CHAPTER ONE
TRUTH
NY 1000
The coronation of the Pevensie monarchs had been something else entirely, though bittersweet to the immortality of Juliet Capulet's mind over the personal failure she didn't even want to think about; it had been filled with laughter, smiles and cheers for the crowned monarchs and the defeat of the White Witch that Juliet could not entirely share on; but she remained, dancing, feasting, evermore even smiling when she was so privately presented to the Kings and Queens just like all people of consequence were, "The great legend of Narnia, and Lady of the Lake, Juliet Capulet." She had even managed to curtsy shortly but lowly, showing them the very respect she had grown to feel upon the depths of her heart over the events that had happened many weeks prior—even if it had been no more than two days for her.
When she had risen, a soft look of curiosity seemed to have been shared between each of the new monarchs, "Juliet Capulet?" The oldest Queen had wondered; smiling so gently that no one would have dared to do anything other than smile back. "I'm sorry, it's just…" the Queen finally looked at her, "There is a story, a—a play back in England, where we're from, who has a character named like you."
Oh, but of course, Juliet had thought as her eyes fell to the ground, if anything so the smile upon her lips did not seem as forced as it felt, of course, of course they know. "I know the tale of which thou speak, your majesty, for I lived it; and thus I must confess, indeed: I am the very girl."
It was the youngest Queen who had seemed the more excited to find out the news, for she had not only laughed with elation and said "This is wonderful!" But she had shaken her sister's arm the way only a child would think to do. "Not only Father Christmas, but Romeo and Juliet!"
"I wonder what other stories are true," the High King wondered towards his smiling but silent brother.
"Where is Romeo?" Queen Susan continued as if Peter had not spoken. "I would like to meet him too, if I may."
"Alas, your majesty," Juliet replied. "He is not here."
"Oh, he's not in the palace?" Susan asked.
The young-looking Juliet had no other choice than to gulp down the knot that had formed within her throat, and shake her head, "He is not in Narnia."
"Oh no, I'm so sorry." Queen Lucy said, closing the short space that separated her from Juliet and comforting her with a little hand.
"'Tis alright, your majesty;" It was simply impossible not to smile, for the kindness of the monarchs proved true, even within a subject so loathed to Juliet as Romeo Montague. "It be naught but a long strayed memory turned into a tale I've ne'er forgotten."
"I do hope you tell us that tale one day, I would love to hear the story right from someone who lived it," Queen Susan admitted with a smile, clasping her hands in front of her in a manner so graceful it was difficult to remember she had not always been a Queen. "As I hope you will accept an offer to remain here instead of the woods; it would be quite comforting to have somebody from our world in the palace."
And though she had been about to reply, a soft gasp came from Juliet's left, which simply blocked any word from her lips; it was Queen Lucy, "You could be my Lady!" She'd exclaimed; looking up at Juliet with a sort of happiness she had not seen in a very long time in Narnia. "You could have your own rooms near mine, and we could be friends!"
It was a sort of joy that was almost contagious enough to make Juliet forget the very things that ailed her upon that moment; almost. "It would be mine honour, your majesty." And from then, the pleasantries of their introduction came to an end, with a smiling young Queen and the very victory sung upon the lips of all those who were brought to the monarchs to meet. And yet, still, even as she stood by Lucy's side, chatting with the monarchs in between meetings, the reminder of all she had failed to accomplish remained with her mind; a mind that felt to have been broken by Romeo for the millionth time. She smiled and spoke, but even as she did she was nothing more than a ghost; a short-lived mirrored memory of the joyous girl she had been before her failure two days prior; before the many things that made of that instance a bittersweet victory, before the failure of her own duties came to drown her.
Before she had had to see on someone else's expression what she had suffered herself centuries prior: betrayal through the hands of he who should have loved her more than anyone else.
It was why for the next few days time seemed to pass slowly and painfully for the young immortal, even after the many arrangements managed to be made for her private chambers, which were to be found mere steps across the hallway from Lucy's own just as she had said, even after she had moved to them, and even after she had begun her duties as Lady almost at once; of course young Juliet was full of sorrow even nearly a month later, for the failure she had seen and suffered on Earth had been her first, and every single time she closed her eyes she could see nothing but the horror in the face of the soul she had failed, her body laying on the ground, clutching at her bloodied chest whilst the shock of her lover's actions brought tears upon her face. Was that what she had looked like as she bled slowly upon the Capulet tomb, looking up at Romeo, looking up at the very person whose sole purpose should have been to protect and love her?
