Hello! This is my first story, and I hope you'll bear with me. This particular story is movie-verse. I'll be updating weekly, or, at least, I'm planning on it. ;) As I'm sure you know, reviews are gold, so I'd love to get a few – love it, hate it, you have suggestions; I just want to know. That, and reviews are very encouraging. I nearly cried the first time one appeared. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own The Chronicles of Narnia; the books belong to C.S. Lewis, and the movies to Walden Media and Disney. Caspian too… *sigh* Can I claim Ben Barnes?

Entering: one Abigail. Abigail was a girl by the age of seventeen living in England during WWII. She was taller than most, but significantly shorter than six feet. Her light brown hair fell beneath her shoulders and was wavy, curling more when the air was wet. She might have been respected by her peers, but she had none; along with being orphaned, she kept to herself and remained between aloof and shy. She wasn't boring or overly serious – quite the contrary; she loved to laugh, and carried a good humor. She felt she cried too easily, but no one was around to see her tears anyway. It's just the way her life seemed to have played out that caused a lack of close friends. That, and the fact she was blind.

Abigail had been orphaned at the age of eight. After the accident that had killed her parents and damaged her eyes, she wandered about in the countryside with failing eyesight and excruciating pain. She was kept alive only by a woman who, though she wasn't compassionate, felt pity for the forlorn little girl.

The woman was Mrs. Evelyn Desmonds. She was a widow of thirty-odd years, and was getting along just fine, thank you. She had been blessed with inheriting her late husband's estate, and had lived a generous life since. Perhaps other people called her reclusive, but she was fine with that; she didn't like them either. She had never been able to abide children, but for some reason she hadn't been able to turn away the little waif that had crawled, shivering, to her doorstep. Despite the girl's rather incoherent state, Mrs. Desmonds had been able to glean her name and the fact that she had no family.

She had called for the doctor, who, after attempting to treat the girl several times, affirmed Abigail would never regain her eyesight again. Mrs. Desmonds' pity was swiftly turning to distain, but still she could not bring herself to send the child away. Instead, she allowed her to live in her home. She kept her clean, well educated, and off the streets.

As Abigail aged to her teens, Mr. Desmonds began to ignore her; combined with the tightening grip of old age, she had never had much interest in the girl anyway. All the better that she could now take care of herself – she would need too, seeing as Mrs. Desmonds never was going to harbor her past her eighteenth birthday.

xxxxx

Abigail had been living in the country with the elderly woman for almost ten years, and now she would be thrown to the streets, no better off than when she was eight. Well, that wasn't entirely true; there were places she could go, places that were meant to take care of people in times like these. Abigail just couldn't imagine leaving. This was the only place she had ever known, and she was not an outgoing person. She had already been forced to go to a stranger for help before; would she have to go through it all over again?

She had always know in the back of her mind that she wouldn't ever live in this place forever, but it hadn't sunk in until now… now that her eighteenth birthday was just around the corner. Some days she vainly hoped that Mrs. Desmonds would change her mind, or, in times of desperation, that she would forget about Abigail all together. After all, in the ten years Abigail had lived with her, she had only conversed with the woman a handful of times. But these little bouts of wistfulness only last a moment before reality slaps her in the face again.

And now…she turned eighteen tomorrow. She couldn't avoid it any longer. Well, almost – she was hiding from the world in a little room she liked to think of as her own. It held a couch with one large painting hanging above it, and a sculpture or two. Not that the art meant much to her – for obvious reasons – but it was always empty, and the quiet was welcome.

Today she was stationed there, curled up on the couch with her head resting on her arm. Her finger traced the pattern on the armrest for the sake of having something to do. Her mind was pleasantly blank as she tried to shut out the cruel world.

She shifted, lazily letting her hand flop over the arm of the couch. Ow! She smacked into a flower vase, sending it teetering over the edge of its stand. She clenched her hands, waiting for the heavy glass to shatter. It didn't. Frowning, she slid to her knees, feeling for the vase. Her fingers found petals littered on soaked carpet, and she followed the trail of water to the lip of the vase. Oh, it's going to be great explaining this.

Water still trickled out, and she stood it up quickly to avoid further damage to the carpet. The trickling noise didn't stop; if anything, it had grown louder. This was the only thing she had knocked over, right? She picked the vase up and stood, immediately fumbling with her grip on the slippery glass. Water ran over her hands even as she held the vase upright. What the…It was as if the water was climbing the insides of the glass. What is going on? A fresh spurt of wetness bubbled over her fingers.

Aghast, she let the vase slip through her fingers, propelling her arms back in slow motion. Now, as the glass collided with the floor, it shattered into a million pieces. Abigail jumped back, sliding on the thin film of water that was gathering. How much water does this thing hold, anyway? Water now burbled violently, splashing around her ankles.

