Hello everyone!
We've reached the last chapter of this fic :( I can't thank each and every one of you enough for the reviews, encouragements, favorites, and follows. Last month alone this story had 161 visitors! You all have given me such confidence in my writing.
This chapter, as you've probably figured out, is in Lucy's POV. I hope you all enjoy it. Out of the four, I think hers was the easiest to write.
As always anything in bold is Valiant's wonderful work. I am pretty sure I managed to highlight everything, but if I've missed something, please forgive me, Val. I do not mean to pass it off as my own work.
God bless you all!
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Iori Blue: I agree with you. Edmund is the smartest and most quick-witted out of the four. I tend to think Lucy comes in close second. Peter definitely earns the award for Most Protective Older Sibling, though. :D
I'm glad you liked the bit between Peter and Lucy. That was actually my favorite line out of the whole chapter. :) I hope you like this chapter.
Chickencomes1st: I can feel your excitement through your words! Don't worry about eloquence, even an "it was great!" brings a smile to my face. Just the knowledge that someone took the time to tell me their opinion means so much to me. I hope this chapter meets your expectations.
God bless!
Disclaimer: Still don't own it. :/
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Edmund's arm is warm and stable across my shoulders. I'm glad for it, for it's the only thing keeping me on my feet. There's a loud ringing in my ears that drowns out all other sounds.
Su-san. Su-san. Su-san. My sister's name is on repeat in my brain, echoing through its depths in time to my heartbeat. My heart is breaking as I struggle to free myself from Edmund's grasp.
I can't find it in myself to be mad at Susan, for had our positions been reversed I would have done exactly as she had just done. It's what we do. We protect each other. Despite Susan's insistence that, as the older sibling, she is supposed to do the protecting, I make her relinquish some of the burden to me. I am the one who usually goes hunting, while Susan searches for the herbs and plants Mum needs for her medicines. While Susan can use a bow – and is one of the best shots I have ever seen, not that I know many archers – the thought of killing another being turns her stomach. So, I took on that role and in return I bring all of my hurts to Susan to fix.
She takes after our mum in that way. Her hands are always gentle when they are taking care of someone with an injury. Susan says I have the same gentle hands, but I'm not sure. My hands are calloused from hunting and skinning the animals I catch. However, there are also worn spots from hours spent grinding herbs into poultices, and here and there lay small scars from where thorns or prickles from the plants buried themselves into my hands. My hands show the balanced life I lead for those with eyes to look. Not like Susan's hands. Susan's hands are the hands of a healer who was forced to take up weapons, not the hands of a warrior who knows how to heal.
Why couldn't it have been me, Aslan? It should be me. Susan should not have to go to the Arena!
Susan steps onto the stage, and she and the Capitol lady exchange a few words. Then Susan's name is ringing out across the crowd. All the people remain silent, simply staring up at my sister. Anger floods my veins. How dare they! They don't know – they can never know just what Susan has sacrificed by taking my place.
And then… as one unit, every individual standing there in the City Square rubs their clenched fist above their hearts and raises them in the air.
The breath is knocked from my lungs. Take heart, Lionheart.
It is an old gesture of love and deep respect among the dwellers of District 12. It is a symbol of solidarity – a reminder that Aslan will always be with us, deep within our hearts and professed through our actions.
My tears flow in earnest as I raise my arm to join in the salute to my sister. Edmund does the same from his spot beside me. Susan tries to return the gesture – the sentiment, but is interrupted by Tyla.
It is time for the male tribute to be chosen. Edmund stiffens, and I reach over to grab the hand that had just been in the air. We stand like that, his right arm across my shoulders and our left hands clasped together as a paper is drawn from the thousands in the bowl.
"Peter Leonidas." Caspian's words are so quiet we almost can't hear the name. A weight seems to settle across his shoulders, driving them even further to the ground then they had been at the beginning of the Reaping. I find myself pitying the man. Just like us, he is a puppet under the control of the Capitol. He did not choose to do this – not as Tyla has. It has been forced on him.
A gasp of pain from Edmund brings my attention back to him. His face has paled almost to white, and his grip on my shoulder is tight enough to bruise.
"No." He whispers. "No, Aslan, not him."
He turns to look at me and I'm shocked by the intensity of his gaze. It is not that of a 14-year-old who just had his brother ripped from him. No. Instead the person looking back at me is someone with the knowledge of the Ages. Wisdom and passion shine like a beacon from their depths. Once more, I am struck by the feeling that I should know this boy. That I have seen this look many times before. I catch a glimpse of armor and hear a snippet about someplace called Tashbaan before it disappears.
"Stay here." He whispers in my ear. "Keep an eye on Peter. Please? I'll watch out for Susan. She'll come back to you if I can help it. I swear it."
I stare back at him, eyes wide. Before I can say anything, he turns and crashes through the crowd.
