The Faded Portrait of a Bygone Era

Destiny and Fate

Once inside, the sound of clanging metalsmiths and crackling forges greeted the returning warriors, the Narnians hard at work to prepare for war.

Susan and Lucy went on ahead to explore as Peter and Edmund looked around.

"It may not be what you are used to," Caspian offered at Peter's hesitant look, "But it is defensible."

"Caspian has done great work here," Margaret added supportively. "He rallied the Narnians to action. None of this would be possible without him."

Caspian looked down shyly, giving a small smile.

"Thank you, my lady," he said.

Just then, Susan called out, "Peter... You may want to see this."

Margaret had a feeling she knew exactly what Susan had found. All this time she had been there, she had never even gone into the tunnel that led back to the Table. But now, with all her family here... it felt right. The time had come to face it.

Caspian followed as the Pevensies looked around the tunnel. Carved into the walls, there were images, drawings of their first venture into Narnia. In one picture, Tumnus stood beside the lamppost, clutching his umbrella. In another, Lucy, Susan, and Margaret sat atop Aslan's back. Yet another carving showed their coronation.

Margaret gently traced that one with her fingertips.

"The thrones are out of order," she murmured in amusement. The carver had put them in sequence by age.

"It's us..." Susan realized.

Lucy looked at Caspian in confusion. "What is this place?"

"You don't know?" he asked, surprised.

He looked at Margaret, but she shook her head.

"I haven't had the chance to tell them yet."

Caspian nodded in understanding, then grabbed a torch from the wall. He stepped closer to Margaret, and murmured, "Are you sure you're ready? You know what lies at the end of this passage..."

But she took a deep breath, standing tall.

"I'm ready, Caspian."

At her affirmation, he led the way, further into the How. As they drew closer, Margaret could feel the presence of the Table, as if it were a living being. Although, she supposed, in a way, it was. Its life came from the thrumming of magic that reverberated through it and filled this whole place. And she, for some reason, could sense it.

At the bottom of a set of roughly hewn stone steps, she knew. They had arrived. The strength of its magic nearly swept her off of her feet.

There was irony to be found, she thought, in the notion that thousands of years ago, the Table had been at the top of a hill, with steps leading up to it, and now, it lay at the heart of an underground tomb.

Caspian touched his torch to a basin off to the side, and within moments, the whole room illuminated with fire.

The table stood, as broken as last she saw it, in the center of the room. And just beyond the archway through which the resurrected Aslan had appeared to them those many years ago, his portrait had been carved into the stone.

Every inch of the walls had decorative carvings inlaid, of all kinds of magical creatures, but there could be no mistake as to the intended focal point. Aslan commanded almost the same attention as in the flesh.