Disclaimer: I do not own anything from The Chronicles of Narnia. They all belong to the great C.S. Lewis. The only things of this story I own are Charles and the plot.
Author's Note: Wow, it has been a long time since I wrote anything for this fandom. This is takes place six years after the events in The Magician's Nephew – and one year after one of my other Narnia fics, Blossoming.
~~~
Childhood Fantasies…or Reality?
~~~
Charles wistfully watches Polly as she exits the drawing-room, promising to return shortly. Once she is gone, the smile on his face cracks. The summer is drawing to a close, and he feels he is in the same place as he was when he first started calling on Polly. He senses she still looks upon him as a friend, while he on his part has adored her for a long time. She is almost seventeen and is turning into a lovely young lady.
Sighing, he looks about the room with a bit of disinterest when he notices a pink satin-bound book on the couch. Having never seen it before, he picks it up. Opening it, he is surprised at finding a pencil sketch of the Plummers' backyard in the full bloom of spring. Charles admires the rich detail of the drawing. In the bottom right-hand corner he discovers Polly's signature along with the date of May, 1900; his eyes widen at this and examine the drawing again with renewed interest. Polly had drawn this when she was only ten years old? Curious, he turns the pages. More pictures of flowers and gardens drawn throughout the years meet his eyes. He can see Polly's talent become better as the pictures are dated more recently. He is disappointed when he finds that the page following a sketch of roses – dated July of this year – is blank. It seems this is all the drawings Polly has done, seeing that there are only blank pages he is finding. Charles is about to close the book when, on turning a final page, he discovers another drawing, but nothing like the earlier ones.
Looking up at him from the paper is a strange creature which seems to be half man and half beast; a bare-chested man with curly hair, little horns sticking out of its head, and a full beard, while from his waist down he is covered with wool and has hoofs for feet. A quick glance down to the bottom of the paper shows this to have been drawn when Polly was ten. Charles frowns, full of puzzlement. He tilts he head first to the left, then the right, studying the drawing, wondering what exactly the creature is. He had never seen anything like it before in any books that he may have had as a child. But he thought it might be the sort of thing one might have in their fantasies when they are quite young. Charles is surprised to see that the rest of the book is not blank as he first believed, for now he has stumbled upon more drawings of a different nature, and there are far more of these than the others. At each new drawing, the young man grows more amazed and confused. From the pages leap forth animals and mystical-looking beings. Lovely women appear to be partly in tree trunks. A great steed stomps the ground, large wings spouting from its shoulders. A man and a woman, richly dressed each with a stunning crown on the head, are surrounded by animals and dwarfs. An enormous lion with a golden mane stares up at Charles, large tears shining in its deep eyes.
As he goes through these drawings, Charles comes upon time and time again the face of a little boy, perhaps eleven or twelve. He is rather attractive, with dark brown hair and piercing eyes. In some he is alone; other times he is with the crowned couple or the lion. But it is one of the last drawings which paralyzes Charles with wonder and questioning. Here he gazes upon the same boy who, with an expression of admiration, extends his hand to a tall woman in finery and with a crown atop her raven black hair. The look she gives the boy causes a chill to run up Charles's spine. He peers closely at the woman; never has he seen anyone so beautiful. He drags his astonished gaze from the two staring at each other to the rest of the sketch. The great lion stands behind them, bent over a girl sitting at its feet. She watches the boy and woman with a pained expression on her face as tears stream down her face. Charles's mouth drops open in complete shock…for surely the girl is Polly herself! Feeling overwhelmed, Charles searches for a date – August,1905, last year. He turns to gaze to the fire, his mind racing.
When first looking at these drawings, he had thought they were fragments of Polly's imagination, perhaps fantasies of stories she heard while a child. But then the dates kept becoming more recent, and he was puzzled; for many girls seemed to let go of fairy-tale stories and such when they got around fifteen. But Polly obviously hadn't. And now…he wonders if indeed these are drawings merely from her imagination, especially considering this very particular drawing. This is the first time she has included herself in one of her drawings. Charles quickly goes through these drawings once more. As his eyes pick out the little boy again and again in many of these, a strange feeling settles in his stomach. Why has Polly drawn this boy so much? Why is she so upset over him when he is with that grand lady? He is also part of this fantasy? Or is he real? Are all the creatures and animals and people in these drawings, perhaps, real?
Feeling sweat forming on his brow, Charles again goes on. It is another picture of the boy. Only he appears much older, a young man, but the same one nonetheless. A smile lights his face, and his eyes are full of tenderness. His hand is extended, seemingly, to the observer. Below the boy are the initials "DK". The drawing was done just a couple of days ago.
As Charles's gaze slips over the boy's face a final time, a fire of jealousy burns in his chest. His eyes narrow. His knuckles turn white; so fiercely is he holding the book.
Just who is this boy that Polly has drawn so many years? Is this the reason perhaps why she has not taken him seriously as a suitor? He snaps the book shut. He has seen enough. He must do something. Have Polly get rid of these, forget this nonsense. She must not hold on to these things. She must draw more reality.
In this mad passion, Charles brings the book to his chest and looks half-wildly about the room. His eyes light up, and a satisfied smile curls his lips. Without hesitating, in one swift movement he sends the book flying into the dancing fire. The smile stays in place, and he clasps his hands behind his back as he watches the flames feast hungrily on this new fuel.
THE END
~~~
Please let me know what you think!