslan return by then."
Aslan…
Caspian sighs and prays the hope is not a false one.
With a nod, Caspian takes his helmet and steels himself. "I'll draw it out as long as I can."
"Watch your back," King Edmund says. "I don't like the look of those lords. How's your arm?"
Caspian grimaces as he flexes his arm and the stitches strain. Rainroot warned that sweating might wash off the poultice.
"I'll manage."
He has to.
Across the ring, Miraz rises from his chair and glares at his lords.
Caspian stuffs his helmet onto his head, takes up his sword, and steps into the circle.
This time, Miraz wastes no energy with fancy footwork or circling, and the fire singing in Caspian's blood lost none of its potency these past minutes. Caspian races to meet his uncle's charge, parrying his swing and countering with a lunge. Miraz knocks his sword aside, but not before it draws blood from the tiny gap between his vest and chestplate.
Caspian locks Miraz into a grapple, blocking a shield bash with his right shoulder. Caspian's pauldron groans in protest; despite Caspian's height, Miraz has more weight.
"It's a pity," Miraz snarls. "The first time you've shown any backbone, and you're too late. You've always been too late to save them - and yourself."
Miraz pushes forward, his weight sliding Caspian backwards. Caspian's heel finds the fallen pillar again.
"Not this time." Caspian pushes off the pillar, breaking the grapple and shoving his uncle back. "Your scheming won't save you here."
Miraz glances at Glozelle and his loaded crossbow.
"We'll see, nephew."
Caspian twists away from Miraz's lunge only to take his uncle's shield to the side of his head. Caspian reels, his right ear ringing from the impact, and barely parries Miraz's downswing.
Miraz steps too wide and leaves him an opening. Caspian feints left around the shield, ducks under Miraz's swing, and slices his inner thigh, one of the few areas uncovered by chainmail.
Dark satisfaction runs hot in Caspian's blood as his uncle roars and stumbles, clutching at the fresh gash. His gauntlet comes away stained red.
"You've grown slow," Caspian says, pacing as Miraz recovers his footing. He rushes in before his uncle lifts his blade and deals a glancing blow to Miraz's pauldron. "Perhaps I am not the weak one, uncle."
Caspian dances out of range, ensuring Miraz's retaliatory swings meet empty air. He musters a breathless chuckle, because if there is one thing his uncle cannot stand, it's mockery.
It works.
Miraz rushes forward, hobbling on his injured leg and yelling as he rains blows faster than Caspian can retreat. Caspian focuses on protecting his left arm and takes bruising strikes to his middle and shoulders, but Miraz can't keep this pace up for long. He'll tire in a moment, and then perhaps his sword grip will be weak enough to -
Caspian doesn't even see the blow coming; Miraz presses his shield forward to block his vision. There's an earth-shattering clang of metal against metal that leaves his head ringing, but it's nothing next to the pain erupting across his brow. Caspian yells and staggers, scrambling to put distance between them as his helm crashes to the ground at Miraz's feet.
He stumbles to the circle's edge, using a fallen column as a barrier before Miraz can press the attack. Caspian falls to one knee, his temple throbbing and vision blurred as blood pulses in his forehead and drips down his face. He swipes the blood before it stings his eye, his rough gauntlet aggravating the cut.
Miraz is saying something, chest heaving from the effort as he gives chase around the pillar, but Caspian can't make it out. Caspian shakes his head, trying to clear his ringing ears.
"- too slow - weak - like your -"
He sees his uncle's lips moving through the mouth of the mask, but Caspian only picks out scattered words, half-phrases that slip out of awareness before he understands them. Miraz points his sword at the How and turns his back on Caspian, clearly speaking for the lords' benefit. Miraz looks over his shoulder and meets Caspian's eyes as he spits on the ground.
Caspian forces himself to stand, swaying as he gets both feet under him again. When Miraz glances at the lords, Caspian charges.
His first step is unsteady, like a newborn colt. His second is less so, though the ground seems to undulate like water under his feet. It's as though the fog between his ears is buoying him, and by the fourth step, his stride is solid. Miraz is turning, shield raised.
Not fast enough.
Caspian's blade caroms off the edge of his uncle's shield, smashing again into his masked helm and sending it flying. Miraz crashes to the ground as Caspian's momentum sends them both sprawling over the uneven stones and wrenches Caspian's sword from his hand. Miraz's blade skitters out of reach and his shield isn't much use at this range. Caspian shoves it aside and lands a clean punch across his uncle's cheek. From there it's a mess of grappling and punching, a cacophony of traded blows neither of them deflect well.
Caspian coughs as a gauntlet-wrapped fist lands solidly in his gut and another batters his bruised ribs. Miraz tries to roll them, but Caspian recovers and pummels Miraz's face, his shoulders, his raised arms - anything he can reach.
The pounding in Caspian's head has grown to a roar, and Miraz is shouting something, bloodied lips sending spittle into the air.
