Tyranny of the Heart

Prologue

Hello! Thank you for taking interest in my story! I have been working on this for many years now but have finally decided to publish it. Also, because this is loosely based off the movie, Prince Caspian, all rights belonging to that franchise is solely theirs. I do not own anything or have anything to do with the movie or the books. 

Please do not get upset if I'm basing this off the movie instead of the books. Yes, i fully recognize that those are the "original" and amazing books, but for my story here, the movie plot and dialogue seemed to fit better. 

Thanks again!

Edit: Honestly, it's really slow in the beginning and I know that. Once you get done reading this prologue, you can probably just skip to chapter 7, because that's where it gets interesting. Everything up unitl that point is basically just back story. I'll go through and edit a lot of this, but please, just skip to chapter 7, ok?

The boy peered into his mother’s room. His mother loved books and writings of all sorts, which showed in the endless piles of papers and books stacked precariously on top of each other, threatening to topple over and crush her in her feeble state. A couple of shelves were overflowing with jars and pots of plants, the kind she used in her medicine making. Honestly, it looked more like a library and garden pushed into a small room than a bedroom. In order to get to her bed, she would have to carefully scoot around the piles of books and papers, daring them to fall.

His blue eyes landed on the desk, where his mother sat, writing in a book. Her long silver hair was pushed to one side, except for a stray silver strand that reached for the page she scribbled on. Her feeble and wrinkled hands held the pen and paper lightly as if they were to break if she applied too much pressure. She was growing old, his mother. It was very clear in the way she moved about and hummed to herself at all hours of the day. And he was reminded of this every time he laid eyes on her.

“Mother?” He called, gently knocking on the door.

Her head lifted at the sound, her brown eyes hidden behind spectacles, but lit up as they fell on her son. As she grew old, so did he. He was nearly an adult now and a handsome one at that, with his oddly blue eyes and his thick head of long brown hair. Not to mention, his chiseled facial features that reminded her that he was no longer that little boy that she once knew. She smiled as much as her wrinkled, delicate face allowed. “My son.” She greeted. “You look more and more like your father everyday.”

He blushed a little. “So you tell me.” He replied. His mother told him that often, but he never understood why. He did not think he looked anything like his father. But she insisted on it, so he let her tell him that. After all, her eyesight is not what it used to be. “What are you writing?” He asked, entering the room, narrowly missing a pot filled with dirt.

“Stories, my boy. I am trying to recount some of the memories of my life, as they are disappearing fast.” She dipped her pen in the ink and continued to write.

“Your memory is as good as ever, Mother. You need not worry” He assured her.

She let out a small chuckle. “I am afraid that my youth is no longer present. Instead, I am here trapped in this old and feeble body.”

It was the boy’s turn to chuckle. “I hardly think you are feeble.” He told her thinking back to all the times she would yell at him to sit up straight or to stop playing in the dirt.

She put the pen down and faced her son, a glint sparkling in her eye as she spoke. “When I was your age, son, I was the best swordsman Telmar had ever seen. And I continued to be so until my age caught up with me.”

“But you can still yell at me and Father all the time.” He teased.

“That is something that I will never be too old to do.” She smiled endearingly. “Someone has to make sure you both behave.”

He laughed, a sound that made his mother happier beyond reason. “So, why did you call me in here?” He asked.

She gestured for him to sit in one of the few chairs without papers or plants on it. “My son, the day is fast approaching when you will be King, as you already know.” He nodded. “I have every reason to believe that you will be a great ruler and your father does, too.” She paused, stroking his hand.

“Is that all you wished to tell me?” He asked. “You and Father tell me that at every opportunity.”

His mother settled in her chair and looked off to the distance, smiling. “Do you remember those stories I used to tell you?”

“Of course, Mother.” He said, as he thought back to her many stories. As a child, he had always treasured them and thought of them as the highlight of his childhood. He would daydream about them often, and pretend he was there, fighting off the bad men with his toy sword the royal blacksmith had given him. To this day, he could recount all of her stories that she had told him word for word.

“You remember the history of the wonderful land of Narnia, all of its riches, epic battles, and amazing creatures of all shapes and sizes. You know of the great leaders of its past, including the Kings and Queens of old, as I always used to call them. Queen Lucy the Valiant, known for her kind heart and gentility. King Edmund the Just, most famous for his betrayal of his siblings but equally known for his wit and constant search for justice. Queen Susan the Gentle, with her infamous sharp wit and skill with her bow and arrow. And then there was King Peter the Magnificent," She paused, as she always did when she mentioned his name. "Arguably the greatest ruler in Narnian history. He lead his people with a fire in his heart, but was approachable and always put the needs and wants of his people before his own. In addition to this, you also know Caspian’s story. The story of how a boy became a man and a king, and united a divided and feuding world.”

The boy nodded and touched his mother’s hand gently. “Yes, Mother. I remember all of those stories. Why are you telling me all of this?”

His mother eyed her son’s hand that rested on hers for a minute before encasing it in between her own once again. “I have shared all of these stories for a reason, my boy, but I have one more story to share with you. One that I have wanted to tell you for a long time, but have been saving it for when you were ready. Do you want to hear it?"

The boy frowned in thought. “I do want to hear it, but I am not sure what you mean by ‘ready’.”

She looked at her son with loving brown eyes, that once lit up at the sound of danger, but now were only filled with love for her son and secrets of the past. “My son, I have told you many stories. Some are true and some are only legends. Some stories you have begged me to tell over and over. But this is one story I know you haven’t heard. It’s a story that is all true. Because this story, is my story."