I AM A SINNER

This next chapter was surprisingly easier to write than I'd previously assumed. We're now about halfway through with the story, a little more than half. This one also takes place in "Prince Caspian", and it takes place after the ultimate battle at the river, just after Peter earns Aslan's forgiveness.

I admired Trumpkin's first encounter with Aslan in the original movie, but I felt it could be extended just a bit. So, this is the way I would have shown it.

For the record, this little snippet was also partly inspired by the story "No Longer a Son of Earth", by Lady Redemption.

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media

Story © unicorn-skydancer08

All rights reserved.

"You are forgiving and good, O Lord, abounding in love to all who call to you."

~ Psalms 86:5 (NIV)

Part 4: Trumpkin

Trumpkin felt his knees weaken and his heart pale as he regarded the glorious animal before him. The lion who stood alongside the Emerald River, with young Queen Lucy at his side, was not just any common lion. Trumpkin knew him to be Aslan, the Son of the Emperor, the guardian and the one true king of Narnia, the Great Golden Lion he had heard so much about.

Trumpkin blinked several times, but the image did not fade from his eyes. Aslan was indeed real—as real as he was, just as Lucy had said. An odd mixture of wonder, fear, trepidation, and downright shame flooded the dwarf, and he dropped unconsciously to his knees on the rough ground, his scrawny legs no longer able to bear him up. He could never bring himself to tear his eyes away from Aslan, even though it frightened him to death just to look at him, and the sight of the noble creature reminded Trumpkin painfully of how he had doubted him.

Years of isolation and persecution from the Telmarines had hardened Trumpkin into a cold, distant, unresponsive, distrustful cynic. He had learned to not trust anyone, that it was every creature for himself. When he had first met Queen Lucy and her siblings, Queen Susan, King Edmund, and King Peter, he had taken a great disliking to them at first, especially Peter—even though Peter had risked his life for Trumpkin when two Telmarines attempted to kill the dwarf by drowning him. They surely would have succeeded, had Peter not bravely plunged in after him.

Even after Trumpkin was safely on dry ground, and he was cut free and breathing normally again, he didn't bother to say thank you.

In time, however, Trumpkin slowly found himself softening towards the royal foursome. He developed an especial soft spot for Lucy, though he would never have admitted it to anybody.

But when Lucy told them she had seen Aslan, with her very own eyes, no one believed her, except Edmund.

Susan and Peter assumed their little sister was just seeing things, or that it was a plain, ordinary lion wandering aimlessly about the woods. Trumpkin, on the other hand, thought Lucy was downright crazy for believing in what he considered nothing more than a mere fairy tale, a childish fantasy. Even if Aslan were real, why should he care about them?

If he truly cared, he would have done something to show it a long time ago—like striking down their oppressors, for instance.

Trumpkin was not one to believe in something anyhow, unless he could see it with his own eyes, and touch it with his own hands. He had never been one to rely on pure, simple faith.

Unless he saw this Aslan for himself, he could not believe. He simply couldn't.

Now that he saw and knew for himself that Aslan truly lived, Trumpkin was ashamed of the way he had acted. He felt an immeasurable sense of hot guilt for refusing to believe Lucy, for ever harboring the notion that the girl was out of her mind. Above all else, the dwarf repented of ever questioning Aslan's existence to begin with.

He knew he had been nothing less of a sheer fool.

What must Aslan think of him? Trumpkin had a very unpleasant feeling that the Great Lion must have some knowledge of just how guilty he was, how sinful.

The dwarf certainly knew he had never lived the most ideal lifestyle. He had made so many mistakes, committed so many sins, he couldn't even begin to number them.

Tears started to spill from Trumpkin's eyes, leaking steadily down into his grubby beard, and he bent his head and covered his face with his hands. Though his thin shoulders heaved and shook quite noticeably, he hardly made a sound. Oh, what had he done? What had he done? Could Aslan ever forgive him? Would he even want to? Trumpkin knew he didn't deserve Aslan, and he knew Aslan deserved someone far better than a puny, pathetic dwarf like him. Nevertheless, to be cut off altogether from the Lion was far more than Trumpkin could bear.

