Hey my lovelies! Here it is, the sequel to 'Goldenflower'! :D I just want to say thank you so much for your continued support, and I really hope that you will join me on another journey with Cornelia and her cousins back to Narnia. New characters will turn up (some more important to this story than others, but still important in their own way nonetheless), and I reckon I'll give you a faceclaim so that you have a visual of what the person look like. In fact, a new character is already introduced in this very prologue, and the faceclaim to that character is our favorite Moose/Sam Winchester from Supernatural, Jared Padalecki ;). As always, suggestions are welcomed :) Without much further ado, let's get started!

Goldenflower 2 - The Prince From Telmar

Prologue:

1940 - Finchley, London, England

Psychiatrist Vincent Greenfield let out a small sigh. He stood facing one of his office windows, appreciating the view that his two-story building - in inner Finchley, London - gave him. With his 30 years, he was one of the younger, if not youngest, practicing psychiatrists, and it always amused him when people timidly asked how he could be a psychiatrist - for he was 'surely-not-a-day-older-than-25'. That was the words said, anyway. Today, he was going to have his first session with a twelve-year-old girl. It always saddened him having children come into his office - especially because it was often always some very serious cases he had to deal with when children were involved, and he had younger siblings as well, so it was at times hard to let his work stay strictly at work. He ran his fingers lazily through his brown hair as his gaze fell on a stack of blank paper and crayons on his small coffee table. He had placed the objects there himself, as he knew from experience that children sometimes expressed themselves and their feelings better through drawings. And sitting in a comfortable sofa while doing so could make the child feel like they were at home. A light knock on the door ripped him out of his thoughts. Softly, he said, "Come in."

His secretary, Abigail - a pretty redhead with sparkly green eyes - came into view. "Cornelia Pevensie and her family have arrived, sir."

Vincent smiled lightly. "Well, let's go say hello, shall we?"

He liked going out and greet his clients, especially if it were children, instead of having Abigail (although she was a genuine sweetheart) direct them into his office, a place they didn't know, since the sessions were without the parents present. He matched Abigail's pace as they went out to the waiting room. The room was completely empty besides for a small family of three. A father, a mother and a little girl, who had to be Cornelia. It was clear that she wasn't here voluntarily. She sat on the edge of a chair, eyes downcast so her blonde hair nearly covered her entire face and fumbled nervously, absentmindedly with a silver, heart-shaped locket around her neck. When the two adults saw him and Abigail approaching them, they immediately stood up, causing the little girl to look up the slightest bit.

"Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie," Vincent greeted with a smile as he took turns shaking their hand.

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Greenfield." Cornelia's father smiled lightly. "We have heard so many good things about you."

"Oh, the pleasure's all mine, sir." Vincent smiled, his heart warming slightly at the praise, before turning to the little girl who was also up on her feet, now timidly looking up at him. His smile never wavered as he slowly, not to startle the girl, stuck his hand out. "And this must be Cornelia. Hello, Cornelia. Please call me Vincent. It's so good to meet you."

Cornelia grabbed his hand and shook it swiftly with a light, yet firm grip. Vincent could see the tiniest attempt of a smile on the girl's face. "Good to meet you too, Mr. Greenfield."

Vincent nodded gently at her, still with a smile on his face. Yet, he couldn't help but notice her extremely well-taught manners, although he had said that she could call him by his first name. Most children, he had experienced, liked having the intimacy of knowing his first name when they talked with him. He knew instantly that Cornelia would be a challenge, but he never gave up on his clients. He just hoped that she hadn't completely shut down if the case was that her parents had pressured her too much into seeing a psychiatrist. He had experienced a couple of times before that it hadn't been easy to get the children to talk to him if they had been pressured too much.

"Well, if you would come with me this way, Cornelia, then Abigail will take good care of your parents while the two of us are going to have a little talk, okay?" he asked softly.

The girl looked swiftly up at her parents, the smallest hint of a glare sent at them, before taking a stand at Vincent's other side, out of her parents' reach. The action didn't go unnoticed by Vincent, Abigail or her own parents, the latter now having sad looks upon their faces. He and Abigail shared a discreet look.

"Don't worry, Mum and Dad. She'll be back before you know it." Vincent smiled, trying to lighten the mood, receiving appreciative smiles from said parents. However, out of the corner of his eye, he would swear he saw the twelve-year-old roll her eyes. He was amused. This one was going to be a handful, but her sudden no-nonsense attitude piqued his interest even more; this girl had so many walls around her, so she wouldn't get hurt again. Vincent obviously had heard the parents' explanation for her to go see him, but he wanted her to tell him what was wrong. Her parents could only see what she allowed them to see and know what she wanted them to know. And, from what he had gathered in those few minutes he had seen them together, it wasn't much.

Walking in a slower pace so that the girl could keep up with him, Vincent led Cornelia down to his office. As he entered, he immediately felt at ease again. This was his home court, where he did what he did best: trying to help people. He turned back to the door when he realized that Cornelia hadn't followed him inside. She stood there in the doorway, watching him. He smiled softly. For a stubborn girl, she was incredibly shy.