"Lady Juliet?" A young voice called, shaking the brunette from the still guilty reverie that made her unable to do more than blink a couple of times and finally raise her gaze onto the one that called her: her Queen, Lucy. "Are you okay?" Her young curious voice wondered, tainted with a short speck of concern that even the low Protector was surprised to hear in the voice of a six year old.
"Of course, your majesty, I am." Juliet stated, lowering the book she had been supposed to be reading, regardless of how she had been hardly paying attention at all, and lifting her lips in a smile that, as it had ever done lately, didn't truly reach her eyes.
"It's just..." Queen Lucy continued, smoothing out the folds of her dress as her own comfort showed upon her posture: her own book on her lap, her legs crossed under her yet well hidden under the very folds she had smoothed out with her hands. "...well," she attempted, for she had not always been a Queen, and the many teachings from the very Mother she missed echoed in her mind over her manners, the truth that perhaps she should not be nosy, should mind her own business.
And yet her struggle was evident; how could it not be from a young girl whose emotions seemed ever to be exposed upon her face? And thus Juliet attempted to comfort her with a smile, "Thou may ask of me what thou wilt, your majesty." She encouraged, curious enough by that point to slowly close the book she'd been holding (though not entirely reading); but not, of course, without making sure her finger served as bookmark onto the words she'd been ignoring. "I shall answer true, I swear."
The young Queen released a small smiling breath and asked at once: "Well, I was just… wondering why you look so sad." She finally confessed. "Is it because you miss Romeo?"
The single question hit Juliet like a brick, and though he had been almost exactly what she had been thinking of only moments prior, suddenly the vow to answer truthfully came as loathed as the man included in the Queen's query, "I wish I could say aye, your majesty." Juliet forced herself to admit; she hadn't even taken full notice of her eyes falling to her hands until she had to force them up to look at the Queen, "So that I may not shatter what thou know'st of me."
"What do you mean?" Queen Lucy wondered, her head tilting with the confusion her voice carried.
Once again, Juliet's eyes fell to the leather cover of the book, though perhaps this time it was for shame, "I mean not but the truth," She admitted with a breath. "That which I did not speak upon thy coronation for the truth that it is a long story; not to mention, one which would prove false upon the play from which thou knowst mine name, for such a tale has been spoken for centuries in our world." Finally her eyes lifted to meet the other's gaze once again, and her book was set aside at last. "But, oh, thou must know now: that play is a lie, your Majesty." She confessed. "It was written by Messer Shakespeare, aye, but... he was helped concoct its lies by Romeo himself, it... mine story, the real version, 'tis not as thou knows it; not all of it, at least."
A small frown found means to invade the young Queen's expression, "Then how is it?" She wondered, regardless of how shortly after her eyes widened and her posture straightened on the couch once again; her manners seemed to leave her sometimes, but at least she could be proud she remembered them later. "That is, of course, if you want to tell me." Even a soft blush emerged upon her cheeks; and it did, in fact, feel strange for Juliet to see a Queen blush.
But she kept forgetting, where Juliet had been born a Lady, Lucy Pevensie had not been born a Queen; thus, she attempted to smile once again. "I do not mind thy asking, your majesty." She comforted, making a slightly big show of making herself comfortable upon her seat to serve as a means to convince the other that she truly did not mind the questions, even if it hurt to speak the answers. "I will tell it true if thou doth wish, but I do not lie: the tale is long."
To that, Queen Lucy smiled. "I've got time." She said, encouraging her Lady to continue, even more so with the kind of smile only available for one her age, "Better to hear your story than to go study my lessons with Susan." The girl laughed; and what better comfort than that?
So Juliet told her everything; "If one thing Messer Shakespeare wrote true it was that a happy childhood was mine, living in Verona, running through the vineyards, being raised by my Nurse until an age came in which marriage couldst be spoken or promised by mine name, but, oh, your majesty, the idea was as terrifying as the man expected to be mine…"
-O-
It had all so started by the meeting at her Lady Mother's masquerade ball, a glance stolen from one corner of the room to the next, followed by the silent flirtation of their playful eyes; a romance so begun but one that would not truly find its birth upon that night, for the dalliance had come from the single idea her mother had planted upon her head that morning, and though Romeo had been by sight a dream come true, the moderation of Juliet's upbringing allowed her to do no more than dance, speak, and let their eyes do the flirting; thus, indeed, no more than the kiss between palms as Shakespeare himself would later write came to pass, but none shared by their lips. There was no kiss, and perhaps because of it there were no declarations of love, nor the poetic musings of a man resting under the shadows of her balcony; it had been simply like a dream brought through the kindness of the night, but ne'er a thing more than that, and thus when he left the party there was no more within her mind than the curiosity of his name, a name she shortly after learnt and for which she was devastated enough to be sad for one night, thus bringing forth the very first time that Juliet Capulet questioned the severity of their families' hate.
