Authoress's Note: I want to thank everyone who has stuck with me through the years as I worked on this story. Especially to the reviewers of the last chapter: you have my heartfelt thanks for all of your kind words. I appreciate them greatly.
Disclaimer: the usual disclaimers apply.
Chapter the Fifty-fourth: Remembrance
"[D]o this in remembrance of me."
Luke 22:19
2 Yule 2076
Lyra stood as she read Galen's letter in stunned silence. Several moments passed as the weight of it settled in the pit of her stomach. Then the letter slipped from her fingers and an anguished sob escaped her. It was the first of many. Her men graciously gave her such privacy as they could, but she found she could not remain at Aslan's Table within sight of the Stone Knife and her knight's tabard. Pulling his cloak around her shoulders, she wandered from the ruin and into the nearby trees. She came, at last, to the top of the hill behind Aslan's Table, where the soft, pale grasses waved gently in the wind, and there collapsed in bitter weeping. Her marine protectors followed at a distance, continuing their faithful watch in growing sorrow as their sovereign mourned. She did not move the rest of the day, and as the afternoon sun warmed the hill with golden light, she faced the darkening Eastern horizon instead of the glowing sunset. Night fell, and still she remained unmoving. The silent, starry watches slowly passed, and the stars that had welcomed them to Ramandu's Island no longer shone overhead. To the Archen princess it seemed cruel for all the world to go on as it had before. Dawn came and went, and the captain of the princess's guard observed from the trees with increasing unrest as the morning lengthened without any change from their sovereign.
"Must I wait and watch as those in my charge mourn themselves to death?" He murmured to himself, clenching his hand in frustration. "To Tash with this awful grief," he swore through gritted teeth. Then, endeavoring to set a neutral expression, he walked along the tree line to check on the men at their posts. Among them waited Lieutenant Payne. The Archen medic was absentmindedly tearing a gold leaf into pieces as he sat. As the marine officer approached, the medic stood and addressed him anxiously.
"Captain Anderson? How is she?"
"Unchanged," the officer answered grimly. "They take up vigil on this accursed hill in turns, it seems."
"She needs to eat," Payne worried. "She will waste away after that long illness."
"I know," Anderson sighed. "Let me see what I can do."
The medic nodded. The marine considered a moment, and then gathered his men together. After speaking with them for a few minutes, his men nodded and murmured their agreement. Thanking them, Anderson turned and ascended the hill alone. He hesitated as he reached the top. He could see his sovereign sitting in the tall grass, tears upon her cheeks as she stared at the horizon, and found it hard to break her reverie.
"My lady," the captain of her escort dared to approach and to speak at last. "I beg your pardon for the intrusion, but will you not eat something? The days of your illness were long and arduous, and the healer is anxious for you to recover your strength."
The princess did not respond for a long time, and when she did, she did not answer him.
"I bring death to all around me," she spoke at last, still staring at the horizon. "So many good men have given their lives in my stead," her chin quivered as she paused, unused to sharing such unguarded thoughts with her subjects. But it was too late now. "And now the man I love is among them," she continued. "Better for I myself to have perished."
Captain Anderson's brow furrowed at her words.
"That is evil counsel, my lady," he spoke quietly, but steel was in his voice. "All who serve you are willing—nay, joyful— to give our lives at need for your protection."
"And to what end have I led you?" Her cheerless voice responded. "To torture, death, and perhaps exile."
"Your highness," the faithful marine continued solemnly, "not too long ago, Sir Galen stood where you are now, despondent in grief as you lay nigh unto death. His anguish when you seemed to die was terrible to behold, and we all shared in his bitter sorrow. He begged Aslan for a means to save you, fasting for days upon this hill, and now Aslan has healed you beyond all hope. Prithee do not say it was better for you to have died. It was not."
The officer was nearly ten years her senior, but his heart raced as he dared speak to his sovereign so brazenly. Lyra looked down sadly but said nothing.
"We mourn with you, my lady. But we do not mourn the manner of Sir Galen's end, for it is a great privilege, and we will honor his sacrifice."
"Thank you," she replied simply, staring at the horizon again.
Captain Anderson hesitated, then dared to admonish his sovereign a little more.
