Authoress's note: I hope you enjoy the next installment and wish you all a very happy New Year! Thank you for your continued readership. If all goes well, I should update again soon.
Disclaimer: the usual disclaimers apply.
Chapter the Fifty-third: Sacrifice
"Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink." John 7:37
1 Stormfall 2076
A cold wind swept over the hills of Ramandu's Island, sending low purple clouds scudding along in the grey afternoon sky. The Jewel swayed gently to her anchor in the swell, and on the beach nearby several sailors pulled a longboat onto shore.
"What news, captain?" Captain Torin addressed the commander of Lyra's guard as soon as his boot touched the sand.
"No news, sir, which is news in itself," Captain Anderson answered, his face creased with worry.
"It's been three days. He still keeps vigil atop the hill?" The weathered Archen sailor frowned, glancing up the gentle slope.
"Aye. He does not sleep, so far as I can tell, and refuses any food or drink, save a mouthful of water now and then."
"And the princess?" Torin questioned as they began walking towards the island's interior.
"The same. She lives, just barely."
The Jewel's commander sighed in frustration and looked down, thinking.
"Take me to him," he directed at last. Anderson nodded, then proceeded through the trees and up the hill behind Aslan's Table. As they neared the top, the trees thinned to provide a clear view of the Eastern horizon. A lonely figure stood there among the long, pale grass that rippled in the cold wind. Still clad in his armor, the Narnian knight faced the horizon with bowed head and crossed arms. As they drew closer, the Archen officers would have thought him asleep on his feet but for lips that moved silently in prayer and tears that gleamed wet on his unshaven cheek. Captain Torin glanced inquiringly toward the marine, who shrugged and shook his head. Torin cleared his throat, then waited for Galen to speak. After a few moments, the Narnian opened his eyes.
"Do you bring news, captain?" The young knight's voice rasped. His gaze, however, remained fixed on the Eastern horizon.
"No." Torin answered quietly.
"Then you wish me to explain," Galen supplied when he did not continue.
"Prithee," the naval captain agreed succinctly.
"I will provide such explanation as I am able," he answered, "if you will do me the courtesy of joining me at Aslan's Table at sunset."
"Very well, Sir Galen." The Jewel's commander agreed. As he turned to leave, the ashen-faced young knight spoke again, finally turning to look at the Archenlander.
"Captain, I would count it a great kindness if in the meantime you would send for a writing case."
Torin inclined his head in assent, then left the Narnian alone once more.
"You cannot be serious," Captain Torin stared at the Narnian knight incredulously. In return, Galen held his gaze with an intensity that took even the seasoned Archen officer aback. "Aslan's mane, you are serious." Torin stood. "Have you lost your mind?"
"Perhaps," the young knight answered wryly, looking coolly up at the Jewel's captain from his seat at Aslan's Table. Since that afternoon, he had washed his face and taken food. He no longer wore his grandfather's tabard, which was folded carefully and sat on the table nearby. A folded letter lay atop it. Ramandu sat silently at the head of the table, his daughter beside him, and both watched the conversation with interest.
"We have no idea what is in the waters to the East or how far they go," the captain protested. "And even if we make it to the end of the world, how can you know that what you propose to do is possible?"
"Captain Torin, you followed me into the uncharted waters of the Eastern Sea. We have faced pirates, dragons, sea serpents, waterspouts, and the White Witch reborn. What possible danger can surpass what we have already overcome?"
The seasoned Archen naval offer's face contorted in a wry expression. He could think of many examples of such dangers, but from the determination in the Narnian knight's eyes, Torin could see that listing them would be pointless.
"I have seen the stars assembling, captain," Galen continued fervently. "Each night, the stars that gathered for our arrival migrate further east. Aslan is calling me to His country, and the stars light the way."
"Surely Aslan's country is not a place you can simply sail to!" Torin argued.
"And even if you could," Captain Anderson interjected gravely, "even if you succeeded in reaching Aslan's country and presenting your petition before the Emperor-over-the-Sea Himself, how do you know that the princess would be healed?"
The Narnian knight gazed intently at the Stone Knife for a moment.
"I do not know," Galen answered quietly, but firmly. "But I believe. And I must try. There is precedent for it, after all."
The Archenlanders looked at each other in confusion.
"He speaks of the Deeper Magic," Ramandu's daughter supplied, realization dawning on her fair face.
"How so?" Torin asked, still puzzled.
