Disclaimer: I don't own anything in Narnia

Summary:

In the end though, it's not about worth. Not about titles and kingdoms and knights in shining armor who are transparent in their bravery and goodness. And Eustace, who has no title and never will, is worthy.

Note: I'm on a roll today! I've been getting into this kind of style lately. It's different from my "story" voice, which is a lot more humorous and action packed. I don't know if this voice suits me to be honest, but had a lot of fun trying it out. Please review and tell me? Because I've been focusing on oneshots lately and all of them have this certain feel to them too for some reason. Please comment!

Titleless king

Eustace did not have a title.

He was not there when Lucy led her siblings down the rabbit hole with childish eagerness that'll one day temper down to wisdom and warm wonderment that she wraps around her siblings like a blanket. He was not there when Edmund, jealous and craving to prove himself, turns into the most loyal of them all, justice his name because he knows the hearts of dark men. He was not there when Susan learned to draw her bow, powerful yet merciful to both her enemies and allies. He was not there when Peter, oldest of them all, led armies in Narnia's time of need with steady hands and head.

No, Eustace grew up spoiled and full of spite, sneering and always looking down. He scoffed at Lucy's enthusiastic stories and Edmund's knowing, silent judgement. He thought of them as his strange cousins whose association with him will only drag him down.

Years later, he will look back at this moment and feel shame twist his reformed heart. Because it's oh so laughably the other way around. Sometimes, as he listens with a certain fondness from Lucy over the phone how she's doing, he would wonder why she was bringing herself down to his level. This valiant queen whose kindness was undeserved in this grey, war-torn world where only humans are to blame for its damage.

He didn't ask, was afraid to. Edmund, ever blunt and an agent of truth, told him while on the green field at the summer house. Lucy was ahead of them and surrounded by flowers, brushing by them with delicate, reverent hands.

"You're forgiven," Edmund says, something in his tone full of understanding, as if he's been in Eustace's shoes. "But only if you keep your promise to change."

He underwent different changes and knows which Edmund was speaking of. He still remembers and probably will always remember the feeling of scales on his body, glinting golden in the sunlight. He got into the habit of rubbing his arms, expecting to feel bumpy armor-like skin that traps the boy inside.

But he nods his head and Edmund studies him before clapping him on the back with a slight smile. It was an act of camaraderie that made him feel accepted and he felt himself warm from it.

{A}

They separated after summer ended. He went back to boarding school and the whole experience was so surreal. He felt so utterly alone in the crowded classrooms with teachers who teach because it's their jobs, not their calling. He learned so much more from the fierce mouse Reepicheep, the first to impart and extend compassion to him.

He still tries anyway. He breaks away from the cruelty of boys his age and instead searches for people who needs help just as much as him. It's not in his nature to be generous like Lucy or righteous like Edmund, but he tries anyway.

That's the important thing, isn't it? Trying, again and again until you get it right.

He hollers at bullies in the hallways, knowing where to look for such incidences because he had been a bully himself. He buys school supplies for younger classmen because looking at the stack of silver coins and bills sent from his parents for 'pocket change' turns his stomach and he wants to get rid of it.

He joins the debate team, his quick acid tongue for once useful in putting down egotistical children who mirror his past self's superiority. But instead of leaving them to sour over their losses, he later lectures to those willing to listen, forcing them to think before they act. Make them realize that words are weapons that can irreparably cripple people, and should never be used lightly.

Magic may not exist in the real world, but there are always consequences for being too-bigheaded and greedy. Turning into avaricious, monstrous dragons isn't always an outward transformation.

Bit by bit, people look to him in startlement, as if they couldn't believe what they saw. He's ferociously glad. He didn't want to be anything like he was before.

Without meaning to, he starts to build a reputation.

"Honest Eustace." They whisper behind his back. "The one who can't keep his mouth shut when he sees something he doesn't like."

And, well, he didn't know what to make of it at first. Because even before Narnia, he had always spouted out his opinions to unwanted listeners. There had been no one to tell him to shut up because everyone else had been just as bigoted as him. Agreeing with the mass in a loud voice, distaste for those he deems unworthy.

But the Dawn Treader's crew hadn't accepted that. They saw him as a hindrance, a burden, and he cowered from their threats and disgust for him. Facing down impossible beings and the terrible fear of remaining in a beast-like form erased any such trepidation for the world he came back to.

He had been humbled, and his once harsh retorts have shifted from malevolence to a shield for those who can't protect themselves.

So he refused to stay silent. He mimics his cousins' courage in hopes he could be brave himself, and doesn't back down. He speaks up for those who are wronged, crushes malice before it grows, and still thinks himself to be unworthy.