She stumbled to the door, water sloshing even higher. She felt franticly around the doorframe, pinpointing where the knob was. She grabbed for it, hoping to escape the bizarre danger she could feel rising around her ankles. Instead of the polished brass she expected to feel, her hand plunged through and if she'd dipped it into a basin of cold water. She shrieked and yanked her hand back, releasing with it a flood. The needle spray slapped her in the face. She spluttered and backed up, only to lose her footing and fall to her knees in the rising torrent.

The other objects in the room were beginning to get tossed about. As she struggled to stand, the back of her hand smacked painfully into the corner of what she assumed to be a pedestal. She gasped and drew her hand to her chest, squeezing it with the other. A sharp pain seared through her cold, wet skin.

She suddenly choked on the water that rolled into her open mouth. It was salty... she barely had time to process this before another wave caught her in the face. She unclasped her hands and quickly used them for balance, choosing to ignore the sting of the saltwater on her injured hand. What is going on? The thought repeated over and over, splintering any shred of calm she attempted to hold onto.

Suddenly, she was thrown violently forward, pitching into the deepening water. Her feet left the floor. Realizing that she would probably hit the ceiling sometime soon, she heaved one last breath, then slid under. Once her head succumbed, she could no longer hear the violent thrashing of the waves, and the water surrounding her seemed relatively calm. That's it. I must be dreaming. I'll close my eyes, sink, and then wake up. She pushed down the rising fear and closed her eyes, the water tingling against her lashes. She waited a heartbeat, and then a tickling sensation started in her lungs. I can't breathe. I. Can't. Breathe. She let gravity kick in to tell her where the surface was. The second she began to rise, she started thrusting herself in that direction, fueled by fiery lack of air. She couldn't technically swim, but when one is underwater and drowning is a very real possibility, instinct can be very efficient.

She pulled herself closer, but with each stroke grew weaker. It occurred to her that the water was much deeper than the room should have been. With one desperate stretch, her fingertips brushed air, but she couldn't bring enough strength to her limbs to go any farther. Just when she was all too happy to give up, a strong hand grasped her own, and she felt herself being pulled rapidly upwards. Her head broke the surface and she drew in staggered breaths.

She could tell instantly that she wasn't in the tiny little room anymore – the space around her was endless. She heard many other voices, some coming from above, others in the water with her. The most predominant was the voice of a young man who sounded not much older than she. "I've got you." Those words were the most reassuring Abigail had ever heard. The same strong hands that had pulled her up were now guiding her towards a looming object to her right. She could sense its massive form as she was pulled under its shadow.

Suddenly her rescuer disappeared above her. She was just about to panic when she was pulled up beside him onto a skinny platform. "Hold on" was her only warning before it started moving upwards. It started to rise with jerky motions, and Abigail was sure she would've fallen right back off if it hadn't been for the firm hold he held around her waist. Just to be safe, she clutched the ropes for dear life.

The platform stopped some feet up in the air, and she found herself lifted to a hard wooden surface. I want those ropes back…She felt very unstable with her hands hanging by her sides. A heavy blanket was held out to her, and she wrapped it around her shoulders shyly. It was something to hold onto – granted, it wasn't attached to anything, but it was still something very real that she could grasp. Right now, when she wasn't at all sure she was sane, something to hold with her own two hands was very comforting. "Are you all right?" the same voice asked her.

She managed a small nod. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that emerged was a squeak. Two others that had been in the water were now being pulled up. A girl – she'd been called 'Lucy' by her rescuer – looked surprised but enthralled, as did the dark-haired boy. They looked as if they were related. The one who had accompanied her had walked over and greeted them in a way that made Abigail sure that they had met before. He turned back towards Abigail. "And…who's this?" He glanced behind him at Lucy and the other boy.

Lucy cocked her head and said, as if it were just dawning on her, "I don't know." Curiosity laced her voice, not hostility. "Who are you?"

Abigail's hands flitted by her side, and she waited for her breathing to return before she answered. "I, I'm sorry – where am I?" She was aware of the fact that they had asked who she was, but for now she was too baffled to actually give an answer for anything. The boy with the dark hair spoke up as if she might be slight dumb.

"You're in Narnia." Well, that clears it all up. Thanks a lot. "No, I mean it – where am I?" She motioned one hand around her.

He emitted a sound that sounded a little like a laugh. "What, can't you see – "

"Actually, I can't. Will someone tell me where I am?" She could hear her tone growing irritated and higher pitched, but she didn't care.

She heard a collective yet subtle gasp as people around her began to realize what she meant. Lucy timidly spoke up, "You – you're blind?" Abigail rubbed her palm to her face. It was the same reaction, every time and without fail.