"Why, it is represented by the very purpose of your coming to this place," the young star answered gravely, glancing at the Stone Knife. "In the ancient days of Narnia, the White Witch held claim to the lives of all traitors. But when Aslan gave his life in King Edmund's place, His sacrifice broke the White Witch's power."
The captain straightened in surprise and looked back at Galen. The Narnian's gaze was hard upon him, his eyes cold and fey. A thrill of horror twinged in the officer's heart as he realized the full extent of the young knight's plan.
"This is madness," Torin muttered. "My Lord Ramandu," he turned to the ancient star sitting at the head of the table, "have you any counsel?"
The aged star considered, and then shrugged and waved his hand significantly towards the heavens.
"My father does not know if Sir Galen's plan is sound," Ramandu's daughter translated. "But such stars as these do not gather without great purpose, nor are their movements random. It is not unlikely that Aslan indeed calls you into the East."
Captain Torin exchanged a glance with his first officer as he considered her words.
"My lady, is there anything you can tell us of the waters beyond your island?" Commander Barstowe asked, but she shook her head.
"My father and I have seen these seas from far above, and Aslan's Country does lie to the East. But how it may be reached and what dangers lie between here and there, we could not say."
The Jewel's captain paced thoughtfully for a moment.
"We all wish the princess to be healed, Sir Galen," he turned back towards the Narnian. "But what you propose to do—," he trailed off. Then, he seemed to reach an internal resolve and straightened. "I and my ship will take you as far as we may. Let the outcome be according to Aslan's will."
The young knight inclined his head gratefully. "I am ready to depart at your convenience, captain."
"Very well," he answered. "We can be underway within the hour. The princess's escort and Lieutenant Payne will remain, by your leave, Lord Ramandu," Torin addressed the aged star, who inclined his head slowly.
"All are welcome at Aslan's Table," Ramandu's daughter spoke. "May Aslan protect you, Captain."
The Jewel's commander bowed, then turned on his heel and strode towards the beach with his first officer in tow to prepare their ship to sail. As Galen stood, the young star turned to him.
"Farewell, knight of Aslan," she spoke, a curious light in her eyes. "May you find what you seek."
"Thank you, my lady," the Narnian bowed. "May Aslan bless and keep you and your honored father."
She curtsied, and Galen turned away, picking up his tabard and walking deliberately to the foot of the table. When he reached the chair where Lyra slept, he placed the tabard carefully on the table in front of her, the folded letter tucked beneath it. Then, kneeling a moment beside her chair, he gazed at her face, which was pale but peacefully at rest, as though to fix it firmly in his mind.
"Farewell," he murmured, standing and kissing the top of her head. Galen straightened, then turned to the captain of the princess's guard, who stood nearby. The marine officer's face was set with solemnity.
"Keep her well in your care, captain," the young knight spoke, both as command and as entreaty.
"With my life, my lord," Anderson answered, bowing slightly.
"Thank you," Galen returned. "I pray you may return her to Archenland before long, well and whole. It has been my honor to fight beside you and your valiant men. May Aslan's blessings be with you." The Narnian extended a hand. The marine took it firmly.
"Godspeed, my friend."
Two days out from Ramandu's Island, its description as "the beginning of the end of the world" already seemed well-deserved. The sun that rose now in the East each morning seemed twice as large as it ought to be. At sunrise, when the light was most intense, no one could even be on deck. The sea spread clear and bright in every direction with barely a ripple as the Jewel continued East with a gentle northerly breeze in the sails. Galen was sitting cross-legged in the foremast fighting top, staring off at the horizon, when a shout rang out from below and broke his reverie.
"Captain!" the shout repeated, and the young knight decided he might as well see what was going on. As Galen climbed down from the fighting top, several of the deck hands clamored excitedly. One of them was in the process of hauling a bucket up from over the side.
"What's the matter?" Torin called from the quarterdeck rail.
"It's fresh, sir!" One of the sailors answered. "We were scrubbing the deck and realized that this water is fresh!"
"I think the rum might be what's fresh," another crewman commented, and several nearby sailors laughed.
"Alright, alright," a lieutenant chided as he approached, "That's enough. Let's have that bucket and be done with it."
The first sailor obediently handed over the bucket as soon as it came up. The skeptical lieutenant's eyes widened as soon as he tasted it.
"Well, I'll be drowned," he exclaimed, "It is fresh water. More than that—it's sweet. It's the best water I've ever tasted."
"May I try it?" Galen spoke as he swung down from the ropes.
"Certainly," the lieutenant handed him the bucket, then turned towards the quarterdeck. "Captain, it's fresh water, alright," he called back to the quarterdeck.
