A/N: This story came from an idea I had after reading "Maugrim, Once Mighty" by charli800...great poem, I would encourage everyone to read it BEFORE reading this fic.
The End of Maugrim
This is the end.
They only saw the snarls, the angry defiance. They didn't see the anguish, the memory that pierced him.
He should've stopped back when he saw the first signs of spring. He should have KNOWN. He knew, no matter how hard he had tried to bury it, he KNEW the Witch's reign would end, KNEW Aslan would return, KNEW spring would come again. Why, oh why had he not turned when he had a chance?
You couldn't have even if you had wanted to…the knowledge of this shamed him. How deeply he had given himself over to Her! How wretched he had become!
This tragedy was of his own making. He had once resisted Her, fought against Her armies as they swiftly conquered his country. Allowing himself to fall into despair, he had listened to Her silky voice, promising him his heart's desire, tempting him to taste forbidden fruit. Immortality. Lordship. Power. He had lusted after these things, and She had promised them. He had knelt, sworn a blood oath to Her, and became fully Hers.
This is where it had led.
The Mighty, they had called him. No one called him by his true titles – the Murderer, the Traitor. This was who he really was, who he had become. Captain of the Secret Police – the title sounded bitter in his ears now.
Now, he was laid low.
A yelp arrested his mental agony, and he looked up to see his lieutenant trapped under the paws of a Lion he had hoped never to see again. A Lion he had once served. A Lion he had once…..loved. I would've killed the boy without hesitation if I hadn't seen Him. Now I want nothing more than to feel His pleasure in my soul once again.
There was Oreius, splashing across the river, claymore ready to deliver a death stroke. Oreius, my old comrade, my old companion, my old..…friend. I remember that claymore, how it used to strike terror into the hearts of the most vicious ogres. I remember following that claymore into battle against our occupiers, before I betrayed you and joined them. Rumors were that you took it hard to see me on Her side. I remember many times finding slaughtered orcs off a beaten path, knowing in my gut it was your handiwork, that you were still the undefeated one, still the loyal one. If only it were possible for you to forgive me…
He turned his attention back to the boy he had been sent to kill, briefly recalling what he had said to the elder girl. "We're tired, and we'd prefer to kill you quickly." It was true. He WAS tired. Tired of being Her slave, tired of bringing more death to his own people, tired of destroying that which he had once cherished.
He faintly understood that Aslan was speaking, telling Oreius that this was Peter's fight. Peter. The future king, the one who will fulfill the prophecy with his siblings. He always knew, even from the beginning, that the prophecy would be fulfilled, always knew Aslan would keep His word. If only I'd had the faith of the centaurs…
Perhaps…he could. He could kneel before Aslan and beg for mercy. He could lead Oreius to Her and rescue the other boy. He could persuade the wolves to turn away from this evil they had been serving and turn back to the Lion, to serve Him and Him alone from now on. He could…
But he couldn't. He had known this all along as well. He was a traitor; therefore, He was Hers by right. He had mixed his blood with Hers in that wicked oath he'd sworn decades ago. Her blood coursed through his veins. Such a blood oath could only be made right with more blood. Until he did this, he would forever be a danger to Narnia, forever be a liability, forever be tempted by the forces of darkness.
Forever be Her slave.
The blond-haired youth had his sword out, placing his body between his antagonist and the tree in which his sisters had taken refuge. He already has the making of a king. He wanted to laugh at this conundrum. I'm supposed to kill him, yet I should kneel and swear my allegiance to him. I can't deny it any longer – the prophecy has been fulfilled. Aslan has returned, and this boy is...my king.
He knew what had to happen. As long as Her blood ran through his living body, he was Hers. There was only one way to circumvent Her power, only one way to end this living nightmare he'd created for himself.
He looked back at Aslan. I followed You before Her. My life used to be Yours; be merciful to me in death.
His gaze fell on Oreius. Defeat Her, I beg you…my friend.
He finally turned his eyes on Peter. Forgive me, my king.
The last one he faced was himself. King of wolves. What a high and mighty title for one as worthless and lowly as you. She gave you what you craved, and you curse yourself for it. You thought you were mighty, yet you have been brought low. You thought you were strong, yet you have become weak. Maugrim, once mighty, once "King" of wolves.
Peter forever thought that Maugrim's last words were directed to him. The boy never knew that the wolf was speaking only to himself.
"You think you're a king, but you're going to die – like a dog!"
His last thought was spoken aloud.
When Oreius rolled him over, Maugrim's jaw was locked in place, his mouth shut tight, and his claws retracted. As Peter knelt in the grass and rose as Wolfsbane, the centaur caught the eye of the Lion. They knew, they knew very well that had Maugrim chosen, this boy who would be king would instead have been a corpse. The blade that pierced the heart of the wolf had merely been a tool used by a traitor to achieve redemption. As Peter turned back to his overjoyed sisters, Oreius held the gaze of the Almighty One, who slighty nodded and smiled as He placed His paw on the slain body of Maugrim. And by this, Oreius knew that his old comrade was finally free.