Spoiler Alert- if you haven't read the Last Battle, this will both give something away and be very confusing
AN: I've updated this chapter to fit better with her canon age.
The boys of Pendleton Academy had always been quite fond of teasing the girls of St. Mary's, across the way. Sometimes the teasing had grown into all-out antagonism. Some of the antagonism had lasted well past graduation, especially when there was a particular grudge against one party by another. For the group of young men that spent their free time hanging around the Pendleton Academy archery field, their particular grudge was with a girl who had gone away to America and come back with airs. Far too many of the boys of that group had been snubbed by this girl, and quite a few of their sisters had felt slighted by her as well. Even after she'd withdrawn from the social circuits a year back, the grudge against her still stood. Rather than discouraging them when she'd stopped responding to their jibes, it had incensed them. It didn't matter that she'd also stopped smiling or laughing, stopped being part of the popular crowd when she stopped trying to make herself pretty. Indeed, she only had one friend left to her these days, one left over from the time before her rise to popularity. Mary-Anna Poppins, so unfortunately named, was her staunch companion. And it was on one cloudy afternoon while the two friends were walking home from their day at the girl's school, where they'd been assisting a few of their old teachers, that things between the two young women and the group of young men, practicing their archery, finally crashed together.
"Look at those two losers, walking home alone," A boy called out. "Hey Dylan, this would be a good time to show them a thing or two, eh?"
The young man called Dylan looked over, a malicious smile growing on his face. "Yeah, I 'spect it is. Hey Poppins, Pevensie," he called. When he noticed the instantaneous stiffening of their backs, his grin grew wider. In a moments irrational thinking, he swung his bow in their direction, aimed right in front of them, and let the arrow fly.
He was rewarded by their screams, and the look Susan sent him as she realized what had happened. She walked over to the arrow, which had landed in a tree behind them, and yanked it out. Mary tried to hold her back, but she was unstoppable. She hopped over the fence that separated the archery field from the road with far less dignity than the girls of St. Mary's were known for, and more athleticism than any of the boys were expecting. There were about ten of them, but as the girl approached they began to shrink back a bit, avoiding the fire that spat from her eyes.
"You could have killed us," she said, her voice dangerously low.
But Dylan seemed immune to it, standing tall and proud against her. "I'm the best archer in town. I was aiming for the tree, I hit it. You were never in any danger, unless I had chosen you to be."
"You aren't the best, not by a long shot," she spat, her tone derisive, her eyes mocking. And Dylan's renowned temper flared.
"Oh? Who's better?"
"Me," her eyes fluttered, as if in disbelief, as though she hadn't expected herself to say such a thing, as if she was doubtful. She was, in fact. The boys laughed, perching on the closest side of the fence that served as the visible perimeter of the archery field. Seven targets were set up, and a small, paper covered wooden ring danced in the light breeze, suspended from a tree branch. It had been Dylan's goal to successfully shoot it for ages. She looked at it, and he did as well, knowing that she knew he'd never hit it.
"Go ahead and try then," he sneered, handing her his bow, which seemed almost too heavy for her. She certainly doesn't have the muscle for it, he thought. Eight arrows were positioned nearby, and she held a ninth in her hand, the one he'd shot at them.
She lifted her chin in defiance. "I believe I will," was her retort, right before she pulled back the bow.
Afterwards the boys would say that she transformed. Indeed, there was something of a warrior princess in her stance, in her face. There almost seemed to be the shadow of a crown resting on her brow. She let the arrow fly, and had another on the string and in the air before the first could land dead center on the first target. In minutes all seven targets had arrows through their centers, some at an angle, because of where she stood, but even at an angle everyone could see that the point of the arrow went through the exact center. She gave them half a moment to think about what they'd seen, before aiming for the wooden ring, now dancing in a strong breeze. Dylan's eyes watched hungrily, his interest no longer in seeing her fail, but in seeing a master at work.
The arrow flew, puncturing the paper and flying through. But everyone saw the perfection of the puncture, and there was awe on every face as they turned back to look at her.
The look on her face, though, was not one of triumph.
"Lucy," she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "Peter, Edmund. Mum. Dad." She raised her voice to a yell. "Why'd you leave me?" She pulled an apple out of a wide-eyed observers hand, threw it as far as she could and let loose the ninth arrow.
"Aslan," she murmured, as the apple landed in two distinct thumps on the solid earth, split by her ninth arrow. "Why'd you leave me?" And with them looking on in awe, she turned and ran down the lane, blinded by her own tears.