Title: I Live by Faith, not by Sight

Author: Elfpen

Summary: A young lion with a disability reflects on how he came to know Aslan.

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"For we walk by faith, not by sight." - 2 Corinthians 5:7

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When I, Toran, along with my two other litter-mates, were born, our parents, along with us, became a normal, happy, Narnian family. Well, as happy as one can be in the wintery rein of the White Witch. We all knew we were in bad times, but we made the most out of it. Whenever me or one of my siblings would complain of cold paws, our father would come snuggle up close to us to keep us warm. 'It's winter now.' He would say with his warm voice, 'But Aslan's just around the corner.'

Papa used to tell us tales of The Great Lion – he told us the stories and prophecies so often that I, to this day, know them by heart. Mama would always sit and watch with a quiet smile, her light colored whiskers twitching up when she laughed. My brother, my sister and I would all sit, entranced, as we listened to Papa unfold stories of the great King of Narnia. And he would always finish by saying, 'He has all power, all love, and all mercy. And one day, Children,' A very hopeful glint would enter his amber eyes, 'he will be back on the move.' After this, he would recite the timeless prophecy -

"Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,
When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death
And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again."

My sister, Reena, always had a hard time believing that Aslan could melt all of the snow – there was simply too much of it, she said. But, deep in my heart, I knew that he could. If anyone could, Aslan could. After all, he was the King. And he would make things right. I knew he would.

I held these tales dear to my heart, and yearned for the day that I would see Aslan. He was my hero and my hope. I would have given anything to see him, and to meet him. Years past as I, along with my litter mates grew. Talking lions, unlike our wild and dense cousins, grow slowly, as it is with fauns or centaurs. And around the time I was five, it happened – my accident.

It all started innocently enough. My brother, Ciego, who was quite a bit bigger than me, started an innocent rough-housing game. It was fun enough – both of us had finally grown into our over-sized paws, and, having just 'mastered' his retractable claws, my brother was feeling particularly bold. We tumbled and rolled down the white hills surrounding our home, growling, hissing, and biting – all in good nature of the sport, of course. I even managed to gain the upper hand for a moment! But then, to turn the tables, my brother took quite a swat at my nose. Unfortunately, his claws were not quite as 'mastered' as he had thought. Fully extended, the little razors ran right across my face – right into my eyes. To put the rest of it simply, his paw is the last thing I can remember seeing.

After this 'accident', my brother apologized almost nonstop. I forgave him, of course. Even though it is easy for one to conclude that my blindness is his fault, I've never really held him responsible. After it finally set in that I was blind, and would never regain my sight, I took most of it in stride. Everyday things, like finding food, not bumping into everything, and such activities came with not too much trouble. But one thing crushed me. I would never be able to see Aslan.

It was the one and only thing that really hit me hard. Without my sight, I could never lay eyes on the great Lion, and would never be able to remember his majestic figure. No, I would only be able to hear him – if I even ever met him at all. In the years that followed, my countenance fell. I began to doubt in Aslan more and more. I had soon grown out of childhood, and, I thought, I had grown out of my father's tales. Even while my father was watching the horizon for a fresh spring, I still felt cold, wet snow beneath my paws every morning. Nothing had changed. The White Which was still here. And Aslan was no where to be found. When Narnia needed its king most, the Great Cat was gone. I wanted to believe that he would come back – oh, stars I wanted to believe it so badly! But I just couldn't help but doubt the prophecies; How could anyone reasonably believe in such tales of thrones, spring, and humans, too! Really, humans? In Narnia? Four of them, for lion's sake? The idea was ridiculous. I pushed them away as children's tales.

Yet, one part of me, no matter how much my hope was dented, always hung to the tales of my Papa, and always hoped to live to the day when Aslan would restore peace to Narnia. I suppose that part of me was rather childish in hope, but, perhaps it is the innocent hope of a child that pulls one through the most hopeless situations of all.

Sure enough, seven years later, I was now a young adult lion, the four Pevensie children came from Spare Oom. I must express how shocked I was that the prophecy was coming true. I never thought I would see the day when the four thrones would be filled. And yet there they were, sounding just as real as you or I would. It was when the beavers and the children passed by my home that I first heard King Peter speak. And it was then that I realized something.