Meanwhile, the Narnian scooped up a handful of the water and drank it tentatively, his eyes brightening as he did so.
"It's so strong, it's like drinking light itself," he murmured, wondering, before returning to the fighting top to add it to his ponderings.
That afternoon passed in a flurry of activity and excitement as all drank of the sweet water and hypothesized its origin. And it turned out that, the next morning, they could bear the bright light of dawn much better, even enough to see the wings of strange birds that flew from the center of the sun over them to Ramandu's Island.
The days lengthened into weeks as the Jewel glided further into the crystal-clear sea. Without the princess to care for, Galen became restive. The bright days found him pacing back and forth on the quarterdeck or in his small cabin, striving in his prayers with increasing anxiety. He spent the long nights sleeplessly scrutinizing the stars from the fighting top or, sometimes, even perched precariously on the bowsprit. He no longer practiced his sailing skills with the crew or conversed with the officers. In fact, he exchanged few words with anyone. More than once, one of his shipmates looked up to greet the Narnian knight, only to trail off indistinctly at the cold, unsettling glint in his eyes. Whispers of speculation and unrest began to spread among the men until their captain could no longer tolerate them. So, one afternoon, Torin knocked at Galen's cabin door and heard the young knight stop abruptly amid his anxious pacing.
"I'll have a word with you, Sir Galen, of your courtesy," the Archenlander greeted sternly when he opened the door.
"Of course, captain," the Narnian answered, returning his gaze neutrally as he closed the door and waited for the other to speak.
"Sir Galen, we have been some weeks in this glassy sea, and the men are becoming restless," Torin began.
"Surely mere tedium is not too much to overcome if it means saving the princess's life." Galen's brow furrowed with annoyance.
"If that was all, I would agree with you." The Archen captain looked long and hard at the young knight, then shook his head. "But it is not the tedium that troubles them. They see you pacing the deck, hear you arguing to the walls, and they fear that you are going mad. A crew that loses faith in its leader is a dangerous thing, my friend," Torin cautioned. "Especially in these strange waters. These men are convinced that you are so burdened with grief that you intend to sail the ship off the edge of the world and take them with you to your doom."
Galen stood, unmoving, as Torin paused and held him in an appraising gaze.
"And as I look at you," he continued, "and see in your eyes the unmistakable look of someone determined to die, I cannot honestly assure them otherwise."
In response, the young knight set his jaw and turned away, crossing his arms as he stared out the window.
"So tell me honestly, Sir Galen, do you seek Aslan's Country out of hope or hopelessness?"
Galen clenched a fist but did not respond. Torin, in return, held the silence firmly until the Narnian finally spoke.
"I hardly know anymore, captain," he half-whispered at last. "The cruel reality that my quest brought death to so many is grievous enough to bear. But my accursed duty," he reflexively gripped the hilt of his grandfather's sword, which had resumed its place at his side, "condemned the woman I love to suffer and die."
The young knight paused, and the Archenlander waited patiently for him to continue.
"She," he anguished as tears pooled in his eyes, "she didn't even receive the mercy of a quick death. She wasted away in agony while I watched helplessly." Galen drew a shuddering breath and looked back at Captain Torin. "It should have been me. It will be me," his voice hardened, "if Aslan accepts my petition to take her place."
He paused, his gaze wandering distantly. "And if not—" the young knight trailed off.
"Then in death you will soon be reunited with her," Torin finished, his voice heavy, and Galen nodded.
"I hope He heals her. I pray so," the Narnian continued, his voice sorrowful and quiet. "But I can't feel anything anymore when I pray. Just a silent emptiness. I see the stars continuing East every night. I believe that I'm following the right path, and yet I feel empty and alone. What am I to make of that, captain?" The young man looked up at Torin with such forlorn sadness that the Archenlander's heart broke for him.
"Galen," the captain replied gently, "I do not know what to make of it, save that I have known grief and worry to sicken the heart such that it cannot hear anything else." The Archenlander put a fatherly hand on the young Narnian's shoulder. "You must do what you believe Aslan has called you to do, but you must not throw away your life because of sorrow."
Galen nodded, then took a steadying breath and met Torin's gaze.
"Rest assured, captain, that I value the lives of you and your men. I will not ask you to follow me to death. If nothing has changed in a week's time, then I will go on alone, if you will permit me."
"That is fair enough. I can ask no more than that," the Archenlander nodded. "Thank you," he turned to leave. "I will set the men's minds at ease."
