~Faith Shall Not Fail~

"Who shall be king after me when I am gone? A-Aslan, my son is missing, possibly dead! Who knows if he yet breathes? Who will take the throne after I am gone and rule as a good and true king over Narnia and Telmar, as these lands deserve?"

"Oh, Caspian, Narnia and Telmar shall never be alone. I will not forsake them, or you. Do not be of little faith, dear son; keep strong, for I will not let such bold and true hearts which follow after me fail in sorrow and dissent. Bring to me the great-sword Rhindon, with which the High King Peter did slay Maugrim the Wolf-Captain and many Fell creatures that could not live in my Light. I shall show you how you and yours will not be forgotten or lost."

~xoO)|(Oox~

The late fall wind gently caught the strands of the solitary man's white-grey hair in its fingers as it echoed a soft and lonely song. Dry leaves skittered hollowly across the flagstone path surrounding a great grey stone in the now-worn courtyard. Dark brown eyes which had seen many wars, both lost and won, gazed upon the golden hilt of the great-sword which reared up from the granite block.

The sky was a barren and empty white. Dark clouds moved wearily against the others, but they were not bringing any promise of rain; merely a grey to match the emptiness and mute sorrow in the old man's heart. The wind caught the edges of the long black cape he wore and fanned it out around him; it was pinned with a silver clasp to his left shoulder as he had preferred since his youth. The sleeves of his maroon shirt billowed out, reminding him of his many voyages upon the Eastern Ocean in decades past.

The crown he wore upon his brow felt suddenly heavy, and his head seemed to sink onto his shoulders tiredly as he gazed at the stone of granite, remembering the promise Aslan had given him when the Great Lion had placed it there. The promise which had also been inscribed upon the rock, so that none in the vast kingdom may forget that which Aslan had sworn to give them for their love and faith in Him.

"This sword which I put into the stone shall never be moved until he who is to be king after you comes to make it so. Do not falter in your faith of me, come war or jubilee, for such a vow will never come to pass if you forget Him who breathed it into life."

His throne would not be without an heir. The High King would not be disappointed in him for failing to provide for Narnia's future. When next he met that great ruler, he hoped Peter did not think him foolish for refusing to marry another if only for the sake of his country and not his heart. He worried and wondered, prayed and cursed, as his time in this land drew to a close and the call of Aslan's Country grew nigh.

Would anyone be heir to his throne? Many a young knight, baron, lord, lady, countess, or other noble –even the subjects male and female– had come to try their hand, paw, and claw at pulling the great-sword from the stone. But it could not be done. None had succeeded, and had instead moved on to vie for the throne in small battles fought in unremarkable places throughout Narnia and Telmar. They caused pain only to themselves because they were not holding hope in the promise of Aslan, but only lessening their faith in the Golden Lion to provide for them by quarreling.

"What have I done wrong that you would see fit to abandon me, Aslan? Have you left me because of how this land is sinking into betrayal, greed, and malice? I am no longer able of body enough to rule this wild and willful country; you know it takes one steady of hand and strong of heart to reside over such a vast people. Aslan, Aslan, why have you forsaken me?" He tilted his head to stare up into the grey sky, dark eyes filled with pain and confusion.

"My lord King, the Silver Swan is ready to sail with the tide." A young man with dark auburn hair grown long past his shoulders approached the king through a worn arch, around which vines –having shed their leaves for the coming fall– had wrapped, giving the place a forlorn appearance. The dark indigo tunic the knight wore seemed fitting, for the he was one of the Knights of the Table, and in the old days the colors of this order had been indigo and grey, though this was all but unknown to many scholars of the day.

"Yes. . . It is time, isn't it?" the old King whispered, his voice sounding very much unlike the young prince he was remembering being in days forgotten.

"Come, Sire, for the time draws nigh." The knight held out a guiding hand, nodding his head, the hilt of his sword a spark of bright gold midst all the grey and shadows of the ancient courtyard, which was as aged as the King himself, many said. In response, the King grasped the young fingers in his old, leaning wearily upon the strong shoulder of Sir Cae.

"You have not ever attempted to draw the great-sword with your own hand, have you?" the King wondered softly, not glancing at the knight but gazing ahead, lost in thought of where he was to sail.

"No, my lord, I have not dared do such a thing in all my life," Sir Cae answered, looking back over his shoulder at the stone and the sword as they turned into a hall which would lead them to the docks.

"Perhaps that is well," the King murmured. "I am glad that you have not forsaken my rule in favor of seeking out a possible heir to my throne. It is some small comfort to know I leave my kingdom in a few sensible young hands." The knight only nodded, feeling that words would be too much in answer.

They walked in silence down many halls and shallow stairs, until they came to the corridor before the royal docks; at the end of the corridor they could barely discern the congregation of mournful nobles and subjects who were standing gathered together, aggrieved to see their king depart from them, even if his time had come to return over the ocean to Aslan's Country.

