Another little one shot from Helen Pevensie's POV.
Characters are not mine.
Crimson.
.....................................................................................................................................................
Sometimes in the night, when she could not sleep, Helen Pevensie wandered her house with unseeing eyes. A ghost with whispering hair and a cool touch.
Sometimes when the sun rose, she would sit and stare at the portrait of her husband for hours, and wake from her stupor to find another day had gone by.
Sometimes in the evening, Helen Pevensie would curl up in her eldest son's bed, just to breath in his smell which still lingered on the pillows, and cry herself hoarse.
Sometimes when it all became too much, she would pick up Lucy's dolls and have a nice chat with them. She wasn't going crazy. It just helped her to remember.
She knew it was all for the best. That her husband had to leave to do his duty and that her children had to leave in order to have a future. But sometimes she wished that she could fight too, or that she could disappear into the country. Because being left behind...being left behind and doing nothing, was quite possibly the worst pain she had ever experienced.
When the bombs came, she huddled in the shelter alone, praying desperately and shuddering with fear. It was during these times that she hated herself the most. Because during these times she wished that her children were not in the country, she wished that they were huddling in this dank shelter with her. What kind of a mother wished her children were in danger, just so she would not be alone?
She prayed for the war to end. She prayed that her husband would come home. She prayed that her children would survive. She prayed that she would see her family one last time. She prayed for food and for water, when the days went by without any parcels from the government. She prayed for warmth as she lay huddled in the freezing winter, what was left of her blankets piled on top of her thinning body. She prayed for sleep, because sometimes the nightmares provided by her subconscious were less terrible than the nightmare she lived every day.
And then, when the world got darker, friends went missing and the days seemed endless, her hope was stolen away as easily as if it had never existed and Helen began to stop praying.
What use were words which seemed to have no effect? What use were words which no one heard? What use were prayers to a God who did not exist in this place anymore?
How could God exist when there was no joy, no hope, no feeling at all except for hate?
Her tears turned from desperate to angry. Helen Pevensie huddled in the dark, her last candle sputtering its anxious death, and closed her eyes. No prayer slipped her lips, no litany pressed her mind. She was empty. It was only a matter of time before she was obliterated by a bomb. The thought seemed almost peaceful in comparison to this existence that she led now.
When something tickled her nose, Helen opened her eyes and found that she was not in her dark little shelter. She was in another place entirely.
But the light was a little too bright. The grass was a little too soft under her feet.
It was a dream. It couldn't be anything else. Fresh air like the air she was breathing no longer existed on Earth.
"Are you coming?"
Helen jumped. She hadn't even heard the Lion approach her. But he was standing by her side, golden eyes gentle and warm.
"Of course," she replied. Because it was a dream and lions couldn't really talk and she didn't really feel like waking up anyway.
"Then follow me."
And Helen did. Trustingly, blindly, she followed. They walked and walked. When it became too hard to resist, Helen reached out a hand and threaded her fingers through the Lion's mane. He merely smiled at her and for the first time in a long time, Helen felt peace.
"Where are we going?" she asked at length, but really, it did not matter where they were headed. As long as he did not leave her, she would be content.
"There is a celebration up at Cair Paravel. I thought you may enjoy watching the festivities."
They continued walking, until they arrived at the top of a hill and Helen gasped at the sight before her.
A brilliant white castle stood proud and beautiful on the opposite cliff face. Its sheer elegance and magnificence made Helen simply stare in awe.
Four flags were raised high at the top of the upmost tower. Their colours: red, blue, green and yellow contrasting starkly with the darkening sky. There was a joyous horn and accompanying it was the sound of many people cheering.
"Look below." The lion nodded his head and Helen allowed her gaze to follow his.
Spread below them, across the beach as far as the eye could see were creatures and animals, some that Helen had no name for. Intermixed with the creatures were humans. But Helen had never seen humans as wonderfully dressed as these. The men wore shining capes and dark leather boots. And the women – dresses so fine she had never seen, not even in the royal house of England.
And everyone was dancing and feasting and drinking with joyous smiles and shouts. Voices lifted in song, flame torches lit up the night.
"In the centre. Look closer."
Helen squinted, trying to make out the whirling shapes.
There was a tall, strapping young man adorned in scarlet cape and a golden crown. He laughed and the sound carried right across the shore. Helen gazed upon him and knew that he was a mighty man. He was a man of courage and a man of strength and faith. Helen did not know how she knew these things, but knew they were undeniably true.
The man spun, lifting a small woman by the waist and hoisting her above his head. The woman laughed too, her golden curls burnt orange in the light of the fire around which they danced. Her wide smile shone more brightly than anything which surrounded them. She was a woman of joy and a woman of hope. A woman of steadfast will.
Bursting past the golden hair couple, a man and woman of strikingly dark colouring whirled into focus.
Helen had never seen a woman as beautiful as this lady. She had never seen an expression of such contentment or affection before. Every movement, every gesture was full of such gentleness and love.
The man who held the woman so protectively was similar to her in colouring, his dark hair contrasting with his pale skin. His silver crown matched the silver glow of a sword at his hip. He was a man of fierce love, a man of justice, a man of passion.
"Do you see?" the Lion asked her. Helen shook her head, not understanding.
The Lion pressed his nose to her forehead.
"Do you see?" He asked again.
Helen turned back to the fire and gasped.
Peter swung Lucy around until Lucy was securely in Edmund's tight grasp and Susan had completed a full circle into his arms. Together the elder King and Queen waltzed around the fire with elegance and strength, the crowd making way for the pair, their golden crowns sparkling in the fire.
Edmund and Lucy, in contrast, started up a lively jig, laughing as they followed their elder siblings through the crowd. Matching silver glinted from their hair.
Helen watched, mesmerised. The minutes passed. She had no idea how long she stood upon that hill, overlooking the impossible scene before her. But the sight of her children, grown and well, content and together, personifying all that which had abandoned her, left her breathless.
"I have listened to the yearning of your heart. I have felt your pain. I know your confusion. Every day I watch you slip away a little more." The Lion sounded terribly sad. "Helen, do you love me?" He asked.
Helen felt herself nod because it was unfathomable to deny the warmth in her chest. "Yes."
"Then do not doubt, dear one. I have listened, and I have answered. When you need strength, think on me, think on what I have showed you and peace will come."
Helen found herself snuggled into the Lion's paws, her eyes focused on the revelry down the hill.
It was much later when the Lion said: "It is time for us to depart, dear one."
Desperate, she clung more fiercely to his mane, her eyes never leaving the dancing couples.
"Can't I speak with them?"
"You will, in time."
And that was enough. Time was fleeting. She would speak to her children again.
"Will you – will you look after them for me?"
The lion looked at her with his solemn eyes. "I watch over them always, just as I watch over you, Helen. Do not despair that you are alone. I hear your pleas and it saddens me that some I cannot answer. But I always listen."
"Now wake up, child." Her eyelids fluttered. "WAKE UP!"
His voice intermixed with the scream of the warning sirens. Then the bombs started once again.
Sometimes, in the middle of the night when she could not sleep, Helen Pevensie closed her eyes and thought of a far off place with a roaring bonfire and two handsome kings and two beautiful queens who danced together in celebration. It blocked out the horrendous sounds of people screaming for help and the whistle of approaching bombs.
Her fingers twisted in her blanket as she recalled the Lion's mane.
"Oh, Lord, watch over my children this night, watch over my husband, give me strength."
And like the buildings which were torn down around her, her doubt was fleeting. But like the dreams which sustained her and the prayers which revived her, her faith was steadfast.
Her hope was forever.
......................................................................................................................................................