"Please come in. Don't be shy," he said motioning to the couch behind him. "Take a seat."

Timidly, she made her way into the room and sat down on the white sofa. She cautiously watched his every move as he grabbed a pen and block of paper from his desk; he then took his place in an armchair - one that matched the sofa in color - before facing Cornelia, with only a simple coffee table separating them.

As required, he reached out to the clock sitting on the coffee table, and started the hour and a half long session. Cornelia still followed his every move.

"So, is there something you want to talk about to start with, Cornelia?" he asked softly.

The young girl shrugged lightly as she stared at the clock on the coffee table. She didn't mean to be rude, he knew, she was just lost in thought. He had experienced this with many children before, especially at their first session, where they would just stare at something. It would have surprised him a great deal if she had suddenly started pouring her heart out. This would take time. As it always would with children. They needed to trust him. And he would do anything in his power to make Cornelia trust him too. No matter how long it would take.

"Does the clock bother you? I could take it off the table, if you want?" he asked, trying a different approach.

She shook her head and muttered, "It's fine."

Vincent nodded almost incomprehensively to himself, sensing the smallest bit of progress.

"You may also draw, write, you-name-it whatever's on your mind. Sometimes that's easier than to talk for some," he mentioned casually, as he gently pushed the papers and crayons a few inches closer to her. No reaction. Instead of looking at the clock, her eyes now stared at the blank piece of paper in front of her. Patiently, he sat back in his armchair and watched her as silence fell over them completely. The only thing you could hear was the ticking from the clock.

Suddenly, she noticed him staring and stared right back at him, holding his gaze. He normally didn't like staring at people, but sometimes it triggered something in children that might help his way of understanding what they had or were going through. He was impressed. He had to admit that the girl was brave and unimpressed. But when he really looked at her, he noticed how blue her eyes really were and how much they held. It was like he was staring at an old soul. Her eyes held such wisdom, such experience, such joy - and such sadness. Vincent tilted his head a little as he speculated. He sensed that this girl definitely had been through a lot, a lot more than simply worrying about her MIA older brother. But he didn't know what had happened.

"Do you always stare at people like that?"

Even her voice was extremely mature and almost….diplomatic?

He chuckled lightly, "Ah, no, I'm sorry about that. Didn't mean to be rude. There's just sometimes where you can read some of people's stories in their eyes."

"And you could do that with me?" Her gaze was locked with his, and her dumbfounding blue eyes pierced through him like she could look into his soul.

"To some extent, yes." He nodded.

"What did you see?"

He smiled. Her interest was piqued. They were making progress.

"Well, I think you could say that I've cheated a little since I already know why we're sitting here and can see that in your eyes. But there's also something else I can't understand."

"And what is that?"

Vincent chuckled. "See, that's a good question. I don't really know."

The twelve-year-old shrugged as she turned her gaze away from him, staring out of the window again. He frowned at the change of expression on her face. She looked sad. "That's all right. You wouldn't understand anyway. No one here would."

"Well, why don't you try to enlighten me, then? Try to make me understand?"

He became hopeful when he saw her eyes sparkling, the girl lost deep in thought, debating whether to tell him or not. After a couple of minutes though, his hopes were dashed as her expression became unreadable and her eyes focused on her hands. She was nervous. She was fumbling with that locket again. He assumed that her brother had given it to her. Vincent's heart sank a little.

"Did your brother give you that locket?" he questioned, breaking the silence.

Eyes locked determinedly on the locket, she nodded curtly.

"It's very pretty," he said. He was genuine about the locket, but he also tried to get some sort of reaction out of her.

None came.

Then he realized that he probably had forgotten to say the most important thing he was supposed to say about these sessions. And from experience, he had learned it was very important for children to know that everything being said in that room was confidential, that he wasn't allowed to tell their parents if they didn't want him to.

"You know," he spoke softly. "Everything you say in this room, right? It stays in this room. I'm not allowed to talk with your parents about what we've been talking about unless you want me to. You could say that I am your secret, invisible friend you can tell secrets to. And I wouldn't be able to pass it on. That's against my code."

For a moment, it seemed to Vincent that she looked up and almost sent him a smile, but it was gone again before he could fully register it. Silence followed. They sat there for another while, almost twenty minutes, glancing at each other every now and then. Vincent was patient, but decided to ask about something safe, something positive instead. He always hated the silence.

"Your parents told me that you've come home from spending some time with your cousins at a professor's house in the country during the raids a few weeks ago. Was it fun?"

Something lit up in Cornelia's face by him mentioning her cousins, but her next expression confused him. Her eyes became unreadable again as she shrugged. "It was fine, I guess."

"Are you and your cousins close?" he asked, pressing her a bit more now.

Another spark of something came over the girl's face before it vanished again, replaced by the sullen expression and unreadable look in her eyes. "I think so, at least."

"Have you spoken with them, lately?"

"No."

"Why not?" Vincent questioned curiously.

"They don't understand.." she whispered.

"You think that they don't understand how you feel, or is it something else?"

