A New Dynasty
Okay, the geography and timelines have gone Narnian on me and make no sense. From the Stone Table to Beruna was a good afternoon's march in LWW, but in PC when Peter fought Miraz sort-of-near to the How and the Trees showed up, then the Telmarines took off running to Beruna as the most obvious place. I don't understand. I've done my best with the timeline, apologies if I've added or dropped days.
Other than that, this is all starbrowsings's fault and I apologize to her if it's not how she envisioned it.
Prunaprismia stood by the castle window and looked south in the long afternoon light. Six days since the King had last sent word. According to his last message, he had severely wounded the rebel army, had the survivors penned like rats in their holes, and intended to mop up the rest of this rebellion next morn and be home by nightfall. "Then," the dispatch ran, "I shall crown my son Prince of Telmar before all Narnia and declare a national holiday to celebrate the birth of the Dynasty of Miraz."
She had watched that dawn, as she did now, listening to the noise of the battle on the wind, her infant son in her arms. Soon all would be well. But it was not. Three hours after sunrise, the noise of a horn sounded across the land. It was so loud it might have been blown under her window. It was wide, unstoppable, terrible as the sea. It rattled her teeth in her head, and young Bozeth, only a fortnight old, woke and cried; but she could not move to quiet him until the terrible thundering peal died.
Her husband did not return that night, nor the next, though she strained her eyes to see him and ground her teeth at the thought of her ungrateful nephew's tricks. Yet even the sound of that hell-horn had not been so terrible as the earsplitting roar that came at dawn five days later and shook the very ground. It began too low to be heard and throbbed against her skull until she woke and reached for her son, running down the hall to look from the southern window before she was fully awake. It was louder there and vibrated in her chest until she slammed the shutters, but they flew open and cracked against the wall. Her very bones crackled with the reverberating terror and the stones of the castle quivered under her feet and she did not hear Bozeth screaming, for the hellish sound went on and on and rang endlessly in her ears.
Someone screamed, high and shrill. She did not recognize her own voice until her ladies carried her back to her bed and helped her arrange Bozeth at her breast. She slept all day, only to awake with terror still clawing at her heart and the southern window pulling her inexorably back. Now she stood and look south. While she slept, the fringes of trees that obscured her vision had thickened and the long fingers of the westering sun shone on a forest thicker, darker, and more malevolent than even the haunted Black Woods, centuries-old terror of children's tales.
"Your Highness," came the voice of one of her ladies and Prunaprismia pulled her gaze from the sinister trees overrunning the land. "This boy brings news of the fighting."
It was the half-grown son of Lord Glozelle. His face and clothes were smeared with blood and hair and mud and his voice cracked as he knelt before her. "The traitors have slain His Majesty, King Miraz of Telmar and Narnia, and taken his army captive. They proclaim Caspian the Tenth to be King of Narnia and celebrate the birth of a new land. Long live Bozeth, true king of the Telmarines!"
The newborn King fell from his mother's arms as she pitched forward in a dead faint.
Bozeth's name comes from Mephibosheth, grandson of Saul in 2 Samuel, whose nurse dropped him the day Saul and Jonathon were killed. He was crippled in both feet for the rest of his life.
Other than that, this is all starbrowsings's fault and I apologize to her if it's not how she envisioned it.
Prunaprismia stood by the castle window and looked south in the long afternoon light. Six days since the King had last sent word. According to his last message, he had severely wounded the rebel army, had the survivors penned like rats in their holes, and intended to mop up the rest of this rebellion next morn and be home by nightfall. "Then," the dispatch ran, "I shall crown my son Prince of Telmar before all Narnia and declare a national holiday to celebrate the birth of the Dynasty of Miraz."
She had watched that dawn, as she did now, listening to the noise of the battle on the wind, her infant son in her arms. Soon all would be well. But it was not. Three hours after sunrise, the noise of a horn sounded across the land. It was so loud it might have been blown under her window. It was wide, unstoppable, terrible as the sea. It rattled her teeth in her head, and young Bozeth, only a fortnight old, woke and cried; but she could not move to quiet him until the terrible thundering peal died.
Her husband did not return that night, nor the next, though she strained her eyes to see him and ground her teeth at the thought of her ungrateful nephew's tricks. Yet even the sound of that hell-horn had not been so terrible as the earsplitting roar that came at dawn five days later and shook the very ground. It began too low to be heard and throbbed against her skull until she woke and reached for her son, running down the hall to look from the southern window before she was fully awake. It was louder there and vibrated in her chest until she slammed the shutters, but they flew open and cracked against the wall. Her very bones crackled with the reverberating terror and the stones of the castle quivered under her feet and she did not hear Bozeth screaming, for the hellish sound went on and on and rang endlessly in her ears.
Someone screamed, high and shrill. She did not recognize her own voice until her ladies carried her back to her bed and helped her arrange Bozeth at her breast. She slept all day, only to awake with terror still clawing at her heart and the southern window pulling her inexorably back. Now she stood and look south. While she slept, the fringes of trees that obscured her vision had thickened and the long fingers of the westering sun shone on a forest thicker, darker, and more malevolent than even the haunted Black Woods, centuries-old terror of children's tales.
"Your Highness," came the voice of one of her ladies and Prunaprismia pulled her gaze from the sinister trees overrunning the land. "This boy brings news of the fighting."
It was the half-grown son of Lord Glozelle. His face and clothes were smeared with blood and hair and mud and his voice cracked as he knelt before her. "The traitors have slain His Majesty, King Miraz of Telmar and Narnia, and taken his army captive. They proclaim Caspian the Tenth to be King of Narnia and celebrate the birth of a new land. Long live Bozeth, true king of the Telmarines!"
The newborn King fell from his mother's arms as she pitched forward in a dead faint.
Bozeth's name comes from Mephibosheth, grandson of Saul in 2 Samuel, whose nurse dropped him the day Saul and Jonathon were killed. He was crippled in both feet for the rest of his life.