Galen inclined his head, and the captain closed the door behind him, leaving the Narnian alone with his thoughts once more.
"Hard to starboard!" Torin's voice rang out urgently from the quarterdeck several days later. The ship came alive with frantic bustling as the sailors hastened to trim the sails and the helmsman turned the wheel sharply. As the Jewel responded and settled onto her new southerly course, Galen reached the quarterdeck.
"What's wrong, captain?" He asked urgently.
"I'm not sure," Torin answered. "See what you make of it," he gestured to the port side.
Stepping to the rail, Galen looked at the horizon with wide eyes. An expanse of endless white stretched across the water, from several hundred yards off the port bow all the way to the horizon.
"Ice, perhaps?" Barstowe proposed.
"Surely not," Torin answered. "It's too warm."
As Galen took up a telescope, the ship suddenly lurched. Its forward momentum slowed, and the timbers creaked as the bow was dragged off towards the East again.
"We've struck a current, sir!" the navigational officer shouted.
"Helm, let the current take her a little, then edge out of the other side." The captain spoke evenly.
The sailor on duty guided the wheel skillfully, and the ship steadied. As it began to ease out of the swift-running easterly current, the bow pushed into the snowy expanse, which gave way easily. Galen leaned over the rail and scrutinized the strange phenomenon for a moment.
"It's lilies, captain," Galen finally spoke, wonder in his voice. "Like the kind you'd see on a pond."
"Strange," Torin murmured. "Take a sounding!" He ordered. A sailor hastened forward with the lead, and cast it among the velvety lily pads.
"Three and a half fathoms, sir," the sailor reported back. "And I was able to bring up one of the lilies with the rope."
"Very strange indeed," the captain repeated, inspecting the large white flower carefully as he turned it over in his hands. "Turn the ship out of the lilies and then cast the anchor. Senior staff, gather in the wardroom."
A chorus of acknowledgments followed, and in a few minutes Galen found himself in conference with the Jewel's officers.
"Gentlemen," Torin began, "I would like your opinion of our situation. We have been at sea for nearly four weeks. We could continue, or we could turn back."
Awkward silence prevailed for a few moments.
"Well, captain, this current is remarkably strong. It could indicate that we are nearing the world's edge and, if we continue, we could risk being swept off," Lieutenant Durand, the navigational officer, spoke first. "The current is narrow now, but as we draw closer it may widen to a point we cannot escape."
"I little trust these strange lilies. They are beautiful, but they could tangle in the rudder chains," Commander MacLeod added.
"I do not think we should lightly abandon our effort to save the princess," Captain Scott countered. "I owe her my life," he murmured.
"Aye, I would tangle with any number of lily pads if it meant saving her," the engineer responded, chastized.
"But, if you will forgive me, my lord," Barstowe contributed grimly, nodding to the Narnian knight, "It is also not unlikely that the princess has already died."
Somber silence fell again, and Galen clenched his hand momentarily at the unhappy thought.
"Sir Galen, what say you?" Torin asked quietly.
"I believe the time has come for me to take my leave, captain," Galen answered gravely. "I will continue on in whatever boat you can spare. If, by Aslan's grace, I am successful, the princess will await your return. But either way, you and your men deserve to see your home again."
"Very well, Sir Galen," Torin agreed. "I can spare the cutter, and I believe you have acquired enough sailing skill to manage her."
"Thank you, captain," the Narnian inclined his head gratefully.
"Commander Barstowe," he turned to his first officer, "see that the cutter is prepared."
"Aye, sir," Barstowe stood. The wardroom slowly emptied, and Galen turned to leave as well.
"Sir Galen," Captain Torin bade him wait, "Stay a moment."
"Yes, captain?" the Narnian turned to him.
"You are a remarkable young man, Galen," the Archen officer spoke. "You have earned my respect and that of my men. And I want you to know that everyone who gave his life during this voyage did so willingly in Aslan's service. You should not carry the guilt of their deaths."
Galen looked down a moment, then met the captain's gaze with gratitude.
"I deeply regret that we may never meet again in this world," Torin continued, his grey eyes glistening with rare tears. "And I pray that by some miracle it will not be so. But," the captain extended his hand, "I wish you every blessing as you leave us. Go with the goodwill of us all."
"Thank you, captain," Galen answered thickly, taking his hand.