"I volunteer!" He calls out, but only a few people turn to look his way.
Please, Aslan. Let him be heard! I find myself praying. I cannot imagine what would happen to Edmund if he is too late to save his brother.
"I volunteer!" He calls out once more, this time in a much louder and more authoritative tone.
He moves so quickly that I barely see glimpses of the armor-clad warrior that he is deep down. The steel of his backplate flashes in a non-existent sunlight and a dark-blue cloak swirls around his ankles. Two swords clatter against his sides, and one arm holds a helmet. My breath freezes in my lungs. Surely, surely the wavering vision isn't indicative of a fleeting life. It can't be.
Aslan, protect him! Please. Protect them both. Let them come home to us. Don't let us lose our siblings.
Peter seizes Edmund the moment he's within reach. Tyla lets out a horrified scream as Caspian tries to dislodge Peter's vice-like grip, but Peter simply holds on. His face is red, and he is shaking with rage.
"I'm going to kill you!" Peter snarls. His knuckles are turning white from the strength of his grip as he shakes Edmund like a rag doll. "You bloody idiot! Why! I could kill you right now!"
Caspian has backed away from the two brothers, but he motions for two Peacekeepers to move forward. Susan notices, and turns toward him. I can't see her eyes, but know that she is pleading their cause silently. Begging him to let them have just a few more seconds to say goodbye. After a few tense seconds, Caspian nods his acquiescence, and the Peacekeepers back away.
Susan steps forward and puts grasps Peter's shirt, "Let go of him. Peter let go of your brother. You can't hurt a tribute before the Games. They'll punish you!"
Tribute. Fear floods my veins once more at the words. My throat closes off, making it difficult to breath. I stumble back a few steps.
A tribute. His brother Edmund is a tribute.
Susan is a tribute.
To hear Susan accept the title so readily, so quickly… it hurts. How often has she thought over this very circumstance? How long has she known that she will take my place if my name is chosen? How long has she planned to throw her life away for mine?
It's not fair, Aslan! Why do we have to go through this? Why do we have to watch our siblings fight for their lives, and yet be able to do nothing to help them?
The answer comes in a deep, but gentle whisper that I don't hear with my ears, but with every fiber of my being."Take heart, Dear One. I have a plan. Trust me. There is something you can do, Valiant Queen. Both you and the Magnificent King. Take heart, Lionhearts. I am near."
The words countermand the fear that still fills my soul. I feel it loosening the tension in my heart, unblocking my throat and easing my breathing. I trust Aslan's words with my life, and more importantly I trust His words with my sister's life. If He says He has a plan, then all will be well.
I turn to look back at the stage. Susan has mounted onto it and her gaze is sweeping the crowd. She stops moving her eyes when our gazes lock. The weight of her gaze brings back the fear that Aslan had caused to disappear, but only for a moment.
"Courage, Lucy. You will see your sister again."
I smile up at Susan, though I can feel it trembling at the corners. I try to project the determination I'm feeling towards her. To lend her some of the courage that Aslan just gave me. The distance is too great for me to speak to her, and even if we could, any talk of Aslan would lead to a worse fate than the Games for both of us.
Instead of trying to get closer as I wish, I raise my right hand. Curling my two middle fingers in towards my palm – leaving my pointer finger and pinky finger extended – I place my hand over my heart.
It is our special sign. The symbol of our relationship, our friendship, our sisterhood. I forced Susan to make it for us when I was six and she was 10. I had read a book in school about friends that had a special sign that they showed to one another to remind each other how much they loved each other. I wanted to do the same thing with Susan. She had been and still was my best friend in the entire world.
I love you. I'm here for you. I will never leave you. Three simple sentences, but they mean the world to us. It is my promise to Susan that I will still be here for her when – not if, when, Aslan promised – she comes home. Susan returns the gesture and I chose to think that she is promising me to try her hardest to survive the Arena.
Edmund climbs up on the stage next to Susan. I glance over to where Peter is. He is standing with his shoulders slumped, looking as if the entire world has just been ripped out from under him. And in a way, it has.
"Go to him, Lucy."
I move forward as soon as my brain registers the command. Peter looks down at me as I settle by his side. Tears, accompanied by fear, shine in his eyes, but, somehow, he manages to smile down at me. Without a word, he places his arm over me, drawing me close and holding me tight. Even though I have Aslan's reassurance that all will turn out, I am thankful for Peter's comfort as well.
"They'll be okay, won't they, Peter?" I whisper. "Aslan won't let anything happen to them… will He?"
I look up, searching for reassurance in his eyes. It is there, but it is hidden deep beneath fear and guilt. Peter doesn't answer, simply tightens his grip on me and turns to look up at Susan and Edmund.
Aslan help him trust. Help us hold to You and Your promises. Strengthen our faith, no matter what happens