Narnia always has a lasting effect on those who visit it. The scent of the air still breathes through their lungs, the imprint of the stars still shine in their eyes. When one has visited Narnia, there is always a connection one can never forget.

For Digory and Polly, the feeling was quadrupled. They had been there as the world took form, twisting out of darkness into green pastures, long deserts and high mountains. One can not just stand and watch a thing be created. One offers a little bit of oneself to the creation as well. If any Narnian had looked hard enough, they would have found imprints of memory from the young pair, as well as Digory's awful Uncle, just as easily as they would have found hints of King Frank's life as well.

Being so intimately tied to the land of Narnia had its drawbacks. The land, though young, knew what would happen as soon as the two children left for another world. The two carried pieces of the heart of Narnia, and a fragile human soul is not the safest place to store the life of a world. Aslan knew this, for he was tied to the land just as much as the others were.

He ordered time to run differently in Narnia than where the two children returned to. A year in their time could equal a hundred, or two hundred years for the Narnian people. But Aslan knew, with his calm but solemn certainty, what would happen when the two children's time ran out.

Digory and Polly knew nothing of this, of course. They returned home, where Digory healed his mother and planted a tree with the magical fruit of Narnia. The new tree that grew in his world was another anchor keeping Narnia alive. Polly and Digory talked of their adventures often, at first. It was hard to not think of a world you had seen being created. Yet, as they grew older, it was harder to talk of the place they both loved. The longing that would build up in their chests, the silent wish to return, was almost overwhelming in each other's company. They resolved to see less of each other, and soon only corresponded through letters.

That isn't to say Narnia still didn't pull at them. At night they would hear the happenings of that other world. A nymph's laugh, the rumble of giants, the splash of the ocean against a far off shore. Sometimes they could even see Narnia for themselves, in the depths of their dreams. It was torture to see it, but sweet torture both could endure.

The two were, as humans always do, starting to get on in years. Polly had married several years before, though Digory never seemed to find the right one. He instead devoted his time to travel and learning and became a professor. And in this time, when he was quite middle aged, the first step towards the end of Narnia occurred.

The tree he had planted fell in a mighty storm. If it were any other tree it would have no significance. But, for this tree to be able to be felled to begin with (for though it wasn't overly magical, it still had enough to keep it from breaking) meant that magic was failing in Narnia. Not in leaps and bounds, but slowly, like a pebble that starts an avalanche.

Digory ordered the tree to be made into a wardrobe in both memory of what it had done in part for his mother, and the connection he still felt through it to Narnia. Yet, soon after the tree had fallen, a cold descended into his bones. He knew that he was past his prime, but this odd chill did not feel like one gets from old age. He quickly sent a message to Polly. She had the same sensation as well.

Both knew it had to be something dire in Narnia to cause such a reaction in them both. It was Polly who remembered (she had always been better at these things) Aslan's words. Jadis the sorceress would one day break through the protection granted to Narnia by the great tree. Digory would sit in front of his fireplace, in a useless attempt to warm his bones, and think of the witch. Aslan had said the tree would protect Narnia for a thousand years. Had that much time already past?

For two years Digory walked around with this chill in his heart. It aged him immensely, as it affected the citizens of Narnia worse and worse. He barely paid attention to the news of war, tucked away as he was in the English countryside. He did notice, however, the note asking permission for four young children to be permitted to stay in his home for some duration of the war. As he read the letter, a long lost sensation blew over his neck. It was the warm and comforting breath of the king of all beasts. He welcomed the children with open arms.

He was not surprised, then, when the children burst out of the spare room with stories of Narnia flowing off their tongues. The cold that had plagued him had disappeared when they returned. All was well, he thought.

The children continued to have adventures (he had to admit deep down he was jealous) and time in Narnia sped on ahead of them. A year of their time could equal a thousand in Narnia. Digory was beginning to get worried at the increase in years. It almost felt as though Narnia was trying to drag out as much time as it could.

Time seemed to be taking a toll on him as well. Sometimes his breath became so labored that it felt like he had the weight of Narnia on his chest. Other times he felt as if he was slipping away, though he wasn't entirely sure whether it was him or the other world that was failing. One day, while Peter was staying the summer with him, he realized the truth. He could feel the pull of the land so much more acutely; feel the years flying by as the clock ticked in front of him. Narnia was winding down, and would end when its half creators ended.

Peter vaguely noticed the Professor was quieter than usual that day.

When King Tirian appeared before the friends of Narnia he felt a jerk from the other world. Polly and he both clutched their chests, but the children were too busy with the apparition to notice. The old pair exchanged glances. The end, for them and Narnia, was coming soon.

Digory realized too late it would happen on the train. He had assumed that it would just be Polly and he to die. But all the children, and their parents, were on board as well. They had to die along with Narnia. He grasped Polly's hand as the trains impacted.

He had expected an end. An empty sort of one, too. How can one expect a great reward after death, when one brings about the end of a world? Instead he opened his eyes to a bright green field that seemed to stretch on for miles. It took him a moment to realize where he was, but it hit him finally.

He was home.

A/N: The idea for this story came from one little line in someone else's story, and I am sorry to say I can't remember which story I read it in. They had briefly alluded to the idea that Narnia died when Digory and Polly died, or something like that. I don't remember it too well. Anywho, thank you for reading my first Narnia fiction.