Once again, with all my heart, thanks to all the readers and reviewers both old and new! Especially my dears, Daughter of Eve3 (PLEASE READ AND REVIEW HER STORY "BATTLE OF FEAR AND TRUST"! IT'S SOOOO GREAT!) and CoffeeRanger! Your lengthy reviews, personal messages and deep interest in this story have made me feel confident and happy in ways I can't articulate.

I would also like to apologize for taking so long to update. I will be honest, at some point I was overcome with the idea that this story is not good enough and I should just ask for the few interested readers' email addresses, send them each chapter, and then just discontinue the story here. But then I realized that I'm not doing this to be a good writer or storyteller, but to express my love for Narnia and honor the beloved timeless characters C.S. Lewis created. As a result, I finished this chapter. I hope you'll love it and perhaps... let me know what you think/what you want in the reviews/PMs?

I know there's not much going on and I basically just retold the reaping from Lucy's point of view, and perhaps the pace is frustrating for fans of such action-packed novels as Narnia and the Hunger Games, but I promise I will do my best to overcome these weaknesses and deliver a story that just keeps getting better with each chapter.

Once again, thank you so much for reading/reviewing. May God shower you with peace, blessings and love!

Chapter Four: Daughters of Eve: Part Two

YOU ARE A QUEEN, A VALIANT QUEEN. I told myself these words as I approach the stage where Caspian Telmar and Tyla Manx stand waiting for me; a dazzling smile on Tyla's face and a look akin to heartbreak on Caspian's. I was only twelve years old—the youngest person to be reaped for the games in a long while. Small wonder such an occurrence is very rare, given that twelve-year-olds normally have one—two, if they took a tesserae—entries in the ballot. I promised my sister, Susan, that I would never take a tesserae, and much as it pains me to see her take one every time she renews her registration, I made good with my promise. I never want to do anything that will hurt my sister—the greatest person I know and the only older sibling I'll ever have.

But now I've been reaped despite my singular entry, and I know I've hurt Susan more than anyone ever has—even more than father did when he suddenly passed away and left us all alone.

You are a Queen, a Valiant Queen. I whispered to myself once more as my feet touch the platform. The Great Lion, Aslan, told me as much in my dreams. A brave-hearted queen does not break down and weep at something that hasn't even happened yet. I don't know what this journey holds for me, and I'm certainly not without fear, but He will keep me safe, just as He's kept Susan safe as she hunts for our daily sustenance, just as He kept me alive after an illness overcame me after our father's death, and just as He showed me the way to the life-saving fire flower that saved Edmund Leonidas' life.

Shudders wrack my body for the first time since being called as the hostess's hands land on my shoulder. I'm about to move away from her when someone's tremulous voice stills my entire being.

"I volunteer! I volunteer!"

Susan's knees are planted on the cement, her face is flushed as if she's about to be sick. I press a hand against my mouth, about to be sick myself. Oh, how foolish of me! Of course, Susan would volunteer to take my place! Oh, Susan.

She stands up and strides toward us, a look of sheer defiance on her face, and for a moment it's not Susan Pevensie that I see, but Queen Susan—gentle but deadly in her determination to keep her precious charge safe. She's wearing a billowing, bright lilac dress that reaches up to her toes, but over it is a chain mail made of light material, and over the mail is an armor made of tough leather. She's always been beautiful, my older sister, but now she looks every bit a warrior queen even without a crown.

She reaches me, and once again she's just my sister, sixteen-year-old Susan whose freckles stand starkly against her pale, frightened face. I move to throw my arms around her waist, but she seizes me firmly by the shoulders and whispers, "Be a good girl now, Lucy."

The next thing I know, I'm being carried away from Susan. I scream and lash out at the person holding me securely against his bony chest, and feel a pang of guilt when my limbs collide on thin flesh. Looking up, I realize that it's Edmund Leonidas. Truth be told, I always feel a sense of longing every time I see one of the Leonidas brothers. For the longest time, I've felt as if we know—should know—him and his older brother, Peter. His very close brush with death still gives me nightmares, and the grateful looks Peter gave me at school every time our paths crossed warm my heart. But at this moment, I want nothing more than for them to leave me alone and let me stay with my sister.