And though the question remained hot within her mind, the girl had not been able to see Romeo again until the Sunday two weeks later, at mass—the first instance after Count Paris' proposal in which Juliet was even allowed to set foot outside the villa, for long had been her suffering against Paris that the mere embarrassment of her disposition had forced her parents to refuse the older man until, as they said, Juliet was of a better age to accept the duties of her gender. There, within that blessed church rested Romeo upon one of the two main pews alongside his family, one which mirrored the one where she rested beside hers as the two Lord families of the city should; it was a place of worship, and yet he dared smile at her as if he did not know her name, as if simply sitting by her family did not make her lineage clear. It was not a smile she had been able to share, for the many years of teaching made her blindly follow within her family's hate regardless of her doubts, thereafter making her eyes cold, and her posture colder still, thus paying no thought to anything but the friar that gave his sermon and the black handkerchief she fiddled with as discretely as she could (lest her mother catch her and scolded her in front of any who looked her way); and so it was that for the next few weeks, Romeo attempted to smile at her, and the winter of her attitude was given instead.
It was truly only until the monthly celebration of a city saint time later, quite unexpectedly and without a prior claim, that Romeo Montague pulled her away from the festivities and the protection of her Nurse into the safety of a shop abandoned for the celebration, softly planning to make his case, "I know our houses be enemies but I hate thee not, I cannot." He had said, "and if that be wherefore thou art as cold as ice since that blessed night I met thee, then I beg thee, kind Saint, ask thine own self that which bringeth strife between our kin and hate me not, or if thou must, if the seed is deep in loathing within thy heart and thou wilt hate me true, then put this hopeful worshiper out of his misery by commanding me to never speak to thee again; I know none of what drives our families' enmity, for which Irefuse it keep us apart, thus, speak, dear Lady, speak, and let mine heart hope onto thee again."
How, indeed, had the enmity of their families begun? It was a question that had been boiling within Juliet's head ever since the two had met; and upon that day, speaking to him for the first time in a long time, the words he gifted proved so kind that she was simply unable to not accept their cause; after all, how could someone as kind as Romeo Montague seemed to be deserve to be hated merely for the word of someone older than she? Granted, it had been the word of her parents, and not once had they seemed to request a faultless thing from her, thus it had been such the reason for which she had forced herself to ignore him for months, and perhaps also for which it took long doubt to make her choice that celebratory day.
In the end, after a pair of days in which she boldly questioned her Lord and Lady, Juliet allowed Romeo the hope he wished upon a written word, and vowed onto a short infatuation thereafter; one that time made the smiles and glances shared turn into secret escapades where she claimed she went to confession or to the market with her Nurse—a nurse that, for a reason young Juliet, at the time, could not entirely understand, seemed to be more than willing to lie for her onto her parents for the sake of her relationship with the young Montague—and eventually even enough for her to sneak out of her house in the middle of the night in order to walk about her gardens with him or merely sit and talk. It was a relationship that did not truly develop into love until many months had passed, one even including of her fifteenth birthday; many weeks after which, finally, Juliet received the chilling proposal of marriage that she almost immediately and happily accepted over the truth that more than a whole year had passed since the act had first been mentioned to her, and the one opportunity she had had—one that had terrified her for weeks—had thankfully given up on her for the love of a princess far way. And thus the similarities to the play come to be, for Juliet knew that a marriage onto her family's enemy was not only forbidden but perfectly unthinkable, which made the couple concoct a plan in which they could marry in secret, consummate the marriage, and thereafter make their truth public, when nothing could be done in the eyes of God to break their marriage by either family regardless of how intently they tried.