Times were changing. Aslan was on the move.

And so, though against the will of my aging father, I left the home that I had known for so long to join Aslan's recruits, even though I knew that I was no use to an army. I knew I would never be of much use to anyone, without my sight. But I went anyway. I ran to that camp; I didn't know my paws could move so swiftly! And on my way there, I had a very peculiar, yet meaningful encounter. Grass. One might find it a rather ordinary phenomenon when one lives in a grassy world, but to me, it was something entirely new. It felt so prickly, yet soft. Dry, and yet slightly moist. I only wish that I could have seen the lush color that it was fabled to hold. It was an amazing, wonderful new thing, and yet another sign that spring was here, here at long last.

I ran for days to get to that camp. I wanted nothing more than to meet Aslan. I knew I wouldn't be able to see him, and I knew I wouldn't be much to him – a useless, sightless, inexperienced lion who knew nothing of battle or foreign lands. He would want someone so much more than me – wouldn't he? He was gathering an army, after all. To think – a blind, clumsy lion facing up against the white which! The thought made me shake my head. And deep in my heart, I was preparing myself for the disappointed rejection I was sure to face. Aslan wouldn't want me, a useless child filled with meaningless dreams. I didn't blame him. I knew that if I were him, I wouldn't want me either. Yet, all the while, the innocent hope of my dreams lived on.

But once I got to his camp, I was met with a hard blow, when the dryad came to King Peter. The whole camp was in an uproar in moments, and plans for battle were being concocted within hours. Yet no one was filled with the rushing thrill. No walked with a confident gait. Not one single being muttered more that must be said.

Aslan, The Great Lion, The King of Narnia, the Son of the Emperor Across the Sea, was dead.

It was a blow to the roots for me. No, I had never met him. I had never seen him, of course, and I had never heard his voice. I didn't even know what he was like. But he had been my hero, hope, and stronghold all my life. And now he was gone. I had nothing left to hope for. And as my Papa always said, life is hope, and hope is life. I had nothing else to live for. All my world was now was a never-ending blackness – one without a light at the end of the tunnel.

Blind I may be, and heart-broken I might have been, but not in a million lives would I have stood by while my homeland was put to the torch. Aslan was my hope. My hope was dead. But I would fight for him nonetheless.

Going into battle alongside my fellow Narnians, led by King Peter, I knew that I would never be coming back. I was a lion, yes, but a blind lion. Not even a miracle could save me.

The battle started. The gryphons flew. The screams sounded, and yells of battle could be heard throughout the slope of the valley. I, with the soldiers around me, charged as a roaring force as the spirited, mournful cry of King Peter sounded across the battlefield.

"For Narnia, and for Aslan!"

It may have been the mortal fear that shot through my heart, but I think, to this day, that it was King Peter's words that sent shivers shooting up my spine. I could hear the screams of battle, I could sense the forces moving forward, and I could feel the roar of thousands of hooves, feet, and paws under my feet. And before I knew exactly what was happening, I was moving forward, being drawn down the grassy incline in a current of beings, clanging with armor. I don't know how I ran so fast without tripping over my own paws, but I did. And before long, a drawn out blast from the horn signaled the lions and leopards to move to the front. As I weaved my way blindly to my place at the front, I knew with a surreal certainty that I was about to die. But even with such a foreboding feeling weighing down on me, there was only one thought in my mind.

For life, for hope, and for Aslan.

I could hear the whipping of flags as the centaurs lowered their banner-bearing spears. The leopards on either side of me screamed and hissed wildly, and I could tell that the enemy was drawing near. With my growing anxiety, I let out a long roar, and kept running. I thought I heard the low growl of a bear – but I couldn't tell for sure. Under my feat, I could feel the ground moving violently – as if an earthquake had struck. And, before I knew it, the earthquake was upon me. Running on instinct, I leaped through the air, baring my teeth and extending my razor sharp claws to impale whatever minion of the which I landed upon. I was nearing the ground, legs stretched out...

Pain. Sharp, bitter cold pain hit me hard in the chest. My lungs seemed to freeze up, and my joints grew stiff. It was in this moment that I realized that I had been stabbed. I knew I was going to die.

But the thing is... I didn't.

