Prompt #10: One time Lucy interacts with or remembers her mother.

Disclaimer: the original story belongs to Lewis. Welcome to the Meridian of Misery he created, the one that reflected our own world's once.

The Stone Table was cold beneath her.

Many things grow cold at night. This night, the entire world and all of Aslan's spring had gone cold. All that was good, all hopes, all dreams, all beauty and hope, had died on the table that night.

And Lucy was cold.

Her fingers were numb where they rested on the stone. The air bit at the skin on her legs. Her nose felt as cold as ice where it met her cheeks, and every tear track became a source of pain.

The cold killed the promise of His spring.

His spring. Lucy felt water welling up again, her throat closing. She didn't look behind her, didn't want to see, again, that the Lion lay dead. She blinked, feeing the tears fall, and shivered.

Susan noticed. It roused her from her own grief, enough to lean over and put her arm around Lucy.

Lucy shivered, for even Susan's arm was chilled. The whole world felt cold with hopelessness. "I'm so cold," she whispered.

""So am I. Let's walk about a bit."* Even though the tired words were hesitant, Lucy felt fire roar inside at what they said.

"We can't just leave Him!"

"I know." Susan's voice choked on the words and the fire vanished, leaving Lucy colder than before. "But we can walk to the cliff and back." She slid off the table, turned—kept her eyes resolutely on Lucy's face, and nowhere else—and held out her hand. "Mum always said a brisk walk did more to warm her than even a cup of tea."

Lucy did not return the trembling smile, but she did take Susan's hand and slide off the table herself. Her numb legs buckled till she caught herself on them.*

She looked at the table—one look, one moment of seeing terrible proof that He was dead—before turning away, blinking more tears from her eyes. She walked with stumbling feet.

Susan kept hold of her hand, but said nothing. They headed towards the cliff that stood over the sea.

Mum was right about walking, Lucy thought. They stopped at the edge of the cliff, pausing for a few moments to see how the one remaining star stood over the water. Mum used to say the stars were a reminder that dawn would come, and even the smoke couldn't choke them, that some promises stood too high for evil to touch.

Mum wasn't right about everything.

"Let's go back," she said suddenly to Susan. Her sister turned without a word, and they retraced their path, back towards the table. Lucy was still remembering.

In her worry about Mr. Tumnus, and then that brief, stronger fear for Edmund, Lucy had pushed the thought of her mother to the back of her mind. The aching, heart-stilling terror that her Mum, her brave Mum, who stayed in London to do the things that kept the army running, might fall beneath the smoke. That the four of them might come back, and there would be no Mum waiting for them with a hug, and a faith that good was stronger than evil.

But then she'd found her friend had been taken captive for speaking with her, and then that her brother had chosen evil, and one by one those pushed England's fears back. And then the five of them had gone on a journey, a journey seeking safety, Lucy had thought, and hope for Edmund.

But it was never about just safety, was it? Because Mr. Beaver said He wasn't safe, He was good.

And we found Him to be the good that is greater than the stars.

And now He's dead. She couldn't help the sob that sounded in the quiet woods, and Susan let go over hand to place an arm over her shoulder.

"Oh, Lucy."

Lucy suddenly wanted her mother very badly, her mother with the faith that good would come with the next dawn. But her mother wasn't here, maybe wasn't even living, because good things didn't keep living if Goodness Himself was dead, and she wrapped her arms around Susan's waist and cried till her tears were gone once more, Susan's own tears dripping onto her hair.

"Let's keep walking," her older sister said at last. Lucy turned and walked with her.

Back and forth they walked, from the table they couldn't raise their eyes to and then back to the red sky over the sea.

Mum, are you proud of us?

I don't feel any warmer.

They turned from the table towards the sea again; but this time they paused, and as they **stood for a moment looking out towards the sea and Cair Paravel (which they could now just make out) the red turned to gold along the line where the sea and the sky met and very slowly up came the edge of the sun.**

Dawn, thought Lucy.

**At that moment they heard from behind them a loud noise—a great cracking, deafening noise as if a giant had broken a giant's plate.

"What's that?" said Lucy, clutching Susan's arm.

"I—I feel afraid to turn round," said Susan; "something awful is happening."

"They're doing something worse to him," said Lucy. "Come on!" And she turned, pulling Susan round with her.**

They came back to the table, finding an emptiness worse than numbness—but only for a moment. For there, greater than their hopes and dreams, more than they could ask or imagine, they found Him—alive. Afraid, unable to believe, they asked their trembling questions, and found Him real, living, and all the love they knew He was spilled out into a game. Laughing, Lucy chased Him, ran from Him, and in the glory of being caught by His paws and pulled close to His warmth, Lucy smiled to herself.

Mum—you were right about the dawn.

Above all shadows rides the sun,
the stars forever dwell.
I will not say the day is done,
nor bid the stars farewell.***

*This dialogue and the line before it are quotes from the book. I added the rest.
**Everything within these pairs is a direct quote from the book
***Tolkien, when Sam is in the tower at Ungolioth.