"The cutter will be ready when you are," Torin bowed. "In the meantime, I suspect you could do something with this," he offered Galen the sea lily. The Narnian smiled and nodded, accepting the flower, then turned and left the room. He returned first to his own quarters and prepared what little he planned to take with him. Fingering the Archen tabard, he left it and his armor behind in favor of a spare shirt and his weathered Narnian cloak. His flute, as ever, stayed at his side. Once ready, he picked up the lily from the desk and stepped next door to Lyra's empty cabin. There, Galen carefully placed the lily on her desk. The little painting he had given her for her birthday caught his eye, and he smiled fondly at it as he remembered the pleasant days they spent in the Seven Isles. Then, with a last melancholy look around, he strode from the cabin.
"All hands, look sharp!" The bosun called as the Narnian knight stepped onto deck. Galen looked up to see all the crew assembled at crisp attention, the captain watching solemnly from the quarterdeck rail. The young knight passed slowly by, returning the respectful nods he received. When he reached the rail, he turned around to face the quarterdeck.
"Sir Galen of Narnia," Torin's strong voice resonated over the ship. "We who have fought at your side wish you well. Our blessings and prayers go with you in peace. May Aslan welcome you into His country."
"May Aslan keep you ever between his paws. Safe voyage home, my friends," Galen answered, bowing deeply, before climbing down into the cutter.
"Cast off," he called, and in a few moments, the small sailboat eased away from the Jewel's side. The prow cut neatly into the carpet of lilies, and then the boat accelerated as it picked up the current. Galen watched as the Jewel weighed its anchor, made sail, and then faded quickly into the West.
The days slipped by without variation as the cutter slipped onward through the unending lilies. The current kept the boat moving at a fast pace into the shimmering, pervading light of the Utter East. Each night, as Galen looked to the stars, he realized that they had began to slowly rise from the Eastern horizon, traveling westward until they stopped nearly overhead. The Narnian's brow furrowed as he wondered what that could mean. One morning, as Galen reached down to fill the bucket with more of the clear, sweet water, he dropped the bucket on the deck with a clatter and raced for the boat's wheel. The water was shoaling rapidly, and, turning the wheel hard over, he eased the boat out of the current. The cutter's momentum slowed, but not enough to avoid striking hard on the shallow seabed. He looked up and saw that in the distance, an enormous green wave rose from the water, spanning the length of the horizon. Beyond it, the tallest mountains he had ever seen stretched toward the sky. Yet, despite their height, they had no snow on them, just lush green grass.
"This truly is the end of the world," the Narnian murmured as he stared. "I understand now!" He suddenly exclaimed to no one in particular. "The stars weren't traveling West. They stopped at the edge of the world, and I sailed under them," Galen smiled as he solved the puzzle, not realizing that it was the first real smile to light his countenance in over six weeks.
Taking one last look around him, the young knight left the boat where it was, jumping into the shallows and wading through the water until he came right up to the wave. A puff of wind came over it, rippling the top of the water and bringing a fresh, delicious smell: a smell Galen recognized from when Aslan had appeared in the Archen glen. It also brought a strange, musical sound that pierced the young Narnian's heart with joy and sadness and longing all rolled into one.
"Aslan's Country is on the other side," Galen breathed, passing a hand into the clear, green water of the still wave and smiling with wonder. The young knight drew a long breath, his heart pounding. Then, he closed his eyes and stepped into the wave.
The princess's marine guard kept silent vigil over Aslan's Table, where their sovereign slept. Since the Jewel's departure some weeks ago, the Island had fallen empty and silent. Only the double shift of marines remained, and if they spoke, they only spoke in solemn, quiet voices. Each day, they ate with Ramandu and his daughter at Aslan's Table, and each day watched as the dawn brought the mysterious birds and their chorus of otherworldly praise. And each day, the princess they guarded remained unmoving. The marines changed shifts just after Dawn, and the corporal's mind began to wander a few hours into the morning. All of a sudden, he thought he heard the sound of movement nearby and looked around for its source. With a thrill of adrenaline, he realized that his sovereign stirred in her seat.
"Captain!" He shouted, sharply breaking the silence as he rushed forward. "She's waking!"
Captain Anderson and all the marines came running, along with the Jewel's senior medic. Lyra blinked groggily at them, overwhelmed as she threw off the cobwebs of sleep.
"Your highness, how do you feel?" Lieutenant Payne inquired as he held a hand to her forehead.
"Well rested," Lyra answered, "if confused." She looked up at the anxious men surrounding her.
"The fever is gone!" The medic announced with relief, then quickly removed the bandages on the princess's arm. He fairly laughed with joy—no trace of the poisoned wound remained.