Instead, I remained conscious, and, as far as I was concerned, very much alive. But alas, to any other soul who happened to see my still form, I would be no more than what I appeared to be: a statue.

I remained there, frozen in place, for hours, not even knowing the outcome of the battle. Adding to my pre-existing blindness was deafness, and the inability to move. I was literally trapped in a cage with only my mind and thoughts for company. If I didn't die by the witch's hand, I would die from insanity, then.

It was so cold. The sun beat down on me, but I could not feel it. I only felt a biting cold that chilled my very core. Frozen in place, unable to move, life lost any real animation – it was now a pitiful existence as a freeze-figured stature, positioned somewhere in the valley. And somehow, with a dreadful sense of loneliness, I knew that I would never be found. It wasn't as if anyone could have done anything for me anyway, though. I was, after all, a statue. A stone lion frozen in time, fated to suffer through the years in inanimate consciousness. Resigning now to live out my days with only my own mind, I pondered the first thing that came to my mind: What would have happened if Aslan had lived? Would I have met him? If I did, what would he have said to me?

This thought shot my mind off onto a repeating circle of confusion, fear, regret, and grief. It was a long string of meaningless mind-babble, nothing to be recanted of now – even I can hardly remember it all! It was after this rather long interlude with myself that I fell into what could best be described as a sleep, if a statue is able to sleep. It may have been minutes later, it may have been months later that I woke from my slumber. My waker: a presence. Now, I know not how a presence could wake someone, especially a statue, but this presence seemed to be so strong that it was nigh impossible for me not to wake up. Deprived from the ability to preform any reaction, I remained stuck in place, only able to wonder who it was that carried such a demeanor.

Then, I felt warmth. A deep, refreshing warm breeze that whipped through my mane. And it wasn't just any warm breeze; it gave me new life. My stony fur moved in waves as it passed over my, this new current combing through me in a heavenly way. Slowly, and to my utter surprise, I regained feeling and movement in my limbs and extremities. In the back of my mind, I could still sense the great presence. As feeling completely returned, I tried to decipher my surroundings as best I could. If the calm breeze and silent peace was anything to go by, it was night. The grass was cool and slightly damp beneath my paws, and the only noise to be heard was the beating of my own heart, and a strong, heavy breath that ebbed and flowed just to my left. I suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. If someone had the power to draw me out of such a spell, they certainly had the power to destroy me.

"Who's there?" I called, almost afraid of any answer that could be given.

"A friend." The voice answered. His voice, for it was clearly male, by it's deep resonance, was strong and firm. I could feel my legs waver violently beneath me.

"A friend?" I asked, "Who? Who are you?" My inquiry was riddled with nervous shaking.

"I am who I am." He replied. I stood still, trying to find meaning in these words. I shook in my place.

"I-I'm not sure I understand, Sir." I said. I didn't seem to have been able to form any other words. There was a pause, then, in which I could feel some sort of heavy power press down on me. Just when I thought I would burst from the awesome sense of authority and might, the voice broke the silence once again.

"I am one whom you have waited for." It said. I froze. Could it be? Was it really, truly Aslan? No. I told myself quickly. Aslan was dead; it was impossible.

"And how can you be so sure, lion?" He asked me. I shivered. It was as if he was reading my very thoughts.

"Who are you?" I asked once again, this time a terrified tone setting itself into my speech. Not only could he bring me to life or destroy me, he could read my mind. As I waited for an answer, there was a long silence. I could hear nothing but the sound of my own heart beat, and the breath of other being. As the silence wore on, my mind wandered off to that childish hope that always played in the back of my mind. Could it be? Somehow, someway, could it possibly be Aslan? It should be impossible, part of me said. But, then again, there was something else, not really of my own mind, that told me it had to be true. With an unreal kind of revelation, my heart began to beat faster, and my tongue stumbled clumsily with the name as I forced out of my mouth. "A-Aslan?"

For however out of sorts I was, and however much power the name held, the word was simply spoken; soft and short. But to me, the weight of the world rested upon his answer. I waited, my breath held still in my lungs, as the silence wore on for what seemed an eternity. After many tense moments, he answered.

"I am He."