"You should know, my lady, that my men and I have vowed not to eat or drink until you do. If you insist on starving, then we will starve with you."
At last, the princess's heart softened at the kindness of her men, and the tiniest of smiles briefly graced her sad countenance.
"Then, for your sake, I will come and set the physician at ease," she agreed. Relief and compassion mingled in his face as he helped her up. She swayed weakly as she stood, and he supported her dutifully as they descended the hill, much to the relief of the Jewel's anxious medic.
Galen walked in silence beside Aslan. They moved slowly through the cool meadows beneath the impossible cliffs, and the enormous, velvet paws made scant noise beside the Narnian's boots. Galen glanced at the great Cat beside him, and his eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of a jagged, narrow scar in the Lion's side. Until that moment, the young knight had not fully felt the cruel reality of the Knife he had guarded all these years. The Wound was healed, but not forgotten.
Galen kept walking and pondering, but he could not bring himself to break the reverent silence that this strange land kept. At last, he heard Aslan chuckle.
"Ask your questions, child."
The young knight smiled and looked down in embarrassment. But his sheepish silence did not last long.
"Is this your country, Aslan?" He began with curiosity shining in his eyes.
"It is the beginning of my country, yes."
"And is," Galen hesitated for a moment, "is my father here, somewhere?"
"He is further up and further in," Aslan answered, warmth in His resonant voice. "But you already knew that he is here."
Galen smiled broadly.
"Can anyone simply come to your country by ship, as I have?" The Narnian asked.
"Would you call your journey simple?"
"No, I suppose not," Galen chuckled wryly.
"You could not have passed through the wave if I had not allowed. No one may enter this land except by my leave," the Lion explained as they continued to climb higher and higher.
The two walked this way for a long time, and they spoke of many wondrous things.
"Will Narnia ever be free of the Telmarines?" Galen asked among his many questions.
"All things will be made right in their time," Aslan answered, and the young knight's eyes lit with hope. "But this is not part of your story, dear one."
A little crestfallen, the Narnian looked down and pondered these words. In the silence, the Lion asked a question of his own.
"Why did you come to Me?"
"You know the answer, my Lord," the young knight answered. "Because You called to me and showed me the way to save Lyra's life."
"And is it your wish to remain here with Me?" the Great Lion questioned simply, but the query perplexed Galen.
"I knew when I set out that I would never return," he responded with quiet resolve.
Aslan chuckled knowingly and turned to look Galen in the eye. The Narnian inadvertently straightened.
"Tell me, knight of the Lion's Redemption," He challenged, "what have you and your forebears guarded all these years? The weapon of My Enemy? Or a symbol of My Love?"
Galen looked down with a gentle smile, then met the Lion's golden gaze anew.
"The latter, of course," he answered meekly.
"And though I died, do I not now live?"
"You do indeed, my Lord," the Narnian smiled broadly now.
"Why?"
"Because when a willing victim who has committed no treachery dies in a traitor's stead, the Stone Table will crack, and death itself work backwards," the young knight quoted the familiar words.
"You learned your lessons well; now, let us apply them." Aslan turned and walked to the edge of the cliff. Galen followed slowly. They had walked much higher than he realized, and the dizzying drop yawned before him.
"In coming to my country to trade your life for Lyra's, you reenacted the sacrifice I made long ago on the Stone Table. But that Table is no more, and the Table I have set in its place is one of Life, not Death."
Aslan turned and looked at him. The young Narnian felt the weight of His golden gaze—full of warmth and love and unfathomable wildness.
"Child," the Lion's voice rumbled with deep compassion, "my love is not something you receive by bargaining. I loved you before you knew my Name, and I called you into my Country that you might know that better."
Galen listened with rapt attention as Aslan continued, sinking to the ground as the warmth of His presence enveloped him.
"To end the story in Death is to omit the most important part. You gave Me your life willingly; I now return it to you. You may come further up and further in," the Great Lion looked East, where a long stretch of grass reached for mountains on the far horizon, "or return to the mortal world until I call you back at the end of your days," He turned and looked West past the dizzying cliff and over the sea far below. "The choice is yours, knight of Narnia."
Lyra returned to the hilltop near Aslan's Table after eating enough to assuage Lieutenant Payne's immediate concerns. She paced there under the afternoon sky, weeping in silence as she read and re-read the letter Galen left her.
