Updated 03/27/2019 to fix a typo; thank you, ILoveCheetosbutIAMTIMELSS, for catching that!
Disclaimer: Narnia isn't mine, I'm just jumping into Lewis's world.
Chapter Three: Through the Painting
Of course, a reminder of home was not quite enough to make up for missing the home itself, when one was in exile, Lucy privately reflected. But it was something she could share with Edmund, in the rare moments when they managed to excuse themselves from the lectures of their uncle, the sniffs of disapproval from their aunt, and the bullying of their cousin and slip up to her room to talk about Narnia. Narnia, brought closer than before by the picture on her wall.
(1)"The question is," said Edmund, "whether it doesn't make things worse, looking at a Narnian ship when you can't get there." Lucy stared at the painting, remembering the graceful swell of the Narnian sea, and her heart longed for home once again, to be there. But the painting did bring it closer.
"Even looking is better than nothing. And," she added, marveling once again at the rich purple and living green, the dragon head and gilded wings, "she is such a very Narnian ship."
Of course, at that moment their cousin interrupted, having been listening outside the door. Badger and bear guards, thought Lucy. They used to guard our doors. She spent a moment enjoying a picture of how Eustace would have looked when confronted by them as Edmund dealt with their unpleasant relative. Or tried to. For all of Edmund's own skill at being curt—which was a blessing at times—Eustace enjoyed inconveniencing them too much to leave. But then Eustace asked her about the painting.
The painting that reminded her of home, partly because it seemed so alive. And as she described it, something so strange and so familiar happened. The breeze picked up, coming from the painting, and with it sounds, the sounds of a ship on the sea, and the smell. She caught her breathe. She knew that smell. She knew it from another life. She knew it from her dreams. She knew it like she knew home.
The wet wave spilling from the painting and slapping the three of them—including her objecting cousin—did not feel like home, but the pull of magic, growing a painting into an entire world, she'd felt that pull before, on a train station. The pull of a different world. And as her cousin felt it and rushed forward to smash the painting, she acted an instant after her brother and caught the side Edmund wasn't pulling on; Eustace, and the magic, dragged them both forward, and suddenly they were standing on the frame, the sea breaking against it like waves on rocks. Oh, the sea! Then Eustace panicked and dragged all three into the ocean.
Lucy kept her head like a queen should, kicked off her shoes, and started swimming. Towards the ship that had been her reminder of home; towards the only safety in sight.
Until Eustace, still panicking, dragged her down. She choked half a mouthful of liquid, the salt-water painfully familiar, but when they came back up Edmund was there, catching Eustace's arms. And someone else had dived off the ship, someone with a face that was vaguely familiar(2), someone who helped her tread water until he and her brother could tie a rope around her. And the cold was biting, and the side of the ship rough (she bruised her knee), but the ship's crew was as careful as they could be, and soon her brother and cousin were standing beside her. The familiar stranger came up last.
She knew him. She was there when he first met Aslan, she'd watched him start to rule the land that had once been hers, and she gasped out his name between chattering teeth. His name, which meant she was home. She was back. And Edmund with her.
And Eustace. Eustace, who stood at a distance while she and Edmund shook hands with their friend in delight; Eustace, who was as out of place in Narnia as the ship's painting had been in his house. Eustace, who rushed to the side of the ship, looking for something familiar, and Lucy's heart twinged, for she knew that feeling. She had not, however, thrown up after not finding anything, as her cousin did; but she knew he was truly miserable.
But Caspian was calling for spiced wine - she'd forgotten that scent, the strong burning taste that warmed them and tasted of Narnia, and she curved her fingers around the silver cup and smiled into it, running her fingers over the dwarf-etched figures of the lion on the side. This felt like home.
And then Eustace began complaining and asking for something whose name she did not remember, only that it was nerve food. And she thought he might need it, for she could not imagine what Aslan intended for him in Narnia; surely it would be too much for Eustace to handle. Though Aslan's choice was always right.
She reminded herself of that, when she heard Eustace scream in disgust, and turned to find a mouse, walking on its hind feet, a crimson feather in the gold circlet on its head, and a sword at its side (3). Reepicheep, someone whom Lucy had always longed to take up in her arms and cuddle (4). But he was valiant soldier, a hero of the battles of Narnia in Caspian's time, and she gave him what he valued: dignity and respect, kneeling on one knee to talk at his height, and surrendering her hand for the kiss a knight gives a lady.
He did not mix well with Eustace. Honor personified with adventure does not speak with pettiness, and she foresaw she would miss Susan's gentleness that grew gentleness in others on this trip. But Reepicheep was before her, and Caspian at her side, and they sailed on a Narnia ship.
And shivered on one; she and Edmund both sneezed, and Caspian scolded himself with true Narnian hospitality, and took both her and her brother the king - for they were Aslan's appointed royals again - to His cabin, a cabin with the exquisite dwarf-made lanterns, decorations of birds, dragons, beasts, and vines, and a golden Aslan on the wall (5). Caspian took things for himself and Edmund, and left her in her new home. Dressing, she paused by a window, to see the sea-her sea-and thanked Aslan she had not gone to America.
(1) The following dialogue (but not all the interjections) is a direct quote from VOTD.
(2) VOTD p. 13
(3) VOTD p. 16
(4) VOTD p. 16
(5) VOTD p. 17, 18
OOOOO
Response to Anonymousme: Thanks for reviewing! I hope you enjoy the story; it's not a Caspian one, as I think I'll be able to write this better from Lucy's point of view; and hers was the theme. Read it as you can, and I look forward to hearing from you when you do!
