Lucy remembers

Lucy peered through the rose bushes, her fingers snagging on the thorns. She'd lost her embroidery needle when Patricia had carelessly flung her cream-white sewing with the neat red stitching over the hedge. She was the most self-centred person Lucy had ever met. "Sewing is for babies, Lucy Pevensie. If you want to be a part of this group, you have to do what I tell you." Patricia had smirked, her pretty red lips, curling into a pout. Lucy had been quiet, complacent even until Patricia had pointed to the young man walking past into the rose garden and told her what she wanted her to do. Lucy had coloured to the roots of her hair.

"No Patricia… I… I don't want to…"

"You have no choice," the older girl had cried triumphantly. "You're either a part of this group," she narrowed her eyes dramatically "or you're not…"

"Well… maybe I don't want to be…" Lucy stuttered, until Patricia seized her day's work and chucked it neatly over the hedge. "Now you'll have to won't you…?" She snickered. Lucy had scrambled to her feet, red-cheeked as the other girls had snickered behind their hands at her. Patricia had shot her a warning look. Lucy walked away, her head held high, until she reached the rose garden.

Salty tears slipped down her cheeks as she recalled Patricia's smirking face. There had been a time when Lucy had been in control of everything. Searching through the dark olive leaves and rosy petals with trembling fingers, Lucy remembered a time when she was both sister and comforter to her three siblings, and beloved of a whole country. She remembered quite clearly the open crystal blue bay below the castle of Cair paravel, the ancient trees in the neighbouring forests, that danced and whispered secrets of the beauty and life that was Narnia. In those golden years, she had meant something. But what did stuck-up, spoilt little girls like Patricia know of real life? What did she know of responsibility, of true friendship, of war, of pain, or love…? Lucy sank down in the soft grass and cried, tears streaming down her face and into her hands.

"Oh Aslan. I can't do this anymore…"

"Are you alright Miss?" a gentle voice broke her from her reverie and she looked up, startled. With a sort of frozen horror she realised it was the young man Patricia had dared her to flirt with before. She blushed to the roots of her nutmeg-brown hair as his deep grey eyes searched her face.

"I… um… I… I'm fine," she looked quickly away from his penetrative gaze. "I've just lost my sewing needle - that's all."

"Let me help you look…"

"Oh no… it's really not that much of a…"

"No really. Let me help." The youth's hand was gentle on her arm, and his eyes not only warm but kind. Lucy had a sudden flashback to the night she danced with Prince Corin under the stars. She had been older then, more sophisticated, more worldly-wise. Her hair had been longer, not in pigtails, and her face smooth, not sunburnt with freckles. The chill air had prickled her skin, slipping cool tendrils through her hair, while Corin's hand was warm at the small of her back, his warm breath sending shivers up her spine, feelings that shimmered and dispelled within her, feelings a girl of thirteen would only just be beginning to understand, feelings that Lucy knew only too well.

She gasped, pulling away from his touch. The youth frowned slightly, but went on to look for the needle, parting the leaves on either side of the rosebush, and brushing away the dirt to look for a tell-tale glimmer of sharp silver. Lucy knelt beside him, looking at him sideways, through her lashes. She guessed he was about seventeen, the same age as Corin was when she had fallen in love with him. It had been innocent at first, but slowly became more intense and secretive as the days had passed. She remembered those cool, moon-lit nights with a kind of hazy longing, the way his fingers had trembled at the ties of her bodice, the warmth of his mouth on hers…

She shook her head, sliding regretfully into the present. Embarrassed, she scrambled backwards on her knees, pretending to brush dirt off the hem of her skirt. The young man was undeniably handsome, but there was nothing she could do about it. He must think of her as a child, a little sister, sweet and innocent but nothing more.

"Found it!" The young man's smile was triumphant, and he held the illusive thing up between thumb and forefinger, a shiny, silvery almost transparent object. It had implanted itself into a nearby flowerbed.

"Thank you," she whispered, taking it from him. Their hands brushed slightly and he caught her eyes again, this time making her breath almost stop mid-way.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" he murmured, smiling a little, brushing a curl away from her face as one would comfort a child.

"Yes." She nodded simply, but in her mind whirled a thousand different thoughts, memories and emotions she had experienced as a grown-up, hope, pain, desire…

The youth hesitated, his eyes reflecting puzzlement as the girl seemed to grow in years before him. She appeared older, more mature… and, dare he think it… somehow otherworldly…

"I'm sorry," he apologised, frowning in confusion. "I didn't mean to be patronising… I honestly thought you were younger …"

"That's alright." She smiled up at him genuinely; Corin's dark, brooding eyes flashing once more through her mind and then stepped lightly away back towards Patricia and the girls.

Patricia looked up, a smug smile lighting her face.

"So… how did it go…?" She turned to her girlfriends who burst into fits of giggles behind their hands.

She didn't know why she said it, but a pair of dark brown eyes flashed through her mind again. "He's not Corrin…"

Her sad, simple reply was met by a shocked silence. "What?!" Patricia was the first to burst out. "Who's Corrin?" Patricia's face was flushed with anger and a little jealousy. "Lucy Pevensie," she sneered, hands on her hips. "I do believe you're telling lies!" Lucy looked down at them and to her surprise they seemed to shrink a little. If she had known that in that moment she seemed to shine with vibrancy and confidence that was otherworldly, she would have smiled. She frowned down at them.

"I'm tired of playing your silly games Patricia. It's time you grew up." And with that, she picked up her little kit bag and sewing and walked away feeling lighter than air.

Thank you Aslan.

He had come through for her afterall, reminding her that strength, true strength could be found within.