The problem was, much like the play blames, that her cousin, Tybalt, for his terrifying infatuation with her—one hidden entirely from anyone's eyes except Juliet's own—rose to levels in which his men were told to spy on her whenever and however they could; specially after he became aware of the little escapades for which the Nurse covered; it became an act well played, for her cousin's spies told him of the wedding's news, and though they had come all too late into its knowledge, for the jolly consummation had been able to take place, the news still drove a madness within Tybalt Capulet that Messer Shakespeare depicted well. One in which he challenged newlywed Romeo in events written well within the play: he refused to fight Tybalt over his new lawful bond, which made Mercutio's pride get in the way until he was slain, and shortly thereafter, Tybalt followed Romeo's cousin in death, who was slain by Juliet's grief filled husband, which brought upon his hateful banishment at once; but it was Juliet's loyalty and love which made her help her husband hide, allowing Romeo to stay within her room for weeks—in which they shared their love and her bed—until the seclusion of such a place seemed to drive him mad enough to leave without a word.
Two days later, before Juliet could even think of grieving his absence any further, Romeo was seen within the piazza of Verona, and that mistake alone proved grave; sadness enough had caused her heart grief to see him gone, and then to have to hear her parents talk about the murderer being found again with hopes of his death… it had been entirely too much. She had been, in fact, moments away from confessing the truth to her family in hopes of saving him still when a letter came to her in the vineyards by the familiarity of Benvolio's hand; the letter was written in the known flare of Romeo's penmanship, and it explained the very shame that had driven him away from her protection and her love; the sadness that continued to eat at his heart onto what he had done, which had cursed them to have to hide their marriage for much longer than they had planned. It was not something he had not already told her endlessly within his stay in her room, but still, he wrote about it further within the claim that it was her love which shamed him further, for he believed to be undeserving of such a thing evermore and thus he had left for the sake of her heart; the words he used were so broken and harsh onto his person that, regardless of their repetition, Juliet saw naught more than true regret within his confession, for her love blinded her, it shielded her eyes onto the words stating of his shame, his anger—stating of how deeply he would understand if she chose to never speak to him again, if she wished their marriage gone, if she wished him dead, how he would understand but for his selfishness he would hope… if thou wilt, if thy gentle heart sees thus fit to forgive this vile villain, I beg thee, my precious love, meet me within the safety of the monument maker of thy name's fame, where thou shalt meet a man loving of thy person with all his heart, ready to leave this city, something much livelier if it were to be by thy side. Meet me, gentle Juliet; let this marriage be merry in a city far from the loathing of these walls—in such a way that it did not take her reading the letter more than once for the young girl to decide to run away with him. So it was that she went to the Capulet tomb in the middle of the night, fooling every single speck of protection in her home, from the guardsmen, to her Nurse, carrying of only a few things in a small bag and a hopeful heart to fill the rest.
When she arrived, such did she believe to be the passion between Romeo and her, that she did not question his kisses of relief as they turned into more; much less when the two laid upon the tomb's floor in each other's arms and Romeo soon after turned their loving reality into a conversation feigned of curiosity onto their fates… "Oh, I am glad thou hast come; Juliet, I must confess, if thou hath not showed, I wouldst but step outside upon the morrow and let the Prince take my life"
Almost at once, Juliet had flinched and partly lifted her frame to rest over his, "Nay, say 'tis not true, say thou wouldst not kill thyself for mine absence, what if I hath been late? Thus detained or discovered?"
"Aye, but I would," Romeo had continued, gracing the skin of her back with a softness much familiar now to her, "I love thee, Juliet, if I knew not the truth, if I had greeted the morrow without thee by mine side I wouldst have known and died, oh soul so loyal to thee that it would have perished, and thus what best but let the body die alike? I love thee, my dear Saint, I love thee." He kissed her then, "Dost thou not love me thus?"
The question had seem so absolutely atrocious to Juliet that she had been unable to do more than sit up and say, "Aye, dost thou not know it? Ever mine love is true, and deep; endless as the sea under which I wouldst rather drown than live a day not knowing thou livest," And with the passion driven within her heart, showing of her own emotions, her body twisted and her hand swiftly reached for the abandoned dagger atop the pile of their clothes in order to face him and point it in her heart's direction. "I swear it, if thou hath died, I wouldst have soon after followed, for I wouldst rather make mine body into this lonely dagger's sheath and join thee in death than take one breath without thy company." The moment, whole as it remained, seemed holy, but even such moments proved to be able to break, for not for long had she held Romeo once he had moved to kiss her that the warmth of a stinging pain brought breath to cut short upon her throat; she didn't understand it at first, she simply parted her lips from his and looked into his eyes as the warmth of crimson expelled from her lips tainted his once stainless features.
