And as Aslan shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.
The equinox was fast approaching, visible now in how the ice of the river's thick water was fragmenting. If you were to sit quiet enough, you could even hear the last glimmers of shimmering ice as they dripped leisurely from the bushes and peaks; trees abruptly shivering to cast away the droplets as they splattered on sweet, sun-drying bark. Bears and squirrels were slowly beginning to reveal themselves once more, chippering about to greet those neighbors sorely missed whilst weary and travel exhausted but sprightly birds loitered in huddles about the sky.
The world was changing all at once, once again, always; a scene so beatific and enticing that it was a wonder anyone could ever grow tired of it, of the magic in the air. But that was just how she was beginning to feel, tired. So much had happened, continued to happen, and at such a frightening pace in her life that she pondered now how she could ever have been so very excitable even thirteen long years ago.
Those happy days of wonder and exploring seemed so very far away now, as the young queen wasted away her twenty-first birthday trekking alongside the calm shores of Narnia's clearest river. After all, it would make no difference whether she was here or there, Lucy argued with herself as she watched the palest flickers of fish flitting about below the fissure-woven ice of the river top. 'Twas not as if either way there would be another to celebrate with her. Not that she was so vain she craved the attention, of course. It was just... being queen wasn't exactly what she'd thought it would be.
Oh, when was the last time she could have played hid and seek? So soon was she deemed too old. How long ago was it she had last done something because she wished to, not to uphold some Narnian tradition set before the Witch's reign? Dancing with the Dryads; healing foolish soldiers who saw themselves courageous enough, skillful enough, to fight for their world alone; calming the hysterical; representing a proud face of Narnia. What about family? What about long nights with friends and the most dreadfully scary adventures taken with Peter, Susan and Edmund?
"Sure, I might end up the coward," the young queen bit viciously to herself, startling the cub who had been following her curiously, "but I had fun, and I had my family..." Stopping to crouch at the water's edge and fold her slender arms around the deep burgundy skirt of her dress, Lucy sighed, "What have I now?"
The sky was a searing orange, burning a sparkling reflection in the girl's wide, sad eyes. Nightfall would be arriving within the hour, judging by the pacely movements of the sun across the clear evening sky, but if Lucy had any great hopes of getting back to Cair Paravel before such lighting fell she did not show it. Instead, she cast her eyes upon the far end of the river, allowing her mind to slowly revisit the long years when Mr. and Mrs. Beaver had once held a dam there, before and little while after it was torn apart by the White Witch's wolves, fixed by Santa Clause only to be destroyed once again by mutinous followers of the defeated dictator. Where they'd relocated to now even she did not know, only Peter and Edmund as far as she was aware. Something to do with their not wanting her to wander off to try to visit them all the time. Them protecting her, like always.
Imagine, two twenty-something kings who still played Hide-and-go-Seek on command protecting a queen. Lucy laughed, but only fleetingly before her attention focused once more upon her disappearing friends. She'd not seen Mr. Beaver since Christmas, at least, and his wife and somewhat recent kids in even longer.
Was she that easily forgotten? Or had her family simply amounted to the prophecy to them? Had the plan always been to send four naive kids up against a witch of ages and then abandon them? Surely that had to be wrong, he was their friend. Mr. Beaver was their companion, one of the best, he would never have done such a thing to them, would he?
Who really knows? Maybe he would have, Lucy seethed as she rubbed her eye vehemently with the palm of her hand, light hair swinging forward. Oh, but when did things become so utterly complicated? So out of her control?
Aslan had abandoned her as well, how could she have forgotten? The lion that crowned her queen and never yet returned. Another creature she had thought to be her friend, had trusted so easily. She had wept of his dead body upon the stone table! Who listened to the lion better, trusted him more than she? And yet he still left her.
She helped him, all of them. Mr. Beaver with his dreams that were more important, apparently, than her family in the long run. The stupid king of a lion to take his Narnia back, and every other wretched creature who pestered her and her siblings for help along the way.
How could she have refused them? So young, so willing, so eager to aid in any possible way.
But that was before everything started changing so drastically. Before the adventures slowly diminished until they disappeared in entirety; before the Beavers moved away to a place apparently unsafe for "Dear Little Lucy" to wander about; before Susan, Peter and Edmund became less and less of who they were; before the stupid lion left without even saying a simple goodbye; before Mr. Tumnus started to die. Yeah, before Tumnus began to fade away.
Leaning back onto the palms of her hands so that she could swing her legs out to the left of her, Lucy pulled out her crystalline cordial of fireflower juice, fondling it carefully before angrily tossing it aside. "Why can't you cure illness? It you could just... just fix him, everything would be alright. It has to be."
But no matter how long she sat there afterwords, clenching the roots of her hair in the fading light, the cordial would not respond, and she knew, however grudgingly, that it never could. And after a few moments of silently observing this foreign distress, the young cub--a light brown in the sunlight but merely a shadowy and distant black in the near darkness--spoke softly from his position a yard away from her hunched figure, "Your Majesty?"
Lucy, startled, quickly disguised her very obvious distress, unsheathing her glistening dagger at the same instant as she grabbed for her cordial and shot to her feet. "Who is out there?"
Stepping cautiously into the dim light reflected off of the river bed, the cub spoke in his same soft tune, "Only Tirmous, Highness, from Cair Paravel. The High King wished I be sure you get home."
The young queen sighed, recognizing the cubs familiar presence and began to walk in the direction of the great castle with a sad shake of her head. She was setting her belongings back into their respective pouches when she felt the bear's heat following alongside her.
A/N: This is my first true fanfiction and I understand if it's horrible, truly. It's for my one friend, and another wanted me to have an account here because she thought it more productive, I suppose. That's how my Fictionpress is, at least.
Feedback is lovely, though.