In a rush, his hearing returns.
"- spite! Respite, nephew!"
Yes, Caspian thinks dimly. Respite would be well.
He climbs off of Miraz and uses the fallen pillar to get to his feet. Caspian tries not to stagger, but his feet betray him as he bends down to retrieve his sword. He barely catches himself against an upright pillar. The Kings and Glenstorm's worried faces swim in his vision, like he's looking through dirty glass.
High King Peter jogs over and steadies him with an arm around Caspian's waist.
"Aslan?" Caspian slurs.
King Peter guides him to the squat little stool. "Not yet."
Yet…
Caspian wipes a drip of blood and sweat stinging his eye. Not yet, or not at all?
King Edmund looks between Caspian and the Narnians gathered outside the How.
"Lift your sword. They're worried."
Ah, yes, morale, Caspian muses. He remembers thinking how important that was first thing this morning. He bares his teeth in an attempted smile and raises his sword as high as his aching shoulder will allow. The rising cheer worsens his headache, but the palpable relief among the Narnians is worth the discomfort.
Caspian eases himself onto the stool and tries to steady his breathing as King Edmund presses a cup of water into his hands. Though it's warm from the sun, the water helps clear his head.
"It's strange," King Edmund is saying. "I thought the lords would've tried something by now."
Caspian grimaces as the water stings his split lip.
"They have little loyalty to Miraz. Probably hoping I'll kill him."
They must hope he'll do their dirty work for them. No doubt Glozelle and Sopespian think to rule Narnia themselves. Or perhaps one plans to betray the other and take the crown.
They likely have plans to dispose of him as well.
Caspian accepts a rag from High King Peter and wipes the grime from his face. They won't get the chance.
If Aslan returns.
"Miraz must be tiring," murmurs the High King, "and you've wounded his right leg. Keep him moving; don't attack unless you have to."
Caspian drains his cup and rests his elbows on his knees. He wants to finish this, to avenge his father, but above all else, he must buy time. Should he win this duel, the Telmarine lords will likely attack anyway.
Across the arena, Miraz grimaces as Glozelle ties a bandage around his thigh. Sopespian says something, but his eyes are fixed on Caspian.
Caspian stares back. Yes, Sopespian has that traitorous gleam in his eyes. Beady, glittering, like a snake.
In the lull, Queen Susan emerges from the How.
"No sign of Lucy," she says.
King Edmund nods, as if he expected it. "Better get back on the ledge, Su. Watch the lord with the crossbow. If he tries to shoot, stop him."
Caspian frowns. "The Telmarine army will attack if you do."
"If they get that impatient," King Edmund says, "they'll attack in short order anyway."
Caspian makes no further argument as Queen Susan hurries inside. King Edmund is probably right, and he'd rather not die by Glozelle's crossbow.
His battered helmet appears in his lap, courtesy of the High King. There's a sizable dent in the helm, and the chin strap is snapped. Across the ruins, Gregoire returns Miraz's helm and mask, but Caspian's uncle shakes his head in disgust and tosses it to the ground. The sunlight highlights the rent in the mask, and Caspian smiles to himself even as he presses his own ruined helmet into the High King's hands and gets to his feet.
"Keep it; I won't be able to see."
Miraz meets his eyes and strides into the arena. He's trying not to limp, but he does a poor job of hiding the pain. Caspian bites back a grunt as he lifts his sword and steps forward to meet his uncle for a third time.
For a moment, Miraz's gaze strays to the lords.
"Waiting for something, uncle?" Caspian says, stalking closer. "Twice you've asked for respite, and twice I've obliged. Will you require a third?"
The words sound slow to his ears, but the point is made. Caspian looks to Glozelle and stares until the general glances aside.
Miraz bares bloodied teeth and mirrors Caspian's slow circle around the arena.
"Enough words, boy. Your little rebellion ends now."
In reply, Caspian raises his blade. No more grandstanding; it's time to finish this.
But Miraz is cautious now. He holds his ground, eyes narrowed, and takes a defensive stance. He's forcing Caspian to come to him.
Caspian inches closer, carefully shrinking the distance as impatience wars with exhaustion. Even without his helmet, the sun's merciless rays make him sweat beneath his armour. The ache of old wounds from prior battles sharpens the sting of new injuries as Caspian forces slow, even breaths. Miraz entered this fight in his prime, and Caspian still feels the dull pang in his arm, the throbbing of old and new wounds.
"Glozelle won't save you, uncle," Caspian murmurs. "He'll be glad when I kill you so he doesn't have to."
Miraz flourishes his blade, but he doesn't take the bait. Surprising restraint for a man of his temper.
Caspian feints a thrust at his face. Miraz raises his shield, forcing Caspian to back off lest he over-commit.
Miraz glares at him, his eyes just visible above the shield's rim.
Another feinted thrust, and again, Miraz raises the shield.
Cutting off that vicious gaze.
Another feint.