"For this truth, I shall say farewell," Romeo whispered within the closeness they shared; and only then did her slowly fading brain manage to understand what had happened as a single tear washed the blood from his face, "Given in this day, brought by thy blood well spilt, which will mark the arrival of immortality into mine heart," his hand finally fell from hers, though the other held her close to him, and only then did her hand fall to the side, letting go of the very dagger now deeply embedded in her heart. "'Tis not fair, I know," Romeo lamented, "But by this death thou hast gifted me eternity, and thus, my love, death shall never touch me. But for this gift, thy heart cannot live as long as mine might, and, I thank thee." He continued as he held her, attempted to comfort her against the betrayal of his murderous actions, as if his tears could heal her wounds, as if his words made any sense to the girl slowly dying upon the ground of the tomb onto which he slowly lowered her frame, his tears falling against her cheeks, making of her own become tainted entirely by the fragility of his own sorrow. "May age never touch thy beautiful face, nor wrinkle thy perfect lips." A vow he sealed with a kiss regardless of the blood that rouged them. "May youth be thy eternal companion." And with no more than the silence of his actions, he finally abandoned her naked body on the ground, and left, breaking her heart in two for the second time and leaving the blood that then slipped from her body to become the only scream visible from Juliet's soul.
-O-
"He killed you?" Queen Lucy asked, the soft voiced breaker of the Lady's tale, as even her eyes, which had fallen to look at the small wooden table between the two, lifted to look in her direction, nodding. "He actually thought killing you would make him immortal?"
This is where Juliet's head finally shook. "Nay, your majesty, he didn't think it would, he knew it." She responded, quickly enough to make the Queen's head tilt onto the confusion she couldn't even try to hide; she had definitely understood the entirety of her saddened tale, yet here Juliet had lost her. "'Tis not something I came to know until much later, but there was a creature lurking in the body of a dead man, possessing him, if thou wilt, that befriended and whispered things to Romeo's ear," the Lady informed. "It spoke to him of power, of immortality, all to come by the spilt blood of she whom he loved the most, his soul-mate." She paused, pointing at herself. "Me."
The young Queen seemed horrified. "And did it work?" She asked, not at all surprised when Juliet nodded once again.
"Only because our love proved true," She said, releasing a soft breath through parted lips. "See, the love between true soul-mates is rare, your majesty, and 'tis so powerful that it can make or break a world; it doth carry of magic so powerful that used wrongly it can give life eternal, for 'tis meant to tie two souls together for the rest of eternity, allowing them to meet over and over again through the course of thousands of years. 'Tis why, if, like Romeo, one of the soul-mates kills the other and claims such soul, then the magic thus resting within the murdered lover's heart transfers to him or her, giving them the immortality of both for as long as they are able to lure other lovers to do alike; 'tis a vicious cycle that has cursed Earth for longer than even I can know: one of Them manipulates, thus convinces a lover to kill their soul-mate, that lover turns like Them so that they can convince someone else, and on, and on." She breathed, encouraged to go on merely by the curiosity in the young Queen's gaze. "'Tis why we call them Lifeless, for they exist without truly living, given that their purpose alone is to lure more people to their cause; making any like Romeo much more tortured than even I might be, for his body remains the same, yet the duty that doth claim him makes of his soul not but an invader of one dead body to the next, rotting alongside it, keeping it moving by mere purpose alone, more dead than alive, and only able to return to his never-changing body when he is either successful on convincing a soul-mate of murder or fails in the task."
"That sounds horrible." The young Queen noted; the tiny frown wrinkling her forehead as her hands rested soft upon her lap. "Why would anyone want such a thing?"
Surprisingly, the smile that lifted Juliet's lips was one of sadness, even pity, as she replied. "Frankly, I fail to think anyone would." She admitted. "But that be the game of the Lifeless: lying to achieve their end, manipulating, avoiding details and luring others by promise of immortality, enough so that, by the time the murderer doth realise they are but to exist for someone else's purpose, 'tis much too late."
Almost immediately, Lucy asked: "But... who do they serve?" Looking at her Lady once more, as curious as the moment she had noted the other's sadness to start.