"Both." She looked swiftly up at him.

He nodded. "So you feel that they don't know what it is like to know that your brother isn't…here right now? And you're afraid that they wouldn't understand if you did try to tell them?"

Cornelia nodded slowly. "I think so."

Vincent nodded. "That's okay. But, what other thing is it that they don't or wouldn't understand what it's like?"

"It's complicated." Cornelia looked up at him with a more determined, more stubborn glare. He was getting closer, pushing her more to talk, causing her to become defensive. He was doing something right here.

He nodded. "I understand. If you don't want to or can't talk about it, you could also write or draw something. Whatever comes to mind, and maybe we can talk out from that. Does that sound like a plan?"

She sent him a dirty look that clearly said 'didn't-you-get-what-I-just-said?' which caused Vincent to stifle a laugh, as she snatched a piece of paper and pulled all the crayons closer before pausing as though in thought. He smirked. This one must have been a handful for the older brother, but she was too charming and endearing to hold a grudge against he thought.

He watched silently as she began to draw and write. Every once in a while he looked over at the clock. He was a bit shocked to find that fifteen minutes was left of the session. Time goes by so quickly.

Sometimes she would look up as if she was thinking, but Vincent caught her stealing glances at the clock, knowing that she was stalling. Again he smirked. Smart child. He tried to see what she was doing, but she held her arms protectively around the paper as if it was her prey. When a mere minute remained on the clock, she put down the crayon, turned the paper with the blank side up and sat straight up. She watched him very seriously - which again, Vincent found quite endearing - before she spoke. "I don't want you to look before we're done."

Vincent shrugged, accepting the proposition. "All right, sure."

And then the alarm from the clock went off. The twelve-year-old looked expectantly up at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Vincent couldn't help but chuckle before he fixed her a pointed look as they both stood up. "All right, then. But next time."

"Uh-huh!" She nodded.

He smirked, motioning to the door behind them. "Off you go, I'll be right behind you."

And then she flashed him her biggest smile yet (causing his heart to swell) as she practically ran out of the door. But at the doorway she stopped, realizing where she was, and calmly, confidently strode down the hallway. Vincent shook his head amusedly as he followed her.

The sight that met him when he came out in the waiting room filled his heart with warmth. The same girl who had practically glared at her parents when he met her now had both of her parents wrapped in a tight embrace. Cornelia waved goodbye, and Vincent waved back as Mrs. Pevensie shook his hand before she hastily followed her daughter out of the room. Only Mr. Pevensie remained.

"I hope everything went well, Mr. Greenfield. She might not seem as the most open person right now, but I can assure you that she is the kindest little girl you could ever hope for."

Vincent nodded as he sent the father a calm smile. "I think it went really well, actually. I can assure you, Mr. Pevensie, that Cornelia has been most delightful. I was actually positively surprised how well-behaved and well-spoken she is. She's a sweet girl, and I'm really looking forward to the next session with her. We're getting somewhere."

Mr. Pevensie smiled widely before shaking Vincent's hand. "She is indeed. Thank you, Mr. Greenfield."

"Please, it's Vincent." Vincent smiled as he let go of the man's hand.

"David." Mr. Pevensie smiled. With a farewell nod, he left to find his girls.

When Mr. Pevensie was gone, Abigail spoke up from her spot at the reception desk behind Vincent. "And it's true what you said about her?"

Smiling, Vincent nodded, though his secretary couldn't see that. "Yes, she is."

Like he had told Mr. Pevensie, Cornelia was truly a sweet girl. He could sense that she was a girl who seemed to know who she was deep down, but who had lost her way after some sudden changes in her young life. She was definitely something special. He couldn't quite put a finger on it without sounding absolutely crazy and absurd.

As he closed his office door behind him, he immediately noticed the slightly rumpled paper and crayons on the coffee table. Not being able to control his curiosity any longer, he went to collect Cornelia's casefile and his notes before taking a seat where Cornelia had been sitting moments before. Gently, he turned the paper around and almost laughed. That was why she had sent him that mischievous look. On the paper was written:

"- I'll tell you next time - perhaps. If I deem you worthy.

C.S.P."

He smiled at the drawings that had been sketched around the handwritten note. It was a pretty good drawing of a lion roaring (at least Vincent thought it was) with a majestic mane and body. On the other side was what was supposed to be, he guessed, a silver and gold tiara with flowers and a red stone (possibly a ruby) set in the center. Underneath the drawing, he could make out a little scribble that looked like it said 'the Lionhearted'. And when he looked at the lion again, he could see a small scribble underneath that as well, saying 'Aslan'. Immediately, Vincent felt an almost burning sensation of warmth sweeping into his stomach, as if everything was good. He felt incredibly happy. He shook his head in confusion. What just happened?

With a soft smile playing on his lips, he picked up the drawing and put that and his notes into Cornelia's casefile. His mother had told him countless times before that he was very good at imagining things, but he knew that there was something almost magical about this girl, and he was most curious to find out what it was. As he closed Cornelia's casefile, he was sure he was going mad. He swore he had heard a lion roar.