"Oh, Aslan," the grief-stricken princess finally sobbed, collapsing to her knees and burying her face in her hands, "Please restore him to me, I beg you," she prayed desperately as dusk fell. "Please have mercy."
At that moment, to the East of the world itself, her knight made his choice.
"Very well, dear son," Aslan spoke. Galen gazed into the Lion's golden eyes, his heart full to the point of bursting. In that moment he knew a peace that would never leave him.
Then, Aslan breathed upon him, and the tall cliffs vanished, blown away like a mist. The young knight blinked as the haze around him cleared, and he found himself near the top of a familiar hill, its long grasses swathed in purple twilight. If it could be called purple, for the color now before his eyes was grey compared to the living color of Aslan's Country. He gradually became aware that a young woman sat nearby weeping. The Narnian blinked as his eyes struggled to adjust, looking at the figure before him as though through a veil. She faced away from him, toward the East, strands of her golden hair catching in the breeze. As he breathed the mortal air again, the young knight recognized his lady with joy and pity.
"Lyra," Galen called to her, and she straightened as she heard the beloved voice speak her name. The princess turned slowly and stared up with wide eyes, frozen where she sat.
"Galen?" The words left her lips in a tremulous whisper, half hoping, half incredulous.
"I'm here, my love," he answered, hastening to her and drawing her up from where she sat mourning. "All is well."
"How can this be?" She breathed, stupefied and shaking with shock. She reached a trembling hand to touch his cheek, as though to assure herself he was no mere ghost or vision. But he felt warm and alive to her touch, and his lady embraced him tightly, weeping tears of joy from eyes that had spent their tears of sorrow. And her knight returned her embrace with equal relief, for the last time he held her in his arms she was on the brink of death.
Meanwhile, under the trees, one of the marines looked up and noticed that their sovereign was not alone at the top of the hill.
"Sir," the man called warily to his superior, "who's that with the princess?"
"What do you mean?" Captain Anderson hastened over, alarm in his voice. He stopped short when he saw a silhouetted figure holding Lyra tightly. "Aslan's mane!" The officer swore, drawing his sword and charging up the hill with several of his men at his heels.
"Unhand her!" Anderson bellowed as he reached them, pulling Lyra sharply away and placing himself between her and the would-be danger. "Stay behind me, my lady!" He ordered, brandishing his sword towards the intruder. Several of the princess's guard seized the Narnian from behind and held him firmly.
"It's alright, captain," Lyra interjected, laughing giddily, "let him go."
"My lady?" Anderson turned around in disbelief, more shocked than anything to hear her laughing. "What…," he trailed off as he saw the unrestrained joy in her expression. He turned back to the intruder and dropped his sword in surprise. "Sir Galen!" the captain gaped. The other marines released him and fell back, equally surprised.
"But how?" he stammered. "Has the Jewel returned? What happened?"
"A miracle, captain," Lyra answered, returning to her knight's arms and holding him as though she would never let him go. "A miracle."
"Aslan returned us both to the land of the living," Galen explained, tears still lingering in his eyes as he held his lady tightly. "And he asked no barter for them."
At last, the stolid marine officer smiled too, clapping the Narnian on the shoulder and joining the princess's infectious laughter.
"Welcome back, my friend," Anderson exclaimed, "this is joyous indeed. Please forgive our intrusion," he apologized, a twinkle in his eyes as he bowed. Nodding to his men, he withdrew them back to the trees, his smile lingering as he realized that he no longer bore the burden of guarding those who mourned.
After a moment, Galen pulled back and gazed at his lady's face, his heart full to overflowing. Her eyes were bright with joy instead of fever, and as he gently stroked her now-rosy cheek, happy tears gathered in his eyes anew. She gazed back at him with wonder.
"Your countenance is changed, my friend," she smiled. "What marvels have your eyes seen to bring such radiance to them?"
When he answered, the young knight's joy mirrored her own.
"I have seen God Himself—in God's own Land."
24 Yule 2076
As dawn broke on Christmas Eve, the Jewel of Archenland drew within sight of Ramandu's Island.
"Land ho!" the lookout cried from the fighting top.