"Someone evil, your majesty, yet someone much alike the ones I serve—for everything has its counterpart, and for the Lifeless, the opposite are people like me and those above people like me, the ones giving of my duty: Love's Protectors, high and low. The ones originally gifting of a soul-mate's magic in the first place, beings much older than any human ever living, beings of so much power that the only way for them to not grow insane with it is to gift some of it to creatures like us, with love, meant to make us stronger, meant, as their name states: to protect. As such, the being Romeo serves was once alike the Protectors themselves; though one who hath thus become insane over the temptation of her own power."
"Like the Devil in the bible." The young queen attempted for show of her own understanding.
"Precisely," Juliet agreed, "This being realised she could keep her power, and moreover, gain endless more if only she took the life of one gifted of soul-mate's magic, and by every soul-mate killed, more power fell into her hands, and so the cycle began, with her first created soldier, and the next, until her army was so vast that the Protectors had to begin an army of their own, for by her gaining power, the Protectors lost even more and the balance of the world doth began to be lethally tilted, thus, the place where people like me come into play came to be created: people betrayed by those who would become the first Lifeless' soldiers, people given of duty to fight those who hath betrayed them, to give the name of Protector a brand new meaning, to protect future soul-mates, and help them keep away from the path of those like Romeo, who wouldst whisper in their ear until one of them killed the other, as is my duty."
The frown in the middle of Lucy's forehead did not truly disappear as every single one of Juliet's words became branded within her mind, "That is truly awful," she said, leaning back against the couch she hadn't even realised she leaned forwards on to take in every single thing her Lady spoke of that she had not been aware of in the world, even in books; oh, how was she supposed to trust the words in books now? "And unfair… to have your story told wrong… I believe I would be sad for that, too."
"Angry, your majesty," Juliet confessed; though the note of her voice did not entirely match the word she spoke regardless of how much she tried to make it. "I rest angry for the lies spoken in that play, not sad."
And yet her voice was soft, her shoulders were down, even her eyes seemed as haunted as Mr. Tumnus' had shortly after he had confessed to be kidnapping Lucy… "Then why are you sad?" The young Queen found herself asking; because though she had perfectly welcomed the clarification of what she knew about the story of Romeo and Juliet—and had thought it perfectly to be able to have given reason to her Lady's sadness—the expression in her face continued to be one Lucy had seen many times before; in her father's face when he'd gone off to join the army, in her mother's when the news of war broke out through London, in her siblings' when they'd had to say goodbye to Mother for the sake of their safety; even in Edmund's shortly after he had been rescued from the grasp of the White Witch; and, after everything she had been through and been able to overcome as much outside of Narnia as in… "Please, I want to help."
For a moment, the young Queen thought that her Lady wouldn't say a thing, but after a small silence in which Juliet's gaze finally rose from her lap into the blues of Lucy Pevensie's, the Italian finally spoke, "E'er I speak true: I do not think thou couldst help, your majesty, but I dare not keep this woe to mine own self any longer, lest thou think'st me untrustworthy or worse," she paused, nodding once, it appeared, more to convince and encourage herself than anything else, "Thus I admit: thou sayeth I seem sad, and thou art right, for 'tis mine truth that I have failed as much in this world as on Earth, when I was sent too late onto the protection of two soul-mates who, indeed, by the time I arrived, hath well been corrupted by the likes of Romeo Montague in turn; he who doth continue to wish upon my end once and for all, therefore making of my duty harder to accomplish; and for it, and by consequence, I failed here, in Narnia, right upon a moment in which it might have needed me the most, making it so that a duty failed came from both sides of my existence: a soul-mate dead for the first time by my watch, and a war not fought, yet given here:" she motioned lightly in Lucy's direction, "A reward that I do not deserve, as such come by the gift of being asked to be thy Lady upon thy coronation."
And at that, it seemed finally, she cried.
All this time Juliet Capulet had seemed a walking spirit, someone without much life who had the need of an embrace or a cry, and here it was, finally, the tears falling without stop onto her cheeks, and unsurprisingly, it made the young Queen raise from her seat in order to move to her Lady's side at once. "Hey, hey..." She said, a soothing tone meant to calm the weeping girl, as a small arm attempted to comfort the older girl the way once upon a time she had done for Mr. Tumnus himself; "It is not your fault, I am sure." An attempt over the few couple of questions that remained wildly across her mind, "We won the war, didn't we? That is a win, something to be happy about."
