Last Man Out

What happened when the last Telmarine went through the Door? Missing moment from PC; one-shot.

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A/N: one of the problems with chaptered fics: they tend to sprout one-shots!

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First High King Peter, then Queen Susan, then King Edmund, then Queen Lucy and then the first in a long, long line of Telmarines. They marched in file, each with a hand on the shoulder of the person in front, each with their eyes fixed firmly on the back of the person in front. King Caspian stood beside Aslan and watched them go. There were … so many of them. Mostly men, some women. Here and there, Caspian recognised them. Palace guards he had seen every day of his childhood; some of the senior officers who had used to dine at the high table with his uncle. A large section of once gaily clad, now rather bedraggled ladies approached as the line moved ever forwards, and his fat and foolish aunt, clutching her infant son who had triggered all of this, went past and through the Door amidst her fat and foolish ladies-in-waiting. Even more than the soldiers, they did not look at the Lion or the King.

More, and more, and more. There were almost no children: most of the Telmarines with families seemed to be staying, probably because their children were delighted to find the old tales about Talking Beasts were, after all, true. But that meant that these were, mainly, the soldiers of Miraz's army; and with each one who went past, Caspian felt another drop fall into his sea of utter, grateful relief. His army, that little loyal, stubborn, raggle-taggle band, could never have beaten this mass of hardened veterans alone. He had feared it the day Miraz's army had caught up with them at Aslan's Howe; now he knew it. And it was all he could do to go on standing here and watching them leave, and not sit down and verily weep with relief. Aslan had saved them – and in some unknowable way, Caspian knew the Great Lion standing beside him knew of his gratitude.

The line wound on, and on. Then, finally, the crowd which had filled the far end of the glade seemed to thin suddenly, and coil itself up, and the last Telmarines in Narnia became a long line, and then not so long a line, and then a really rather short line, with an end in sight. The man at the end was really quite a sight. He must have been a foot soldier, but he had lost his helmet and his leather jerkin was badly torn, and he sported the most amazing pair of black eyes. Perhaps it was these which gave the impression he was looking about as he marched forwards, squinting from side to side rather than staring fixedly ahead like all the others. Perhaps it was, but as he neared the Door, the last man's steps slowed, and dragged. At the very threshold, his right hand still outstretched to rest on the now invisible shoulder of the man ahead, he stopped.

The swollen black-and-purple eyes peered up at Aslan. "Sir," their owner said gruffly. "There've been a lot of us through this 'ere Door, and it don't seem like too many of us 'ave stopped to say a thank you."

Thank you? Caspian caught his breath. A similar ripple of surprise ran through the rest of the Old Narnians. Only Aslan seemed unmoved. His voice was grave. "And would you rectify that situation, Man of Telmar?"

"It's not many as 'ud give their enemies a free pass and a new 'ome, when they'd defeated them," said the man earnestly. "It's not a thing our old king was in the 'abit of doing." His gaze shifted to Caspian. "So I'm thanking you too, your majesty."

It was such an unexpected comment Caspian was lost for what to say, and further confused by what sounded like an – impossible, surely – wistful note in the man's tone. Yet maybe it was not his imagination, for Aslan seemed to have heard it too. "Would you not rather stay, Son of Adam?"

At that, the man's mouth dropped open. "Stay?" he echoed. "I thought – I thought we 'ad to go...?"

"Narnia will henceforth belong to the Beasts as much as the Men, under the rule of the King," said Aslan. "But any who wish to stay, are welcome."

There was a great hush in the glade, as if all Old Narnia held its breath. In the silence, the man looked round, slightly warily as he looked at the Beasts, rather more warily when he looked at the Trees. Then, with another strangely wistful glance, he turned back to Aslan. "Begging your pardon, sir, but – you made that there Door. Do you – do you ever go to that other place? Where all the others 'ave gone?"

"If you seek Me in that other place, you will find Me," Aslan replied gravely, and standing beside Him, Caspian could feel as much as hear a warmth in that deep voice.

The man before them sighed with visible relief. "Then – then thank you, sir. If you're in the other place, I think I'd better go too. I gave my word I would, you see, sir; and I'd better keep that, 'adn't I?"

If Aslan spoke, it was heard only by the man to whom He spoke, for at that moment Reepicheep, further along the line of Narnians, swept off his gaily feathered cap as he had for the High King and cried out: "Three cheers for the Man of Telmar!"

And Narnia cheered – not for a vanquished enemy departing, but for one, who in some strange and sudden way, was a friend departing for a far land. They cheered, and the man looked round from staring into Aslan's face, with the same slightly puzzled and remembering expression of the first man through the Door. For one moment he looked at them, and then he raised his hand in salute to Caspian and Aslan, and stepped through the Door. He was there – and then he was not there. There was only the empty doorway, and then that too was gone, and there was nothing in the centre of the glade except a wide, shallow hollow in the grass, like a dried-up pool.

As Aslan had said, that Door between the worlds was shut. But it had undoubtedly been there. For the bottom of the hollow was filled with soft white sand, faintly salty as if it came from a tropical beach, mingled with the gritty, grey gravel so common on English railway stations.

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