"We should make harbor in a couple of hours, sir," Commander Barstowe informed his captain, who stood on the quarterdeck with his hands clasped behind his back.
"Very well," Torin acknowledged.
"Sir?" the first officer queried hesitantly. "What do you think we will find when we go ashore?"
"I wish I knew," the older officer answered somberly. "Part of me dares to hope that we will find the princess well. But the better part," he shook his head, "is convinced that we return only for another funeral."
Barstowe murmured an indistinct noise of resignation, then turned back to his duties.
Torin continued to pace the quarterdeck slowly as the ship settled into the island's wide bay. He raised his telescope to his eye automatically and absentmindedly scanned the shore. Suddenly, the Jewel's commander froze, then lowered the telescope slowly. It slipped from his hands and impacted the deck with a resounding thud. Barstowe started and looked up from the binnacle to see his commanding officer staring at the shore.
"Are you alright, sir?" The first officer stepped to his side and retrieved the telescope. The captain regained his composure and turned away from the rail.
"Would you please tell me what you see on shore, commander?" Torin's voice remained even and measured, but his hands clasped anxiously behind his back.
"Aye, sir," a perplexed Barstowe answered, obediently raising the telescope to his eye. A moment passed as he scrutinized the beach.
"Lion's Mane!" He cried suddenly. "Sir Galen is there! And the princess, too!"
"Aslan's mane, indeed!" Torin turned back and grasped the rail with nervous energy. "I needed to be sure it wasn't an old sailor's wishful imagination," he explained eagerly.
"But how?" Barstowe stammered. "The cutter couldn't have outrun us, not least without us seeing her, and he had no navigational data!"
"Returned from the end of the world," the captain breathed. "We'll find out soon enough." He turned to the deck. "Prepare the longboat as soon as we've anchored!" He bellowed to no one in particular but received a chorus of "ayes" in response.
In a little while, the longboat pulled onto shore, where Galen and Lyra waited contentedly. Torin leaped from the boat and hastened towards them with long strides. His first officer followed cautiously, and the sailors who manned the boat could not help but trail curiously behind. The seasoned Archen captain faltered a few paces away from the couple.
"How is this possible?" Torin stammered, gesturing towards them with joy and disbelief mingling in his face.
"With Aslan, all things are possible," Galen answered, beaming.
"And I am well glad of it!" The captain's countenance, too, broke into a smile. "Our parting weighed heavily on my heart, and finding you both restored is an answer to many prayers," he explained, his voice wavering.
Torin beheld them for a moment in silence, and his eyes moistened with tears.
"You really have seen His country, haven't you?" The captain took a step forward, his voice still tremulous. "I can see it in your eyes," he said, his voice soft with wonder. "Where once was death now there is life."
Amid the joyful, tearful laughter that followed, Torin embraced the Narnian tightly, for once unmindful of protocol.
"And you, my lady, I can see are well at last," he turned towards Lyra, who also dispensed with protocol to embrace the Jewel'sfaithful captain. "Praise Aslan that those terrible days are over!"
"Bring your men ashore, captain," Galen urged him enthusiastically in response, "for tonight we feast and tell the tales!"
The light of the setting sun filled the air around Aslan's Table with warmth, falling in dappled, golden pools on the courtyard's old stones. All the Jewel's sailors assembled there, hushed with the reverence that this solemn place naturally commanded. Aged Ramandu sat at the place of honor, to the right of the Table's head. His noble daughter stood behind his chair, clad all in her clear blue. Archenland's princess stood opposite them, her eyes sparkling with joy as she looked to her knight, whose long quest at last was ended.
Galen stood comfortably at the Table's head as the men assembled. He wore for the last time the tabard of his knightly order, whose centuries-long mission he had fulfilled, and smiled radiantly as he met his lady's eye. Taking a steadying breath, he lifted his gaze to the several hundred men he had led into the Utter East.
"Friends," the Narnian knight began, and the murmuring voices fell silent. "We gather here tonight at the end of our long journey East to celebrate a hard-won victory and the successful conclusion of our solemn mission."
Galen paused, his eyes gleaming with otherworldly peace.