"Aye, indeed, but I was not here," Juliet responded, sniffing away her own sorrows and lifting a hand with hopes of wiping away her treacherous tears. "Here this world hath given me a second chance at life, an escape from an eternal darkness, and how doth my thanks come? By leaving right at its moment of most need," she continued, easily accepting the little handkerchief the young Queen offered her, "You see, I was here all along, your majesty; for thy arrival upon Aslan's camp, thy brother's rescue, the Witch's treacherous request… in fact, it hath been but a few hours after thy news of Aslan's slaying came—barely moments after King Peter took well leadership of us all—and before I knew what hath happened, I was gone, pulled from this, my second chance, and into the body of a person in time short enough that hath not given me enough to save my charge. Naught but an invader, a possession, a spirit, not the girl thou can thus touch or see, but a lower Protector who hath no other way to be but—"
"I believe you've lost me." The young Queen apologetically interrupted, attempting of a smile across her lips, and a single breathed show of amusement and apology for the other to hear, one meant to comfort, perhaps even meant to make her smile.
It seemed to work, if only for a short moment. "I do beg pardon." Juliet said; breathing a short chuckle of her own as her hand lifted once again to press the handkerchief against the newly shed tears. "'Tis but the part of the story I've failed to explain, as is the truth that I am only human here… in Narnia." She thereafter confessed after a couple of silent beats.
Lucy's brows seemed to lift in confusion and curiosity once more, even as her little hand continued to attempt comforting the older girl, "What do you mean?"
The Lady took a single breath in an attempt to steady herself, and swiftly resumed her tale: "Remember thou my presentation onto thee, your majesty?" She wondered. "How the knight called me the Great Legend of Narnia?" Of course Lucy nodded. "Well, 'tis because of how long I've been here. Truly, I have called this place mine home long before it was baptised Narnia," She confessed. "See, there was once nothing here, your majesty. Nothing but an emptiness, a Mist of sorts, a complete darkness where naught was there to see, where I couldst do naught but think, yet not breathe, nor dream, nor hear myself speak or scream; t'was the place the High Protectors created to be able to send my soul to rest when it was not needed for my duty of protection on Earth. For, as I said before, the Protectors are the opposite of the Lifeless, but alike them we must possess people too; only, unlike them, by the single truth that my duty is given instead of taken, I am able to possess the living—though not alike it be depicted in the bible, stating of demons, I assure you," The Lady said once the expression on the young Queen's face shifted onto one of concern, even terror. "But merely one soul, or spirit, if thou wilt, taking the place of another for a short time, and only whilst absolutely necessary." She paused, looking to give Lucy the opportunity to ask a question if she had not been able to follow along; but so far she felt she had, and though she had many questions—like what happened to the original soul of the body Juliet possessed, or how it was that she did her duty, or what exactly did all of that have to do with her being called the Legend of Narnia—the young Queen simply encouraged her lady with a nod, hoping the answers to all of them came on their own.
She was thankful when eventually they did, "When 'tis time, someone like me—a Lower Protector—find themselves being sent into the body of someone close to the soul to be protected, when such a thing happens, we get the memories of the mind we have taken over the second we land, so that we may'nt change a single part of their lives, so that we may pretend to be them whilst doing our duty, so we can blend in, and above all so we can watch over and save the charged soul with naught a need to explain to them why we care, alike a stranger might have to." She explained, "'Tis meant to make our duty easier, and at most instances, it does; when our duty be done, we leave the body we hath possessed and are sent onto this darkness once more; and thus it was—that cycle—the way in which I lived for centuries; knowing naught but the minds of others and the nothingness of the darkness I was sent to in between; I possessed one person, did my duty, and then nothing, duty, and nothing, and so on.
Until, one day, upon my return, the place where there was once nothing seemed finally to be full of light," At least, upon this part of the story, the Lady seemed to be able to smile, something contagious enough for the young Queen to mirror as she finally lowered her hands onto her lap, captivated entirely by the other's tale. "I knew it not at the time, but I was being witness to the birth of Narnia, and it was magical, your majesty, I must confess, it was. For that light and the music it brought both formed the grass upon which many later walked, it formed the trees, it gave life to the animals; surely, soon after, it made them talk, and... may it be chance, or a gift from Aslan or the High protectors, but with the life brought by this world, I was given life too. When that creating light reached me, the world's maker allowed me to feel the grass under my feet, to breathe, to feel my heart beat, something I hath not e'er since that horrible day within the tomb." Even her hand lifted to rest upon the place that magical heart continued to beat, as if the emphasis were necessary aside her words. "My Mist of darkness became this wonderful world thou calls't Narnia, and with it, came my second chance at life.
