Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, nor shall I ever.

Author's Note: This chapter kind of came to me on a whim. Enjoy!

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Chapter 16 ~ The Utter Truth

He saw the future.

He saw everything.

He saw the castle. It seemed to have a shadow cast across it. All of its once-red banners were black and fluttered against a gray, dreary sky. All of the windows were dark. There was no sound except for the raspy caw of a raven flying across the sky.

A face appeared in his vision. The face wore a crown on top of its head, but the features of the face itself were not discernable, but it was a face that Miraz knew, he was sure. It was so familiar, and yet he could not name it. So familiar…

He then saw Elizabeth, her porcelain face gray and her hands carrying flowers—roses, starkly red against her black dress. Tears fell down her face slowly, pouring from her downcast eyes. Why was she crying? She stood by a gravestone in the rain, on a large plain by the mountains. Miraz could clearly see the name on the plaque.

COMMANDER STEIPHEN.

The date on the plaque was only two years away.

He saw his father, lying on a deathbed; seemingly he had just died, for he still saw tears on his face.

Why had he been crying?

He saw the angered, betrayed eyes of Prunaprismia, large and bright with rage. Tears came from them as well.

Why was she crying?

Through his whole dream, he had not yet seen Caspian. He had only seen how his evil rule might be like…

Was he to live.

Now a tall figure stood before him, with eyes that were dark and evil with madness and anger. He looked frighteningly like Miraz, only slightly older and slightly shorter. He was not weeping, luckily. But he was laughing. It was the most horrible thing Miraz had ever heard. So horrible, it had caused him to fall back.

"What do you want with me?" He breathed, edging back, not knowing if he would fall back into nothingness that may have dwelled in the darkness around him.

"You are my descendant. You belong to me! My wrongdoings will become yours, my sins will put the price on your head!" The man growled. "You will die for the things I have done!" His laugh resounded, filling the air around them in an echoing, evil chorus. Miraz stifled a gasp.

"Who are you?" He asked thinly, barely able to hear his voice in the black air.

"I AM VOSTAD THE RED!"

Though the words were cold, Miraz found warmth in them. He felt belonging. He was meeting his ancestor, his brother…his master. He felt something surging through his veins that was not his own blood, something much more powerful and potent than his own blood, something that would not be penetrated by any sword, something that gave him a surge of courage through his very core.

He knew what it was.

It was the blood of Vostad the Red.

But he still felt emptiness somewhere deep within him, something that still needed to be filled by the power that surged, pulsating through his body. No matter how hard the power and blood pulsed, that one spot was still empty.

The spot was his heart, his soul, his core. His yearning for love was not overcome by Vostad's words.

"Your destiny does not lie within the life of a prince." Vostad murmured. "No, no, far from the life of a prince—the life of a king! But the only way to follow your destiny…is to do what I did, hundreds of years ago…if you want to remain faithful to your Brothers…kill your brother!" He laughed once again, then it all faded…

Miraz opened his eyes only to find himself, once again, in darkness, though it seemed thin and shallow compared to the darkness he had been in. The power still surged through him, but that empty spot still irritated him.

But he knew what he had to do.

He rose up out of his bed, glancing outside the window. There was a full moon, washing the window's threshold with white, eerie light. He pulled on a navy robe over his white sleeping tunic and black trousers, and strapped on a belt with a dagger on it. Exiting his chamber, he did not look back.

The halls were dark. He knew it was late—very late, but not yet early morning. No one walked through the halls except him. Behind every door he knew a monarch slept—except for in Caspian's chamber, for light filtered into the hall from under his door. Miraz knocked.

"Come in." Came the muffled reply.

Miraz slowly opened the door and looked inside. Every candle was lit, as was the chandelier hanging overhead. Caspian was bent over a paper, probably a pact from Terabinthia or something of that sort. He turned only slightly to meet the eyes of his brother.

"Miraz?" He let the question hang in the air. "What are you doing here—at this hour?"

"I—needed to talk to you, brother." Miraz replied slowly, surreptitiously putting a hand on the dagger at his side. Caspian turned back to his work.

"Please, Miraz—I'm busy. I need no more interruptions."

"You must hear what I have to say, Caspian. It's urgent. It cannot wait."

Caspian did not turn around. It seemed like he was speaking to the opposing wall when he said, "All right. What is it?" Something had changed in him, Miraz thought. When he'd entered his father's chambers the day he'd returned, he'd bickered with Miraz as soon as he'd seen his face. Now...there was something about him that made Miraz welcome in his presence.

Miraz sighed heavily. "About what mother said—the night she died. You told me what her final request was, did you not?" He loosed the dagger in its leather sheath, gripping it malevolently, feeling the power of Vostad's blood melt into the metal. Only one of them would leave the room alive that night. And Miraz knew which one would live.

"Aye, I did, Miraz. Where is this going?" Caspian asked wearily.

He pulled the dagger out a little bit. His breaths quickened, as if he had just ran a far distance. His brow trembled. Why was his power betraying him, now of all times? He began to feel weak and ill, his nerves slackening as if they were exerted. The fist on his dagger began to waver like his brow.

"She said—I should become king. Do you agree, Caspian? Speak the truth." Miraz murmured.

Caspian's back tensed visibly. His head jerked up from his work, but he did not turn back to meet the eyes of his brother. "What? Why is this so important, Miraz?" He asked, his voice shaking slightly, as if he did not want his brother to know the truth.

"I want to know. It is important in many ways, brother. Tell me. Do you agree or do you not?" Miraz asked again, unsheathing his dagger fully now. He felt a trickle of sweat inch down his forehead, walking closer to his brother until they were only inches apart. He held up the knife, clenching it with strength born from rage.

"In many ways, Miraz, you are noble and lenient. In many ways you would be a good king. I confess I sometimes envy you. I always have, even if it hasn't seemed like it in the past. Containing your anger when you only want to lash out at another. I—I could never do such a thing. You have such a temper, Miraz - but you keep it well. The way that you can withstand even the vilest of testimonies father speaks against you—I believe you wouldn't even cringe if I told you the things he said about you while you were on campaign. I only belittle you because I envy you brother, if you must know the truth."

Miraz dropped his hand and backed away. It was the truth. He knew it. Somehow, he knew immediately that Caspian was speaking the utter truth. But that didn't shrink any of the hate he had towards him. The things he had said before to him had not been washed away just because he had spoken the truth, oh, no—he would still have to die.

But not yet.

TO BE CONTINUED