The King stopped, causing Sir Cae to peer over at him in question with grey-blue eyes. He found the man looking back, his dark eyes holding something wise and warning.

"It is well, young knight, that you have not forsaken your order. Do not abandon your faith, either, as so may have done. For the Great Aslan promised that our faith only would keep the promise valid. So many have abandoned their faith; so many have forsaken their hope. It is small wonder the Great Lion has left us. Remember, Sir Cae, to keep the faith."

With those final words, the old monarch stepped out into the light and walked down to his subjects who were bidding him tearful goodbyes. Several men with grey hair and white beards, nearly as ancient as the King himself, stepped up to him and clasped his hands and arms, speaking soft words of farewell though their eyes remained bright with unshed tears. They had been beside their king through many things, and it ached their hearts that they could not go with him on this last adventure.

Several knights of the Table, part of Sir Cae's order, were present and came before their liege lord and beloved monarch, bowing their heads and keeping tense hands upon their hilts, for they were saddened deeply to see their king and head of their order depart. Sir Gwayn came forward and unashamedly embraced him, tears falling down his cheeks. The old man had fought with the king in the Northlands, where he had saved the old knight from death.

While Sir Cae watched, he became aware of two young people, a maid and a youth, approaching his king cautiously, as if slightly afraid but curious to see who he was and what was going on. The knight did not move to go question them, for this was a grievous day, and he did not begrudge them a final look of King Caspian, tenth of that name. No, it was well they were curious to look upon his ancient face, for he was a man to be admired among many. He had fought for the Narnians though he owed them nothing, and he had restored the Narnia known of Old with the help of the Kings and Queens of the Golden Age; those great lords and ladies whom he had summoned by calling upon a magical horn; it was so written in the history books, therefore it must be truth.

Then, the King gently separated himself from his loyal knights and began a lonely walk up the gangway, toward his old friend and captain Lord Drinian, standing with a few of the Narnians and Telmarines still living who had accompanied King Caspian on his journey into the unknown Eastern Ocean. The white-haired man turned, leaning against the rail for support, to gaze down upon his beloved subjects.

A wail rose from those gathered, but when he lifted a frail and weathered hand, it was quickly silenced so each one might hear what their king's final words were to be.

"Beloved, I am old; ancient of days and granted a long and full life. Though the path ahead is unsure, I am not anxious for you. Aslan shall be with you even as I was with you. Until the promise is fulfilled, I know I leave you in capable hands, paws, and claws. They shall perhaps rule over you better than I– a man well past threescore and ten years."

"No, no, no, 'tis not true! They cannot rule so well as thou, and neither wilt any heir rule so wisely as thee hast done!" the cry rose up, running over the king's words.

Again, he raised his hand, and again fell a quiet over the congregation. "Yes, Yes." His voice seemed somewhat stronger, and grew clearer as he spoke. "Yes, it is time for me to go. Remember me sometimes, my people –my children– for I have loved you well. I am going a long way, now, and I do not think I shall return hither anymore.

"Do not forget me, I pray, too fast. Aslan keep thee always between His great and gentle paws!" And with that, he disappeared from sight onto the ship.

The knight's heart grew heavy, and he forced himself to turn away as the great vessel began slowly gliding out of the royal harbor and into the east. He would nevermore see his beloved king, and it grieved him.

He walked down the halls and made his way eventually to the chambers and passages for the knights of the Table's order. It was here they lived with their families or simply alone, keeping one another company. Sir Cae, shut up in his rooms to mourn, did not hear word of the two young people who claimed they had been sent by the Great Lion to find and rescue King Caspian's son, the Crown Prince Rilian; Knight of the Lion's Mane order, Lord of Cair Paravel, Regent of the Lone Islands, and Protector of Telmar– at least, such would be his titles had he not vanished so many years before.

~xoO)|(Oox~

The five knights stood on the outer wall above the closed gates of Cair Paravel, staring out over the lands of Narnia bathed in moonlight. A year it had been since their king had departed them for lands beyond the sun. A year had it been since the strange youth and maid had come declaring they had been sent by Aslan to recover the lost Prince of Narnia and Telmar. Many in the castle spoke of that strange happening, now talking of the two strangers as if they had been some unstable fools, probably out to give false hopes. Sir Tor, a large black Falcon, perched on the wall, his keen eyes focused upon the dark and quiet landscape.

"I sometimes wonder if perhaps all have gone mad with the desire to lay claim to the joint thrones of Telmar and Narnia," Sir Elyan the White, a large white-coated Wolf, declared.

"The whole world has become crazed. Everyone and no one wish to rule over Narnia and Telmar," Sir Cae replied dully, his mind still dwelling on the sword in the stone, which he had recently come off-duty of guarding.