"We come to share in fellowship at Aslan's Table, which our Lord ordained for all who journey here to the beginning of the end of the world to find Him." The young knight glanced down to the relic his order had guarded for a thousand years. "The Stone Knife remains as a witness to the sacrifice Aslan made on the Stone Table, and tonight we remember and honor that sacrifice."
Even the birds seemed hushed in reverence as the assembly absorbed the Narnian's words. Galen looked down and picked up a pitcher of wine from Aslan's Table. He filled his own goblet, then Ramandu's and his daughter's, then Lyra's. She passed it on to Captain Torin, and in turn, the pitcher passed to everyone assembled. To the marvel of all, it did not return empty to the Narnian knight's hand. When each man held a brimming cup, he continued.
"Tonight we remember our friends and comrades. We celebrate the journey, the adventure, and the miracle that both I and Princess Lyra stand among you tonight. We give thanks for the victory Aslan gave us. We remember Aslan's sacrifice; we remember His love; we celebrate His victory over Death. The Stone Table—the table of sacrifice—is broken; in its place stands Aslan's Table—the table of fellowship."
Galen raised his goblet high.
"So, my friends, raise a cup of remembrance with me—to the Lion's Redemption."
The assembly raised their cups solemnly as they reverently repeated the toast. After a poignant pause, Galen lowered his cup to his lips and drank, and all the men and women around him did as well. The Narnian placed his cup down deliberately, then lifted his eyes to the assembly and smiled.
"Let us celebrate, my friends! Come to Aslan's Table and eat."
The feast continued late into the night, with many stories told and songs sung. Like the pitcher of wine, the food did not run out until everyone was satisfied. But eventually the men returned to their ship for the sweet sleep that comes with victory. The Narnian, however, wandered to the familiar hill. Sleepless, but happily so, he gazed at the strange stars and pondered many things as the night slipped by. Gradually, the sky in the East began to lighten, and his lady found him still sitting among the tall grasses and staring dreamily towards the end of the world. The first birds began to sing in the forest behind them as she joined him.
"You miss it, don't you?" Lyra observed with a gentle smile. Unstartled, her knight responded with a contented smile of his own.
"I believe I will miss it for the rest of my life," he answered evenly. His voice did not carry remorse—only pleasant memory. Lyra nodded knowingly. The eastern sky turned rosy as they watched in comfortable silence.
"What will you do with this quest over, my friend?" The princess asked after a while. "I'm sure when he hears the tale, my father will grant you a place of honor in our court. But Archenland is not the land from which you set out," she spoke evenly, her voice free from any expectation. "Will you return home to Narnia?"
Her knight smiled broadly and chuckled at her question, but he did not immediately reply. Instead, Galen stood and offered his hand to help her up. Perplexed, she took it and stood. As the first golden rays of light from the rising sun glimmered over the sea and reached warmly towards them, the Narnian looked down at her with a puzzling mixture of joy, resolve, and mischief. She waited for him to answer, and the morning breeze fluttered her cloak and the blue velvet sleeves of her dress.
"Nay, my love," he answered at last, still smiling. "Narnia may be my heritage, and over the sea," he glanced to the East and the Dawn, "is the home of my soul." Galen returned his gaze to meet hers. The light of Aslan's Country still glimmered in his eyes, she thought.
He paused and, kneeling, took her hand in his own.
"Though I treasure these places, my heart's home is with you. I would build my life with thee, if the princess of Archenland will have a simple knight for her husband."
"I will with all my heart!" His lady laughed merrily as she drew him up and embraced him. "'Simple knight,' indeed," she scoffed, and he laughed with her in the light of Dawn.
"For the longest time," he spoke after a while, his voice thick with emotion, "I thought Aslan asked me to sacrifice everything I loved for the greater good. But now," his voice broke with unshed tears as he caressed Lyra's cheek, "now I find that He has restored it all, even fuller than it was before."
"Merry Christmas, Galen," she responded, smiling softly before she kissed him.
Authoress's Note: A brief word on the fate of Reepicheep: it is my belief that Aslan offered Reepicheep the same choice that He offered Galen, but Narnia's valiant Mouse desired to stay. But, as the saying goes, that is not part of our story.
After this comes one final chapter, as well as a brief epilogue and a teaser for the sequel I have in the works. Many thanks, again, to you all.