Of course," And as soon as it had gone, the gloom seemed to return swiftly onto the Lady's expression as her hand fell, and with it her gaze, "I was not entirely sure how my stay here would work, for eventually, after all the joy I felt, I remembered my duty on Earth, I remembered the Protectors, the soul-mates my vow hath me protect. At once, I thought They would pull me away from this, mine second chance, and send me off to another empty place of darkness and nothingness, and the thought, it… it seemed like torture after having felt life with mine own hands, my face, my body, one more time." She released a breath as she looked up at Lucy again, and the young Queen could swear the relief echoed within that breath as it perhaps had the very the day she spoke of. "Fortunately it was not so;" Juliet continued, "The Protectors allowed my stay here, They allowed me such a second chance within the duty I held, alike before my darkness became Narnia, to be pulled away from it only when my services were needed upon Earth, to continue to protect soul-mates as I'th vowed, but with the gift of life by this, oh, so magical world that allowed this saddened spirit an opportunity to feel everything once again.
Thus, you see, my Queen, the reason for which I feel I hath betrayed this land by leaving when it hath needed me most. A feat, perhaps, which would ne'er have hurt as deeply as it doth, hath I been able to do my duty on Earth by saving the soul-mates I'd been charged, but alas, I was sent too late." She finally said, her explanations run dry, but not with them her tears, it seemed, which returned as if they had never left, slowly and quietly as if they themselves felt guilty to even be. "Indeed, this Legend living by this world since its creation, hath failed, and 'tis thus for which my sorrow is so clear, your majesty, for I failed everything, and for it I feel not worthy of the gift this world hath given me of this second life, much less of the kind honour of serving at thy side."
Once again, the tiny hand of the Queen's comfort lifted to rest upon Juliet's back, her head shaking, and with it, the tips of her short hair. "I would not have it any other way," Lucy said, keeping the now well-founded smile across her lips before she spoke again. "Because if I understand correctly, then it was not you who went away to Earth too late, but your Love's Protectors, who failed to send you earlier." She mused. "Which means, dear Lady Juliet, that it's not your fault you were not here, right? It was not your fault that you could not save those souls, nor than you couldn't fight in Beruna." She paused. "It was out of your hands… am I right?"
After a short beat accompanied by a released sigh, Juliet found herself nodding regardless of how she lifted that handkerchief for what felt like the millionth time in order to wipe away the remnant of her tears, "Indeed, but e'er I feel guilty, your majesty," she confessed, "There I saw the betrayal I hath felt upon Romeo's actions all those centuries prior, and I was unable to prevent it; all I couldst do was to be witness to it, and thereafter arrive here, in Narnia, naught but two days before thy coronation, to the truth that I hath not fought for this world either, that I hath failed, and—"
"But it was not your fault," The Queen interrupted once again; only, this time she was not in the least apologetic, but sure of what she spoke, "Just like you said, you couldn't prevent it, I am sure that it would not have mattered how much you tried, and… besides, if I've learnt anything whilst being here is that Aslan knows what he is doing. If you had been meant to be in the Battle of Beruna, you would have been, but you were not, and I can assure you, all is as it was meant to happen. The way I see it, you do deserve to be my Lady; you deserve a little bit of happiness after all that you've been through, and you have proven, even in this small time, that you are a wonderful friend, so please," Lucy nearly pleaded, soothing her Lady with her words as much as the smile on her lips, as she would anyone even if they were not her friend, for such was the light in the little Valiant girl, "Do not blame yourself for something you had no say in; you are here, alive, we won the battle, there is life here in Cair Paravel, summer is in full outside these walls with all remnants of the Witch melting piece by piece, and I am sure Aslan knows what he is doing, so I do believe there are more reasons here to smile than to cry, hm?"
With a final sniff onto her sorrow, the Lady nodded almost at once, "Perhaps I hath not seen it in such a light," she admitted, fully accepting the young Queen's comfort when she smiled and moved to hug her completely; hell, Juliet even returned the embrace in a way she never would have thought to allow herself to do towards a Queen.
Because, indeed; with the spoken and comforted guilt out of her chest, Juliet Capulet had more reasons to smile than to cry at once. Blessed be Queen Lucy, whose very presence could light a whole room or comfort a guilty heart; blessed be onto the very vow that the Lady made upon that night: to protect her Queen as ardently as she would a most dear friend, to be more than just her Lady in waiting, but her Protector, for once, by pure free will, and not by anyone's charge.