Home
Liz collapsed wearily into the worn, but still comfortable chair, burying her face in her hands and sighing deeply. Being able to be there, in her grandmother's home, for the first time since she'd passed away, was a painful blessing. For several years there, she'd never thought that she'd be able to come home, much less to the house she'd inherited and loved. But, after almost a decade on the run, a truce had been reached with both the government, and their enemies on Antar, and they'd all been able to see their families again.
Well, not all. It was too late for her; both of her parents had passed away in a car accident, an accident that part of her still believed had been no accident at all, and was therefore fully her fault, but it had been long enough that the sharp stabbing grief and guilt she felt when memories of them surfaced, had faded to a dull, persistent ache. Almost everything about her had faded; she was a hollow shell of herself, as worn as the chair she was sitting in.
Pulling her hands away from her face, she slowly inhaled and exhaled, trying to summon the ghost of energy needed so that she could begin to unpack, to settle into the house she intended to live in until she died – no more adventures for her. Stretching overused muscles, she turned her head, eyes lighting on an old and dusty volume resting on the nearest shelf. It was familiar, achingly familiar, and she felt a lump form in her throat from an old grief that had nothing to do with alien conspiracies or their fallout.
Rising shakily to her feet, she reached out and gently touched the cover, half expecting it to burn or shock her, and felt vaguely disappointed when nothing happened other than the shifting of some dust. Curling her fingers around the spine, she lifted it off the shelf, her hand trembling as she opened it to the first page, her heart stopping as she once again saw the map, the map that was the beginning of her best, and worst, memories.
A sudden noise startled her and she spun, clutching the book to her chest, and gaped at the viciously smirking form of an alien she'd thought long dead. "You should have known better than to think peace would last." Nicholas taunted, hand already glowing with deadly energy, energy she did not have the will, nor desire, to protect herself from. He looked vaguely surprised when she didn't fight back, when she crumpled soundlessly to the floor under his attack, still gripping the book with trap-like fingers. Her breath rattled in her chest, painful power burning the life from her body, and she smiled at him, the sight of his confused and frustrated face the last thing she saw before she gave into the sucking, familiar, and welcome pull of death.
Moments and ages later, she breathed in fresh, clean air, her body feeling younger and healthier than it had in years. The smile still curved her mouth and she stretched out her hands, feeling soft grass beneath her fingertips, a different type of power entirely coursing through her body, tingling with the wondrous feel of magic. Something touched her face and she opened her eyes to see Edmund leaning over her, eyes brimming with happy tears, her name a whispered prayer on his lips.
She reached up and pulled him down on top of her, laughing delightedly at his surprised gasp, and then pressed her mouth against his, pouring all of her longing, her need, her joy into the kiss, one hand caressing the back of his neck while the other clutched his shirt tightly, holding him against her, reveling in the beating of his heart beneath her palm. "I love you." She said when he finally broke the kiss; unable to stop grinning, because she knew that this time, this time she got to keep him and he got to keep her, because she had nowhere else to go.
"I love you too." He whispered back, grinning just as widely, just as madly, and then he was kissing her again and they were both laughing and crying and it was perfect, it was magic, it was Narnia, it was home.