{A}

Next summer, he meets Susan and Peter. Both look far too old, brittle but strong with backs straight and more resilient than the oldest of trees.

He ends up admiring Peter, who doesn't seem to realize the effect he has on those younger than him. He has a solid presence and steely yet wistful eyes when they tell him of their adventure in Narnia. Susan was much the same, eyes misty and hands twitchy as if remembering the weight of her favored weapon.

Eustace, one night, snuck into Peter's room and quietly asked if he missed Narnia, his used-to-be kingdom from far, far away.

Peter doesn't smile, doesn't give platitudes. He instead ponders over his enquiry, as if seriously considering it, and replies yes solemnly and sorrowfully. He looks lost, a king without a kingdom, and Eustace's admiration grew even more.

What was it like, he thought to himself while staring at this ancient legend. What was it like to be on top of the world with a crown on your head just to lose it all? He thinks of Lucy, who wants to be a writer so that the tales of their adventures are preserved, even when memories fail. Susan, who's studying to be a nurse because bows are no longer used in war. Edmund, ambitiously driven to be a history teacher because the past always has lessons the future can learn from.

He was tremendously relieved all of a sudden that he went to Narnia when he did, not before or after. He was convinced that if he had been in any of the Pevensie siblings' place, he would've ended up destroying himself. He isn't as strong as Susan or steadfast as Peter, nor was he full of hope like Lucy or intelligent as Edmund. He would've gone mad, because though he has no greed for gold or jewels anymore, he's greedy in his want to be better than whom he was before. He craves to prove himself worthy, not just to others but to himself.

Eustace tells Peter with some embarrassment what his classmates call him. A genuine smile grace Peter's face at it, though there's a hint of bitterness in it.

"Suits you." The older boy said, contemplative. "Better than 'magnificent' anyway."

Eustace didn't understand. He didn't ask.

{A}

When the school year came again, he encounters Jill Pole, a previous victim of his earlier bullying days. She shrunk away from him at first, tears running down her face, causing rage to boil in his veins for whoever did this.

He confronted the bullies and defended her, earning rumors and snide looks. Apparently, there's a difference between ruthlessly tearing down egotism to teach boys a lesson, and rescuing a girl who everyone scorns at. His former friends targeted him next and he lets them. He's willing to be the martyr, the one to take the hits. He won't break.

The resolve only solidifies from the wariness Pole directs at him, sending a pang of guilt that vibrates his very being. He swears to himself then and there that he would protect this tentatively trusting girl, this little daisy that could be trampled so easily by unkind spite.

He should've known better than to think that.

Because Lucy and Susan had been queens, women of power. And neither were helpless in the face of danger, marching on over the corpses of war and the aching of the past.

Pole is much the same. And she proved it when Eustace tumbled into Narnia for another adventure and she came along for the ride.

Very quickly, she grew out of her meekness and turned brave instead. He couldn't help but see the parallels and differences. He who had been pompous and arrogant became humbled by the lessons he learned from this magical realm that made him feel oh so very small and insignificant in comparison. But Pole, a victim in every sense from bullies to society who put her down and tell her she's not enough, transforms not into a fire breathing monster, but a person who realizes her worth and willing to fight for it.

After they came back, he made sure to carefully arrange delphiniums in the crowd of yellow roses, irises, and daisies in his bouquet. He knew it didn't match and probably looked ugly from the off-coloring, but he was sure she wouldn't care. In many ways, she's just as honest as him. And there are many ways to give gratitude to someone without saying a word.

The knowing smile Pole-Jill shot his way along with the tight hug made him splutter in protest but not back away. Grudgingly, he hugged her back, red-faced, and was teased mercilessly for it. It was a small price he gladly paid to see her smile, confident and radiant like anyone touched by Narnia would be.

Again, he wondered if he was worthy.

{A}

In the end though, it's not about worth. Not about titles and kingdoms and knights in shining armor who are transparent in their bravery and goodness.

It's about Jill's quiet confidence, Edmund's righteousness, Lucy's sense of hope, Peter's reliable strength, and a reformed, always honest Eustace who will always question his worth until the day they all gets hit by a speeding train that'll leave Susan alone to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart and carry on.

The world will keep spinning despite the loss of these extraordinary kings and queens who hold no titles in this kindless world where people are slowly destroying themselves. And at the end of the second World War, there will be many young soldiers who will have bloodied hands, questioning their worth just like the former child bully who visibly saw the fruits of his labors with golden scales and self-loathing wriggling in his heart.

It's the aftermath that counts most though. What choices one takes after the mistakes have been made and can't be taken back. Stay still and continue as they are, or do something to repent for their previous actions?

Titles have no worth. It's the people that do.

And Eustace, who has no title and never will, is worthy.

Please review on the way out.