Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, ok?

Author's Note: Sorry I haven't been fluent in my updates! I've had a bit of writer's block lately and I've been pretty busy. This chapter might seem like a "this-person-only-wrote-this-chapter-to-get-rid-of-writer's-block" chapter. But, don't worry, the finale is coming!

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Chapter 18 ~ Death

The days continued to drag by, neither faltering nor speeding ahead. Miraz tried to see Prunaprismia more often, but could never find her. He now no longer wanted to avoid her. It was doltish to avoid his own wife, barbarian or not. Perhaps Prunaprismia did not know of his sudden change of heart and thought he still wanted to remain aloof. And Miraz had so many thoughts on his mind - perhaps it was better that way.

He found himself going to his father's chamber frequently, making sure the physician was doing his best to keep him alive. It seemed that he was, though every time he entered his father was sleeping and never woke during the time he was visiting. The physician was innocent enough in telling him that his father had been awake before, and was actually doing quite well for a man of his age with such a condition.

"I'm doing the best I can." The physician assured Miraz once again.

But one late afternoon Miraz entered and found his father awake, sitting on the edge of his bed. His eyes were bright and there was a little color in his face rather than the pale, papery complexion Miraz had seen before, though he was still quite gaunt. His craggy wrinkles creased deeper as he grinned when his son entered.

"Ah, Miraz! The physician tells me you have been visiting quite a lot." He said dryly. The physician was standing nearby, giving Miraz another look of assurance, though Miraz could tell the doctor was very proud of himself. Caspian looked up at the physician. "How is my condition?"

"Fair enough." The physician replied, his voice slightly boastful. "Far better than you were in the past, Your Majesty."

"Good." Caspian smiled. "I would like to take a little stroll."

The day was warm and bright. The sky overhead was a soft, gentle blue that matched the graceful breeze, dancing in the wonderful radiance of the sun, which had not reared its head for quite some time. The breezes smelled fresh and clean from all of the rain that had cleansed the world in the previous days. Miraz and his father walked on the terrace, Caspian leaning on a large walking staff and having one hand on his son's shoulder, for his legs were still quite weak and frail. Miraz walked slowly and patiently, wincing every time his father wheezed or coughed.

"How is your fair wife, Miraz?" Caspian asked after a long period of sunny silence. There was no edge on his voice, only that same, rather annoying hint of casualness that Miraz had heard so many times before. Had everyone changed around Miraz? How come suddenly everyone was showing him compassion? Or had he not noticed it before? Caspian had loathed the idea of him marrying a barbarian woman.

"She is well, father. Quite well." Miraz replied, glad that his father was accepting the fact that Miraz and Prunaprismia were married and that he could not change that—for marriage was an undying bond.

"I am glad to hear so. 'Twould bring pity to my heart if I heard that she was not well." Caspian said sympathetically. "You do tell the truth, do you not, son?"

"Of course I tell the truth, father. Prunaprismia is quite well. As am I." Miraz confirmed, wondering why his father would think him a liar. Caspian nodded his approval wordlessly. Another silence passed on. Caspian breathed in shakily, and said:

"I believe I will return to my quarters now. Thank you, Miraz."

-

"My lord! My lord!"

There was a thunderous knock on Miraz's door, urgent and repetitive.

"Come in." Miraz stated calmly.

The physician came bursting in, his appearance disheveled and his eyes wide with fear, as if he was going to deliver groundbreaking news. He stood at the threshold, catching his breath.

"What is it?" Miraz asked impatiently.

"Your father—my lord, His Majesty is not doing well. He wants you to come to him."

"Why?"

"It's his orders, sir—please, come, now!"

Miraz followed the hasty physician to his father's quarters. Why would his father want him, at this hour?

Was he dying?

He entered his father's chamber. Caspian lay wheezing shakily in his bed, his eyes clouded over as if in delirium. His face was wet, as was his tunic, wet with the heat of fever. Miraz moved over to him quickly and clutched his clammy hand. He knew what was happening. But he had been so well only hours before, in that glorious summer light, talking merrily with his son, reconciling an old bond with his kin. What had happened?

He was dying.

The cloudy eyes met his. A trembling smile stretched weakly across Caspian's face and he clutched his son's hand. "Miraz…" He whispered, so quietly Miraz could barely hear him.

Miraz bent his head. "Father." He met his father's eyes again. "Why do you not call on Caspian, your eldest, at your hour of death? You must give him your blessing—"

"I…already have, Miraz." Caspian rasped, still smiling. "Though I wish dearly that I could give it to you."

Miraz's eyes widened a little. His father was talking like his mother. He wanted Miraz on the throne as well? "What holds you back from giving it to me?" He asked slowly, trying to persuade his father to take back the blessing. Surely one cannot take back a blessing...but perhaps, there is a chance...a small chance...

Caspian's smile faded and his cloudy eyes became a little cold. "I was afraid that was what you were to say." He had sensed the tone of greed in Miraz's voice and knew that he, too, wanted the throne. "Do not do anything foolish, Miraz, even if you want the crown so badly."

Miraz grimaced, his fingers slipping from his father's. "What would you call foolish, father?"

"Killing your brother."

Of course. Miraz knew that's what he would say. But he wouldn't listen. Many times he listened to his father, especially after the campaign, but not when he told him not to spill the blood of his brother to get to the throne.

But he was dying now. What could he do? He had not the strength to face his son anymore. He was an old man. And in just a few moments, he would be dead. There was still no one in Miraz's way. He could tell his father right now what he was going to do, in fact, and still would be able to do it.

Miraz met his father's cloudy gaze with his own steely one. "Killing my brother, father?" He murmured. "You call it foolish?" He drew out his dagger. "I call it essential."

"Miraz—!" Caspian's eyes cleared and widened, lifting up his hand to grab the knife, but it withered down soon after. "Please, Miraz, do not put your anger on your brother. You were meant to be a prince. And you will always be a prince. You will always be known as who you are and what you will be."

"I may not have to be a prince, father. I can make my own decisions. Who remembers the princes? No one." Miraz said coldly. "But everyone remembers traitors."

"Miraz…" Caspian whispered, his eyes waning and filling with tears. He fell back in his bed, still looking at Miraz and trembling. "How could you?"

And then, in the blink of an eye, the Eighth Telmarine king of Narnia died.

TO BE CONTINUED