Another moment his uncle can't see past the shield.
He can use this.
Caspian feints again. When his uncle lifts his shield, Caspian charges in, reaching out to grab the shield's rim and wrench it down. Miraz realises his mistake as Caspian jerks it; he slashes desperately at Caspian's neck, but Caspian's grip fouls his sword arm and sends the blow uselessly overhead.
Caspian yells as his injured arm struggles to control the shield, screaming through the pain of strained stitches as his own blade sings a reply to his uncle's missed swing, coming down with a sickening crunch on Miraz's shield arm.
The older man howls and drives the spiked pommel into Caspian's left arm, wrenching free and tearing into the old wound in the same stroke.
Caspian's arm instantly goes numb from his elbow to his fingertips. He shakes it, and still nothing. His hand is intact, but he can't feel anything - can't even grip his sword with it.
No feeling, no pain.
Caspian bellows through gritted teeth and wildly brings his blade to bear, hammering at Miraz's sides and extended sword arm until his uncle's grasp breaks.
Miraz's sword falls to the stones. Caspian brings his blade to his neck.
It's over.
Caspian bears down and forces Miraz to his knees, some dark part of him relishing the sight of his father's murderer at his mercy.
And yet, when Caspian imagines cutting his uncle's throat, he finds his hand won't obey.
Caspian frowns, blinking as Miraz meets his eyes.
"Perhaps I was wrong, nephew," Miraz says. "Maybe you do have the makings of a Telmarine king after all."
Caspian's sword feels suddenly heavier in his grip. He is a Telmarine, and he has fought a war to claim the Telmarine crown, the Telmarine throne. It is his Telmarine blood that gives him the birthright to it.
Doctor Cornelius' words from this morning echo in his mind.
You are a noble contradiction. Telmarine by blood, Narnian by heart.
Do you think I risked my life teaching you of Narnia if your bloodline is all you are?
Caspian wonders what Aslan would want him to do, even as he wonders why it still matters to him. Aslan has only shown himself to the Narnians, to his own people. Never to Caspian.
Maybe it is enough to decide for himself who and what he will be.
Caspian lowers his sword, leaving his uncle's neck untouched.
"No, uncle," Caspian murmurs. "I'm not like you."
Miraz frowns, confused, as Caspian steps away.
"Keep your life," Caspian continues. "But I am giving Narnia back to her people."
Caspian braces for his uncle to surge to his feet, to resume the duel perhaps, but Miraz says on his knees, staring as if shocked into silence. When Caspian looks to the lords, he finds them similarly quiet and still. Glozelle's crossbow leans abandoned at the pillar beside him.
See, Caspian thinks. Killing is not the only way.
Exile will be enough. Miraz has been defeated according to Telmarine tradition, his claim to the crown neutralised.
Caspian need not continue the tradition of familial murder.
Caspian keeps his blade half-raised as he backs toward his side of the ruins. It would be foolish to lower his guard now, however much he hopes the lords will continue this strange, half-frozen hesitation.
It's Sopespian who breaks the stand-off. The lord with a grey-specked beard nudges Glozelle and nods toward Miraz before walking toward their fallen leader and helping him stand. No one - Miraz, Sopespian, Glozelle, Gregoire - moves to attack.
Caspian slowly turns his back on his past and faces Narnia's future - the Narnians who, by the terms of the duel, have their homeland again. Their cheer rises above the field, a deafening celebration of victory.
Only then do the lords play their hand.
Caspian hears a gasp and a gurgle and spins around just in time to see his uncle crumple to the ground, a red-fletched arrow impaling his neck from behind.
"Treachery!" shouts Sopespian. "They shot him from above! To arms, Telmar, to arms! They murdered our king!"
Caspian swears as King Peter and King Edmund leap to his side as Sopespian snatches Miraz's sword and races out of range. Glozelle is already mounted on his horse, leaving only Gregoire. He charges forward, only to fall dead within two swings of the High King's sword.
"To arms, Narnia!" shouts High King Peter.
Caspian recalls the battle plans and races toward the How with Glenstorm. Out of one battle and into the next.
A/N: The war is almost over, y'all! Any bets on what Addie's up to right now?
Also, I read this cool one-shot a few weeks back by only-some-loser, titled "burn away the broken lies (that i still believe)" with a Miraz-Caspian showdown. If you're intrigued by Miraz and Caspian facing off, go check out "burn away" and give the author some love!
Also, I made a Caspian edit because he got me SO in my feels and I loved the song I put on the WGCBS playlist for this chapter, Family Tree. Since ffn doesn't like links, just take out the spaces ? www . youtube watch ?v =L2BEZE_-qL0
Chapter 42 Preview:
"I can't leave him," she chokes, and cries a little, warm tears watering the ferns by her cheek. "Please."
"That horse's left the stable," Marcos says, nose-to-nose and almost too close to stomach. "But if it helps, he sent you away. Guess he didn't want you after all."