"We cannot allow our hope to wane, my friends. If we have no hope in the Great Lion, then we have naught faith. We must hold fast our faith!" Sir Caradoc, a dappled Stallion, answered with a horsey grunt.

These words struck Sir Cae deeply, bringing to mind what the King had told him before setting sail. Were they losing faith by scoffing at the children brave enough to follow clues to the lost Prince instead of trying to bring just anyone to the sword in the stone? Were they failing as knights of the Table in upholding their oath to serve the King and Aslan? Had they fallen short somewhere and were now being punished because of it?

Had he failed in the king's final command? Such deep thoughts moved within the young knight's breast, and he was troubled.

"It is a calm night," commented Sir Brastius, a chestnut Centaur, as he came over from a different section of the wall which he guarded, gazing down at the snow-covered landscape.

"Yes. Dark, still and silent as the Lion. I wonder if we have grieved Him by what we have done," Sir Tor wondered sadly, head bowing.

"What have we done, my friend? We have not tried to seek out people for the throne; we have not cursed Aslan or our departed king. We have striven ever-and-always to heed the oaths to which we have sworn. Have any of us broken them? I do not think so! There are many throughout this vast land that are still faithful to Aslan and fear His great name!" Sir Caradoc declared with a passion, tossing his noble head and stamping his shod hooves until they rang against the marble beneath him.

"Ah, my night companions! See there, what is this light my eyes think to deceive me into seeing?" Sir Tor cried after a long and thoughtful silence had descended over the small group of knights.

The Narnians hurried to the wall and gazed out over the land. There. They could see it also. A light –small and weak in the darkness– could be discerned. They glanced at one another, puzzled. Who or what could this be? It would be long, perhaps just as morning set in, before the traveler would arrive at the gates of the castle by the sea. What news would they bring?

All the uneasy knights could do now was await the dawn, and whatever lay in the west that was steadily growing nearer.

~xoO)|(Oox~

He stared out nervously at the castle rising up beside the glinting and sparkling ocean. What was he doing, going on alone without his guides? Perhaps things had changed in the years he had been cursed and enchanted? Perhaps everything was not as he remembered? It had been two score and ten since last he had seen his beloved home, but though so many years had passed, and so many of his friends had aged, the enchantments placed upon him had kept him young.

~0O0~

He inquired of the youth and maiden –Eustace and Jill– how much time had passed above, but they were unable to tell him, offering in the darkness a manner of apology because they had not been long enough in Narnia to learn the date of His Majesty's disappearance to now. But when he asked of the Marshwiggle, Puddleglum, the Narnian remained silent to the question. and instead answered him thusly:

"Sire, no news to ever be heard has ever been told to be good news."

That quieted him, and he asked no more, besides occasionally how the World Above seemed, and if all was moderately well in it. Eustace told him it seemed well enough, and Rilian did press his question further, realizing in the dark that the youth was uncomfortable with his lack of knowledge of Narnia being revealed in the maid's presence.

When they had been rescued, and they saw it was winter, he was surprised. He put the question to Eustace, asking anxiously if it might be another Eternal Winter. The boy answered quickly that it couldn't be, since everyone was so merry. That eased his fears, and he was separated from his tired companions to talk with several older Narnians beside the fire, who recognized him from years past.

As he sat fireside, talking amiably enough with a grey-haired Faun, Puddleglum approached and sat down to his left. "What you asked in the tunnel was no light matter, and it's far glummer than I had wished to speak before the two young Other-Worlders," the Marshwiggle informed him slowly.

"What are you saying? Has Narnia fallen?" he asked anxiously, leaning closer to the Marshwiggle.

The Narnian looked away in answer, huffing out a slow breath as he gathered the grim thoughts that he and his kind were uncommonly used to bearing and professing. "No, Your Highness. But, seeing you unchanged, as you were the day you departed, I. . ."

Rilian waited, fear in his eyes, wondering what was going to be told him, though he said nothing.

"Everyone around you has aged, but you have not, Prince Rilian. Your father, the King. . . Your father is old, and he has gone across the Ocean on his final adventure almost a year past," Puddleglum replied haltingly, almost unable to watch his future king's face change from withheld unease to open grief.

The Prince dropped his head into his hands, and his shoulders shook with his silent weeping. He was young of spirit and mind, while everyone he had ever known was old and grey. Puddleglum watched silent, having nothing to say besides far more gloomier things, as the Prince wept for everything he had lost.

~0O0~

Prince Rilian swallowed, reaching up and grasping the fabric of his hooded cloak, which had been given to him by a Faun. The bitterly cold winter wind pulled at him, and he now wondered why he had asked to ride on ahead alone. But, beneath him, Coalblack pranced, tossing his fine dark head. Throwing his fears to the ragged winter wind, Rilian spurred the stallion onward. He would return home, and nothing would bar him from it again.

.

.

"So you, by the help of your God, return;
hold fast to love and justice,
and wait continually for your God." ~ Hosea 12:6