What's in a Name
A Chronicles of Narnia Fanfiction
Chapter Three
-Lucy-
AU: Whoa! This fic lives! Surprised?
Lucy Pevensie (Queen Lucy, the Valiant)
Origin: Latin
Definition: bringer of light
Meaning: hope, faith, healing
Verse: "Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard." – Isaiah 58:8
My favorite color is a golden yellow. It can be found in the wet sand that clings to the skin between your toes after a trip to the seaside until a bath washes away it, but not the memories. It is the color of the smiling sun that wakes me gently every morning with its soft rays. It is like the shaggy pillow that I so miss burrowing into. It is the color of warmth, of happiness. Of home.
In this sad little tunnel, there is unhappiness everywhere. It is mostly dark, aside from a few dim lights, and everything looks cold and stiff. Like statues.
Peter has been fighting again. Though I usually do not worry, I wonder what will become of us when we are all separated. Edmund has drawn inward and crawled inside some deep place within himself. Susan has become distant and cold; bitter. Things used to be so much easier. I feel that they will get better – they must. I love my family. They are the center of my universe.
All these things are swimming through my head – little minnows in a dirty pond. Then I feel something. It is not exactly painful; more of a surprise, like a birthday party. It is a hot pinch, almost like a spark. It warms me to the core. I think my siblings are playing a game, like we used to, and then they are feeling the same thing and none of us are to blame.
A heartbeat later, we are on a beach. It feels wonderful, almost the most wonderful thing I have ever felt. It makes me happy again, because we are all happy.
There is something about the seaside that appeals to everyone. The seaside I remember was almost visited almost too long ago to remember at all. It was rocky – not the type of sand you can walk barefoot in – and it was frightfully cold and windy. Nothing about the shore was particularly special, it was just that we are all together, before Daddy left for the war. The car ride up was long, and all of us were so cramped in the car, sticky with body heat and excitement, that we were just happy to get out. It had been foggy the whole way, and Mum had been worried that it would stay that way when we got there. All of our gathered energy came out as we played for hours and hours; I can't remember being tired. I just know how beautiful the sun was. It finally came out of the clouds as soon as we stepped foot on the shore. It was lovely, and it looked so close, like you could just reach across the water and grab it. I ran to touch its reflection in the water to bring it back to Peter, and tried to give it to him. He always smiles when he retells the story, how I am thinking of others when I get a gift. I think the sun is a gift.
This beach has real sand to stick our toes in, and we waste no time getting rid of our shoes. Walking barefoot reminds me of Narnia. For a long time we went barefoot, because it stayed mostly warm there after Aslan defeated the White Witch and ended the hundred years of winter. The snow used to seem so cruel in Finchley. None of us liked it anymore, afterward.
Going barefoot isn't the only thing that is familiar. We are all laughing and playing again. Before, there was such fuss – particularly from Mum and Susan – about acting our age (mostly in order to stop talk of Narnia, to keep from bothering Mum or saddening the rest of us when we missed it greatly and couldn't get back). But when we really got older, we weren't concerned at all. People respected us and loved us, and we loved them back. We all had fun, and didn't pretend to be independent or act like stuffy old people. We all need each other, and of course Aslan. There was no wishing to be a different age. We were just happy. It would be nice if people could be happy with what we had. That only seemed to happen in Narnia.
We run, and play, and wonder. What if…?
I want to stay on the beach. But I want more to find out where we are.
I think, in my heart, I already know. All of us know.
But, as is typical, we want proof. We hike up the hill like it is nearly nothing. All it took is a piece of Narnian gold to confirm our hopes and our fears. Of course it had to be gold.
This Narnia is different than what we once knew. But that does not make it any less welcoming. Though our castle – our castle, our castle – lies in ruins, all of us know that our true power comes from something other than our thrones. There is a reason we were brought back here, and surely, it is here – and we will find it.
We find the treasure room. Peter finds Rhindon, Edmund his own sword, and Su, her bow. I, of course, have my cordial. Doing the healing is much more preferable than the alternative.
Leaving the room is almost like returning to reality, almost like entering Narnia again. The sun, so much brighter and hotter it seems to be here, looks to be our only guide. It is our light for now, watching us with a warm smile, and when we all ascend the stairs of the last reminder of what once was, all I can think of is what is yet to be. No one looks back at the cave where the rail station once was, because we have all found the light at the end of the tunnel.