I sucked in a breath sharply as my heart froze. I was sure my sightless eyes widened unnaturally at that moment. Without a coherent thought, my four legs gave out from under my, and I ducked my head low in a clumsy bow. "M-My Lord!" I stuttered, "I-I don't... Please, I- Forgive me, I did not realize-"

"Peace, Toran, lion. For there is nothing to forgive." His voice, Aslan's voice, so gentle and warm, filled me with a strange mix of confidence and nervousness. I could tell be some strange sort of instinct that Aslan, the great lion that I had heard of as a cub, was definitely not tame, yet, by the same instinct, I knew that he was immeasurably good. He was everything I had ever heard and more.

"Rise, Toran." He coaxed, his voice still gentle as a loving parent's. Numbly, I did as I was bid, and slowly propped my legs up under my body. When He did not say anything else, as I had expected, I spoke before I could hold my tongue back.

"Why did you help me, Aslan?" I asked. My voice was quiet. I was being honest, but somehow, I felt incredibly guilty. I thought I heard a soft growl rise from Aslan's throat, but my ears could have easily deceived me.

"I never abandon my children, dear one." Aslan's voice was very gentle as before, but this time, it was as sure and firm as tempered steel. My mind reeled at this new revelation. Surely Aslan didn't consider me, a blind lion, a useless being, his son! I was so unworthy, I wished at that moment that the earth would swallow me up to hide me from further humiliation.

"You may think yourself unworthy." Aslan said to me – I was still shaken by the knowledge that he could read my mind, but I listened as he continued. "And that may be so." He paused, and when he spoke again, I knew that he was smiling. "But I do not care, dear Toran." He said gently. I could tell that there was an unfathomable amount of joy and love bubbling just beneath his voice.

I slowly shrank, part of me still very unsure. "But Aslan," I said quietly, "I-I thought you were dead – I surely lost faith in you – how can you know call me your son?" I asked, my ears folding back in half shock, half embarrassment.

"But you didn't lose faith." Aslan interjected, his voice rising. "There was always a part of you that believed in me, was there not?" He asked firmly. I nodded. "There." He said, his voice coming back down again. "You held onto your faith, Toran. It took great strength, and it wasn't always easy, I know. But you have always had faith in me." I could tell that he was smiling again. "And I couldn't be more proud of you, my son."

Now, I didn't know what to say. In fact, it was several minutes before I even thought of reacting. For quite a while, I simply stood, in shock at Aslan's words. I could sense the sincerity in his voice, and the fact that Aslan, The King of Narnia, The Son of the Emperor across the Sea, actually considered me a son was life altering. But somehow, it was sinking into a more comfortable and welcoming part of my being, where I could accept it. Not so say, however, that the pure awe I felt was gone – not in a thousand ages! I haven't recovered from that feeling to this day – but after that moment, it had a comfortable spot within me, where I could fully and truly believe it.

"But... But Aslan," I said, wondering if he had somehow forgotten or not known, "I am not anything to be proud of – I am-"

"You are blind." He said for me. "I've known that you were blind since before you were born, Toran." He said. "But that only makes me even more proud of you. Despite the obstacles placed in front of you, you were able to do your duty, weren't you?" Aslan questioned me. I paused, thinking.

"I... Yes, I suppose I did." As I said this, a thought came to me. "Aslan?" I asked.

"Yes, child?" He replied.

"How... How are you alive?" I inquired. The question in of itself was strange, and put that together with the fact that the person I was asking should be dead, and it was quite an odd question indeed.

Aslan, though, only laughed. It was such a melodious sound, his laugh. It bubbled joyously like a brook, and seemed to hold some sort of secret amusement that I could never comprehend. "A worthy question, Toran." He said. "And it will be answered, in time." His voice was soft. "But for now, I believe we should go to Cair Paravel; there are many waiting for us. And I do believe you have one of the new queens in particular quite worried." His voice had a good-natured smirk hidden just beneath the surface.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Aslan." I said. One of the royals was worried about me?

"The Queen Lucy was quite concerned when she saw you, Toran. I believe she would be here if she was not already occupied wit her own duties." Aslan said. "Now come. We must be going."

As I started to follow Aslan, wherever he was going, my mind was still trying to comprehend everything that had happened that day. It was as if all of my dreams were coming true. Every last one of them! Except...

"Aslan?" I asked suddenly. The sound of his footfalls stopped.