"Yes." That one syllable could've cut glass, though it came out mumbled through her hand. She now could feel a slight swaying motion under her feet. "Am I on a ship?" She, now more than ever, was starting to hate having to rely on strangers for her well-being.

The one who had pulled her out of the water stepped forward and answered, "Yes – you're aboard the Dawn Treader." Abigail felt her head start to spin a little; she had always disliked boats for a reason she'd never been able to identify. Still, a phobia is a phobia.

She peeped, "Am I anywhere near the edge?" She felt a little odd asking questions to a group of people she didn't even know, but…well, she needed to know. Reclusiveness wasn't really an option.

xxxxx

Caspian stepped forward again. She was a little close to the railing, not dangerously so, but probably out of her comfort zone. He didn't want there to be need for him to pull her up again. He started to reach for her arm to guide her more towards the center, but she seemed to sense his hand and jerked her arm back.

"Just tell me which way to go." He wasn't sure whether to be offended or amused by the stubborn look on her face and inflection in her tone. "Please," She added as if an afterthought.

"To your right." He answered quietly. She moved a few steps to the right with quick and quiet grace. He never would have guessed that she couldn't see where she was stepping. She looked up with startling blue eyes; they weren't cloudy or rheumy, but clear and the color of crystal reflecting the sky. She whispered a thank you.

With her eyes looking slightly over his left shoulder but completely trained on him, she asked, "What's your name?"

He smiled slightly, dipping his head out of habit. "Caspian." He left off any further title, as that was completely unnecessary at the moment. Funny… He could swear she was looking right at him. He was about to say something else when a strangled yelp rang out from the other side of the deck. He spun around, his attention diverted for the moment.

xxxxx

Abigail was relieved to have the attention taken off herself, but the noise that had done so was rather disconcerting. It was followed by a rapid slapping, scuffling sound.

"Oh, Eustace," She heard Lucy mumble under her breath. Abigail stepped in her direction and whispered,

"Who's Eustace? What happened?"

Lucy replied in a rushed whisper, "Our cousin. He seems to have found Reepicheep…" She abruptly started backpedal when she realized Abigail couldn't know who Reepicheep was. "He's a mouse. Hence the, uh, screams."

"Wa-hhat?" Abigail's word was split in two by a little spurt of laughter. Of all the things in the world to be afraid of, mice were not at the top of her list.

"Nooo… he's, um," Lucy searched for a round-about way to explain.

"What do you mean?" Abigail asked cautiously. As Lucy gave a brief description, Abigail's amusement disappeared and she paled slightly as a vision of a two-foot mouse entered her head. She jumped as she heard the pattering of paws pounding towards them. Lucy, instead, stepped forwards and laughed warmly.

"Reepicheep!"

The mouse removed a feather from his ear and took a mouse-sized but regal bow. "Your Majesty." Abigail started. He talks – wait…Majesty – Lucy? Royalty? Her head was spinning with every new event – this felt worse, confusion-wise, than any dream. She was starting to get the sickening feeling that she was indeed awake.

"That giant rat just tried to claw my face off!" A boy's voice was shrill with indignation and nothing short of rage.

The mouse scornfully answered, "I was merely trying to dispel the water from your lungs, sir." Eustace backed away and shakily lifted a finger in the mouse's direction.

"Did – did you hear that? He's just talked – " This was followed by a low rumble of laughter from the crew.

Caspian crossed his arms and smirked. "The real trick is getting him shut up." Snickers ensued as the mouse glared at him with great pomp. Eustace didn't let even a moment pass before he picked up a furious rant. The mouse gave the equivalent of a raised eyebrow and said in an exaggerated whisper,

"Do you think we could throw him back?" Abigail heard Edmund snicker, followed by Lucy's arm thwaping him in the side.

"I demand to know where in the blazes am I!" Eustace's voice rang across the deck from where he had been pacing. Hmm. My sentiments exactly.

A deep, guttural voice answered Eustace. "You're on the Dawn Treader, the finest ship in Narnia's navy." Eustace emitted a little squeak, which was followed by a resounding THUMP.

"Did – did he just faint?" Abigail didn't wait for the answer that she already knew. "Why?"

Lucy's eyebrows puckered up piteously. "Well... he's just... there's a minotaur," she whispered.

Oh, this was going to be interesting.

That night Abigail and Lucy lie awake, talking. Abigail wasn't really sharing anything personal; she was just relaying a little information of where she came from and who she was. Just enough to keep Lucy from getting curious, though that seemed impossible; apparently, Lucy was always curious. She had undermined all Abigail's attempts to remain detached, and she found herself liking the other girl against her best efforts.

xxxxx

"So, this isn't your first time here?" While Abigail wasn't completely surprised at this information, it still was hard to comprehend.