Edmund puts me down next to him among the crowd of fourteen-year-olds. He doesn't say anything and just watches Susan with a distraught look on his face. Through the veil of tears, I look back at my sister. A look of utter despair crosses her usually gentle features for a second, and then she's back to scowling at our current predicament. Her response when the Capitol lady asks for her name is tinged with annoyance, causing a smile to tug at the corners of my lips despite myself. There's the fire that I saw while she was approaching the stage! Susan's got a lot of fight in her!

However, when the crowd is asked to acknowledge Susan's bravery for taking my place, they do nothing. My heart plummets to my feet with sympathy for my sister. They don't know, they have no idea how wonderful a sister, a second mother Susan Pevensie is!

And then they rub their clenched fists above their hearts and raise them in the air.

Take heart, Lionheart.

An old gesture of love and deep respect among the dwellers of District 12. Our history teacher demonstrated it and discussed its significance once. The following day, a different person stood in front of our history class, and we never heard what became of him since.

My tears flow in earnest and Edmund puts an awkward yet comforting hand on my shoulder, his other hand raised in the air with the rest of the crowd. I see the beginnings of a meltdown on my sister's face, but she manages to steel herself. She moves to return the display of love, but is rudely interrupted by a nervous-looking Tyla Manx, who then orders Caspian to make himself useful and get the ball rolling for the male tribute.

Caspian does as he is told, his expression that of a petulant child who's just been told to do something he doesn't want to. His words, soft and emphatic as they are compared to Tyla's when she announced my name, sends a painful shock straight through my chest.

"Peter Leonidas."

Peter Leonidas. Edmund Leonidas's sweet, caring brother who seems intent on getting to know us as much as I wish to know them. Peter, whose look of utter despair when he held his dying brother in his arms is carved in my heart forever—like a scar that will never heal. Peter, the boy who makes me wish I have an older brother (older brothers, for Edmund is just as endearing in his own way), even though I have a perfect sister in Susan's person.

He walks away from his own age group and approaches the stage. And just as it was when Susan covered the same distance, I see him in a noble, dignified manner. In full armor of red, silver and gold, he looks every bit the king that I imagined every time my sister told me stories about royal people who lived in a magical land. He was magnificent, and I would have wanted to bask in his splendor if it isn't for a boy yelling right next to me.

"I volunteer!"

Edmund Leonidas.

"Edmund, no!" I hear myself scream, but he is already striding feverishly to join his brother and my sister where they stand. He moves so quickly that I barely see glimpses of the armor-clad warrior that he is deep down. My breath freezes in my lungs. Surely, the wavering vision isn't indicative of a fleeting life. It can't be.

Peter seizes his younger brother by the collar of his shirt the moment he's within his reach. Tyla lets out a horrified scream as Caspian tries to dislodge Peter's vice-like grip, but the older Leonidas boy held on, red-faced, shaking with rage and looking murderous.

"I'm going to kill you!" Peter snarled, his knuckles turning white as he shook his brother like a rag doll. "You bloody idiot! Why! I could kill you right now!"

"Let go of him," my sister says urgently, tugging at Peter's oversized shirt. "Peter, let go of your brother. You can't hurt a tribute before the games. They'll punish you!"

Realization hits Peter like a merciless avalanche.

It hits me true in the chest like one of Susan's arrows.

You can't hurt a tribute.

A tribute. His brother Edmund is a tribute.

My sister Susan is a tribute.

And Peter and I can do nothing but watch them fight the bloodiest battle of their lives.

There is something you can do, Valiant Queen, you and the Magnificent King. Take heart, Lionhearts.

***I own nothing except characters and situations not found on C.S. Lewis's and Suzanne Collins's works***

***There will be no ships/pairings in this story-at least not among Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy***

***Credits to Of Monsters and Men for inspiring me to write this story with their beautiful music.***

***Any inconsistency/deviation from established canons (e.g., terms or ideas, world-building elements, especially on the Hunger Games side of things) is a result of my inability to re-read the books at the moment due to my hectic job.***

***No beta. I apologize for any frustrating/irritating grammatical errors.***

TO GOD BE THE GLORY FOREVER AND EVER!