If Aslan didn't forgive him, then surely all was lost, and he would die on the spot, for he would have nothing left to live for.

But as Trumpkin knelt there and quietly wept into his palms, all pride and dignity scattered on the floor, he felt a soft warmth enfold him, and he felt something nudge him gently.

He dared to look up. Even though tears clouded his vision, he could see Aslan's handsome, majestic face gazing down at him.

Trumpkin shrank back somewhat from the beast, drawing in his breath sharply, but he remained where he was. Aslan also stayed put, his long, sleek tail curled passively around his giant forepaws. His gentle yet intense golden eyes seemed to stare into the core of Trumpkin's soul. "Aslan," was all Trumpkin could say, the name emerging as little more than a croak.

The Great Lion tipped his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment. "Trumpkin," he said, in a voice that was deep, strong, and authoritative, yet kind and compassionate.

It warmed Trumpkin and wounded him at the same time. It made his heart feel strangely light, and yet strangely heavy.

Knowing what he needed to say, yet unsure of where to begin, Trumpkin faltered and stumbled over his tongue for a brief time before saying repentantly, "Aslan, please…I…I know I have done wrong. I have done and said many things in my life that I am not proud of. I know I am not worthy of you." He buried his face in his hands once more, not bothering to fight the fresh flow of tears as they came. "I am lower than a slave, less than the earth itself. My life is forfeit. I have doubted you, my lord. I have refused to believe in you. I have sinned against you…and I…"

"My son," Aslan gently cut in, and Trumpkin's heart nearly failed him upon being spoken to this way. "You are not the first to have questioned my existence. And you will most certainly not be the last." Aslan rested his mighty head against the dwarf's shoulder, breathing lightly on him. "I know your heart," Trumpkin heard his soothing voice pour into his ear. "I can see how burdened you are, dear one, how heavy a load you have struggled to carry all these years by yourself."

In humble submission, Trumpkin hid his face in Aslan's mane, which felt sweetly warm to the touch, and softer than any silk or satin.

"Be merciful to me, Aslan," he implored. "Forgive my many sins. You know how black they are."

"Your sins are forgiven," Aslan answered promptly. "Because of your grief for them—because you have a sincere desire to repent, and change your ways."

With his thin body pressed up against Aslan's broad chest, Trumpkin could hear, even feel a steady rumble that came from somewhere deep within the Lion. It was a moment before he realized the Lion was purring. He felt one of Aslan's giant paws against his back. "And, because I can feel your sorrows, my brother," Aslan continued, "and I can taste your pain."

When Aslan drew back sometime later, and Trumpkin was facing the Lion directly again, the dwarf looked up with eyes that still swam in tears, and said in a husky voice, "My lord, nothing is hidden from you. It is like you can literally look right through me, and see all the evil that is in me."

"All the evil, yes," said Aslan softly. He added even more gently, "And all the good, too."

At a loss for words, Trumpkin could only remain on his knees, his legs unable to hold him even if he so desired, tears still oozing steadily down his dirty face.

He could feel something stirring inside his breast; it burned like a fire in the deepest, furthermost recesses of his soul.

Suddenly the dwarf didn't care anymore whether everything made perfect sense, or about what the rest of the world thought of him. All he wanted was to be accepted by Aslan—and it took but one look into those fathomless yellow eyes staring back at him to know, without an inkling of doubt, that the Great Lion truly accepted him, and loved him.

"Stay with me, Trumpkin, my son," Aslan said, and the tenderness in his voice and countenance seemed to melt Trumpkin's very bones. He lowered his face to the humble dwarf's one more time and brushed his nose lovingly against Trumpkin's rough cheek, so that Trumpkin felt the pleasant tickle of his whiskers. The Lion's breath smelled sweeter than any springtime. "Stay with me," Aslan whispered again, "follow me, and you will not be disappointed, or left unsatisfied. Those who come to me with blind eyes and a broken heart shall see, and be made whole."