"Yes?" He replied, his deep voice shaking my core.

"Can..." I started nervously, a bit unsure whether I should be asking Him this or not. "can you... Restore me sight, Aslan?" I asked timidly. There was a silent pause. Not very long, but long enough for me to worry a good bit. I could hear Aslan's feet move towards me across the grass. Instict told me to shrink back, but my legs refused to obey me.

To my surprise, when Aslan spoke, His voice was, if possible, softer and more gentle than every before. "I could, Toran." He said. My heart leaped with hope. "But," He continued, "I will not." He stated. However softly and gently spoken his words were, I knew that they were beyond contestation. It was a blow to the roots. Why? If he had the power to give me my sight, back, why wouldn't he?

"But... Aslan, I don't understand." My voice was full of confusion and sadness. A moment after I said this, I felt warm breath blow through my whiskers as Aslan let out a sigh.

"Because, dear one," Aslan said gently, but with certainty. "Your blindness is part of who you are; of who you have grown to be." He said, and then continued, "And it is also your mark of faithfulness, Toran."

At this remark, my furry brow furrowed in confusion. "My... Mark of faithfulness, Aslan?" I asked.

"You are blind, Toran." Aslan said. "Yet you believe in what you cannot see. You believe those around you speak truth about the world which you cannot see. You believe that, even you can no longer see them, the sun and moon take their turns in the sky every night. You believe fire glows light, and that the sky is blue, even though you cannot see either of those things anymore. Even now, you believe that I am standing here next to you, even when you cannot see me." Aslan paused. "And most importantly, you believe that I am who I am, without having seen me." Aslan finished in a strong, but soft tone.

I was slightly astounded at his words. "But Aslan," I said, "How could I not believe in you?" I asked. I could somehow sense that Aslan was smiling, and by the tone he set, I knew that what he said was very important.

"Blessed are you, my son, for you live by faith, and not by sight." He said. No sooner did he say this then had another voice appeared, this one much younger, and feminine.

"Aslan! Oh, Aslan, they're alright! Everyone's alright!" The cheerful cry of delight came closer rapidly with child-sized steps. I heard Aslan laugh merrily.

"Did you ever doubt me, my child?" He asked the young girl.

"Not for a moment, Aslan!" The child cried, her voice slightly muffled sounding; I imagined she was hugging his mane. Aslan chuckled fondly, like a loving father would have.

"Good, dear one." He said in a loving tone. "Now. Queen Lucy, this is Toran, Lion, son of Arran. Toran, this is Lucy, Queen of Narnia."

I was about to make some sort of proper greeting fit for a royal highness, but all attempts to a bow left me as two small arms threw themselves around my neck, hugging me tightly with delight.

"Oh, Toran, you're alright too! I was so afraid you were too far gone – Oh Aslan," She turned her head towards the Great Cat against my still-growing mane. "It's wonderful! Really and truly!" As she slowly let go of my mane, I was smiling.

"It is a pleasure to meet you your highness, Queen Lucy." I said, bowing as well as I could with my joints, which seemed a bit stiff from that day's ordeals. When Queen Lucy spoke, I could tell she was smiling as only an innocent child can.

"Please, Toran, just Lucy."

And there it was – the start of a beautiful friendship. Queen Lucy and I would stay close friends for many long years, after this. Playing on the shores of the sea, talking about Narnia's old legends, telling stories around the fire and joking amongst ourselves. I would become one of her closest advisors, and, through her, would become great friends with the faun, Tumnus. But, I wasn't to know that when I met her. I only knew that I liked this girl, this young Queen of Narnia. And I knew that Aslan had placed Narnia in good hands.

"I think," Aslan said, smiling with the warm demeanor that he does, "It is time that we go home, my children." He said, and his smile seeming to grow in his voice. I could somehow see in my mind's eye the twinkle in his eye, and the infinite glee floating right beneath his being. "For this is just the beginning of the adventure."

As I headed to Cair Paravel that night – to home, at the side of Aslan himself, with Queen Lucy on his other side, I knew, beyond any truth, that everything, no matter what happened in this life, would turn out alright. For Aslan, who conquered even death, would always be there. He is hope, he is life. And as for my life:

I live by faith, not by sight.

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The End

...Or is it?