(no subject)
Now that his new house was nearly completed--or at least it would be by the end of June--Caspian felt it was time to get the Dawn Treader properly out of the dock and explore as he had been itching to do for months. Every time he almost got round to it, something would happen to prevent it, but this time Caspian was determined to get it done. He thought the end of June would give plenty of time to get the crew assembled and readied and yet leave ample time to return before the wedding.
It was for this reason that he went to the compound with a note for the bulletin board. Upon it were the times and dates at which he would be at the dock to speak with potential crew-members, as well as the tentative dates for the expedition. He affixed it securely to the bulletin board amongst the other notices.
As he had no further business in the compound, he left it, but before he had gone more than a few yards away, a flash of gold from the side of the path caught his eye. On closer inspection it proved to be a sword. Not just any sword, as Caspian immediately realised, but a Telmarine sword; and not just any Telmarine sword, but his uncle Miraz's sword. The golden basket hilt gleamed dully in the island sun, the Telmarine scrollwork on the crossguard and grip unmistakable.
Caspian had put as much distance between himself and the memory of his uncle Miraz as possible over the last years, but they all came back to him now, looking at his uncle's sword. When they had raided Miraz's castle, Caspian had confronted him. Did you kill my father? he had asked, with the point of his sword at his uncle's throat. You told me your brother died in his sleep, his aunt had said to Miraz. It was true, in a manner of speaking, Miraz had replied, his smile thin above his pointed beard. The first time you show some backbone, he had added, and it's such a waste.
Caspian was nothing like his uncle, and nothing like the kings who had come before him. You have the chance to become the most noble contradiction in history, Doctor Cornelius had said. The Telmarine who saved Narnia. He wondered sometimes what his father would think of him, what his grandfather would think. Had they been as bloodthirsty as Miraz, intent on eradicating every trace of the native Narnians? They must have been, to have wiped all traces of them from Narnia. He wondered, too, what his son was like, his son Rilian whom it seemed he would never get to know. That book had given him some insight, as well as his talks with Eustace, but he still didn't know if his son's heart was more Narnian than Telmarine. He hoped it was.
As Caspian grasped the sword, he remembered the last time he'd held it. The High King Peter had defeated Miraz in single combat, giving Caspian Miraz's sword to deliver the final blow. Caspian had looked into his uncle's eyes and wondered how such a lust for power could corrupt a man to kill his own brother, to order his nephew murdered in his sleep. To his credit Miraz had not flinched as Caspian prepared to strike, only said that perhaps Caspian would make a Telmarine king after all.
But Caspian wasn't Telmarine in his heart. He was Narnian. And he did not take his uncle's head, as would have been his due under Telmarine law, but instead struck the blade in the ground. Keep your life, he had said in disgust. But I am giving the Narnians back their kingdom.
To this day Caspian still wasn't sure he'd made the right choice. If he had killed his uncle then, Lord Sopespian could not have done it later with Susan's arrow and roused the troops with a cry of treachery. Perhaps that entire battle could have been avoided and fewer Narnians died.
"But I'm not like you, uncle," Caspian whispered, turning the blade this way and that as he spoke. "I am a Narnian."
It was for this reason that he went to the compound with a note for the bulletin board. Upon it were the times and dates at which he would be at the dock to speak with potential crew-members, as well as the tentative dates for the expedition. He affixed it securely to the bulletin board amongst the other notices.
As he had no further business in the compound, he left it, but before he had gone more than a few yards away, a flash of gold from the side of the path caught his eye. On closer inspection it proved to be a sword. Not just any sword, as Caspian immediately realised, but a Telmarine sword; and not just any Telmarine sword, but his uncle Miraz's sword. The golden basket hilt gleamed dully in the island sun, the Telmarine scrollwork on the crossguard and grip unmistakable.
Caspian had put as much distance between himself and the memory of his uncle Miraz as possible over the last years, but they all came back to him now, looking at his uncle's sword. When they had raided Miraz's castle, Caspian had confronted him. Did you kill my father? he had asked, with the point of his sword at his uncle's throat. You told me your brother died in his sleep, his aunt had said to Miraz. It was true, in a manner of speaking, Miraz had replied, his smile thin above his pointed beard. The first time you show some backbone, he had added, and it's such a waste.
Caspian was nothing like his uncle, and nothing like the kings who had come before him. You have the chance to become the most noble contradiction in history, Doctor Cornelius had said. The Telmarine who saved Narnia. He wondered sometimes what his father would think of him, what his grandfather would think. Had they been as bloodthirsty as Miraz, intent on eradicating every trace of the native Narnians? They must have been, to have wiped all traces of them from Narnia. He wondered, too, what his son was like, his son Rilian whom it seemed he would never get to know. That book had given him some insight, as well as his talks with Eustace, but he still didn't know if his son's heart was more Narnian than Telmarine. He hoped it was.
As Caspian grasped the sword, he remembered the last time he'd held it. The High King Peter had defeated Miraz in single combat, giving Caspian Miraz's sword to deliver the final blow. Caspian had looked into his uncle's eyes and wondered how such a lust for power could corrupt a man to kill his own brother, to order his nephew murdered in his sleep. To his credit Miraz had not flinched as Caspian prepared to strike, only said that perhaps Caspian would make a Telmarine king after all.
But Caspian wasn't Telmarine in his heart. He was Narnian. And he did not take his uncle's head, as would have been his due under Telmarine law, but instead struck the blade in the ground. Keep your life, he had said in disgust. But I am giving the Narnians back their kingdom.
To this day Caspian still wasn't sure he'd made the right choice. If he had killed his uncle then, Lord Sopespian could not have done it later with Susan's arrow and roused the troops with a cry of treachery. Perhaps that entire battle could have been avoided and fewer Narnians died.
"But I'm not like you, uncle," Caspian whispered, turning the blade this way and that as he spoke. "I am a Narnian."