"He did it!" Anderson exclaimed, and a triumphant shout went up from his men. The princess looked around with confusion as her protectors celebrated and tried to remember what had happened before she fell asleep. She remembered the completion of the quest, and she hazily remembered Galen weeping but did not recall why. Then her eyes settled on the Narnian tabard laying neatly folded before her. She reached a trembling hand to touch the familiar silver stitching on the worn blue cloth. As she did, she recognized, too, that the second cloak wrapped around her shoulders was not her own. Finally, she perceived the letter and felt a pang of inexplicable fear.
"Where is Galen?" She asked, dreading the answer as she gingerly fingered the letter. The men around her fell gravely silent.
"He went into the East a month ago, your highness, in search of a cure, and we began to fear you would never wake. He left a letter for you to explain," the captain spoke quietly, solemn pity in his eyes as he indicated the folded paper. "I will be nearby if you have need of me. We are grateful that you are well. "
Placing his hand over his heart, he bowed deeply. Then, with a nod to his men, he withdrew the contingent to the outskirts of the courtyard.
Tears gathered in the princess's eyes as she broke the letter's seal and began to read.
Galen passed through the wave and set foot upon the soft grass beyond it. To his surprise, the wave had not left him wet. In fact, he felt all the weariness fall from his limbs and the dull ache of old wounds melt away. He looked up to see the cliffs towering dizzyingly above him, silent waterfalls cascading down their sides. Strange flowers sprinkled the lush grass, filling the air with the familiar perfume. Reverent silence lingered in this strange and vibrant land, overwhelming him with wonder as he took careful steps. He was utterly alone in this virgin world, and he did not know how long he wandered there.
As he climbed higher into the mountains, Galen gradually came to a stream that rushed down the mountainside. It was strangely quiet—no cheerful babbling reached his ears. With a thrill of grave excitement, he saw an enormous Lion laying on the other side. The Narnian reverently approached and knelt beside the stream.
"Welcome, son of Narnia," said He, with a Voice that reverberated in the still air and in Galen's heart. "Drink."
Suddenly a great thirst came over the young knight, and he plunged his hands into the clear water. It was colder and thicker than he expected—like clear, liquid glass. He drank long and deeply, and he found the water itself alive and vibrant. This living water was more refreshing than drink, more sustaining than food. It slaked not just physical thirst, but the thirst of the soul. All the sorrows and worries he had long carried faded into blissful contentment. The weight of Lyra's terrible illness—the concern, uncertainty, and pain that had consumed him—all dissolved into enduring, tangible peace. He knew in his heart—as surely as he knew the sky shone blue or the sun would rise in the East—that she lived.
Galen sat back on the grassy bank and gazed into the Lion's golden eyes, his heart full of deepest joy. For all the speeches he had practiced, all the appeals and arguments he prepared through all the sleepless, turmoiled nights, he found now that he needed no words at all. He rested simply in his Lord's presence.
"Aslan," he murmured remorsefully at last, "I am sorry I despaired."
"All is forgiven, dear one." Aslan answered warmly, standing. "Come. Walk with me."
My dearest Lyra,
My heart aches to think that these will be my last mortal words to you. I pray you will forgive me. I go to find Aslan's Country, and if I succeed, I shall never return.
As I write, you lay at Death's door, and Aslan has made clear what I must do. The shadow of the White Witch, whose venom poisons you, is still subject to the laws of the Deep Magic. And under those laws, as Aslan Himself demonstrated, when the Witch lays claim to a life, another may give his life instead. This is the only way I know to defeat the Witch's curse. I will seek Aslan's Country and there make my appeal to the arbiter of the laws of the Deep Magic. I know He calls me thither.
My heart is full of purpose I cannot fully explain, and if you are reading this, then I happily succeeded. I regret that I must leave you, but I am grateful for the sweet memory of every moment. With this letter, I leave you my grandfather's tabard. I know that Narnia's memory will not fade with you to keep it in honor.
At last, allow me to convey the depth of my love for you—a difficult task for one constrained to use unfeeling ink and paper! You are my dearest friend, my faithful comrade-at-arms, and my wise counselor. Your beauty within surpasses even your beauty without, and my heart is forever yours. Do not let the light I love dim from your lovely eyes! Although grief's time has come at last, let it pass, my love, for my fate is not evil. I count it my greatest honor to give my life for yours. May we meet again in that fair Country where Death can never prevail.
With all my love,
Galen
Up next: Remembrance. A review would be lovely if you feel so inclined!