Lucy shook her head, sounding little wistful as she replied, "No. I've been to Narnia twice before."

"Twice? How long ago was this?" Lucy can't be that old…

"I was only eight the first time – I think that was a good thing. I was the first of my siblings to go inside Narnia, and I was probably the only one who had imagination enough to really believe what I was seeing." She laughed, and went on. "The first two times all my siblings came – I have an older brother and sister, besides Edmund." She paused a minute, then piped up. "Oh! And about Edmund… I don't know why he's…well, why he's being rude the way he is. He only just met you, after all." Abigail shrugged.

"It's okay." She grinned wryly. "If anything, I'll just have to stay out of his way." Abigail, despite her words, felt a little hurt at his quick judgment. Ignoring him probably wasn't going to work. After a second, she felt she should change the subject.

"Lucy…this is going to sound a little strange, but…could you tell me what everyone looks like?" Before Lucy could form a question, Abigail hurried on. "It just helps me get a picture of people." She added in a quieter voice, "I haven't always been blind, you know – I know what things look like." Lucy felt a prick of curiosity, but could tell from her tone that Abigail didn't want to talk about it.

"I can – who do you mean? I suppose I could describe everyone, but that would get a little confusing…" Abigail attempted a smile, and Lucy felt the awkwardness of her weak joke settle at the air.

"How about you start with yourself?"

"I'll try." It was hard to paint an accurate picture of herself – harder than she thought it would be. "I'm a little shorter than you…" She proceeded to describe herself, her brother, and her cousin to the best of her ability.

Abigail nodded and asked little questions in some places. Finally, she blurted out what had been on her mind for hours– though she would never admit it, and felt slightly foolish to think about it.

"What about Caspian?"

Lucy smiled knowingly behind her hand. "Ah ha. I knew it." Abigail feigned innocence, raising her eyebrows.

"Knew what?"

"You like him, don't you?"

"Well…of course I do. He's been kind." Lucy snorted and poked Abigail's arm.

"You know what I mean. And in answer to your question, he's very handsome." She added in an exaggerate whisper, "He's also your age, I believe." Despite her best efforts, Abigail could feel color dusting her cheeks.

"I – that's not what I asked." I did not need to know that. I feel like a ninny as it is.

A smug smile crept onto Lucy's face and she crossed her arms triumphantly. "Fine. He's very tall, um, probably about a head taller than you. He has dark eyes, and dark hair that comes just above his shoulders – very broad shoulders, mind you." She was rewarded for this last comment with a pillow to the face.

"You're hilarious." Lucy didn't answer, which could be attributed to the fact that she had rolled over with giggles. Abigail sent another well aimed thwap of her pillow towards Lucy's back. At the contact of the pillow, Lucy froze.

"I hear footsteps. I'd better blow out the light. People around here think that a queen needs beauty sleep." Even through her teasing, Abigail could tell Lucy dearly loved Narnia – and its people – and couldn't be happier. The bed creaked as Lucy stood and tiptoed to the lantern. Abigail waited until she heard the small whoof of the flame going out to whisper "good night" and roll over.

I do like him, she thought. The she shook her head. Where did that come from? She didn't even know who Caspian was really – thoughts like that didn't have a place in her head. They shouldn't, anyway. For all she knew, he had a young wife and a small child eagerly awaiting his return. No; Lucy asked if he had found a queen… and he said no. As a small blush attacked her cheeks, she found herself wishing she could blow out her thoughts as easily as Lucy had extinguished the candle.

Instead, she rolled over, letting her train of thought roll over, too. She had long since realized that she was awake throughout this whole thing, and that everyone around her was real. She knew she wasn't dreaming the very second she had contemplated it in her mind – when you're really dreaming, you don't ever question whether you're awake or not.

It had really hit her in the face that Narnia was just as real as her world earlier that afternoon; Caspian had taken the three – Eustace still was blissfully unconscious – back to talk to them and fill them in on what was happening in Narnia. He had relayed names and places that, while she didn't understand them, had been completely convincing.

She could tell that Caspian had tried to be careful what he said, to try and put things in a format that she would be able to comprehend. While she appreciated it, it hadn't worked. She was still totally confused, though less so than when she first had surfaced from the water.

Now, that too was interesting – when she had relayed her tale to Lucy, she had been shocked to learn that uncontrollable water (flowing from something that wasn't actually capable of producing water) had been the exact same method that Lucy and her relatives had arrived from. Lucy had talked about all of them being here for a purpose, and that fact alone spun Abigail's mind. What purpose could she possibly serve this country?

Note: There are a few instances where things are decribed as if Abigail could see them. I assure you, she can't. ;) These are there more for the reader's benifit, rather than Abigail's. Sorry if that was a little confusing. (Thanks, Eruantalon.)