Missing Twice
Disclaimer for the whole of this month: nothing in the following is mine, nor do I ever expect to make profit from it. If I did, I'd probably call it work instead of play (according to Mark Twain), and then it would be much less fun.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Lucy's silver daggers plunged into the straw dummy, into the right arm, the left, and the upper leg. She reached behind her and picked up three more off the table.
Thud. Thud. Thud. The other leg, and both kneecaps. Lucy frowned. She was a little off on the left knee; it still would have disabled a warrior, but it wasn't perfect. She picked up the remaining three daggers and threw again, circling the one a little off. Then she dusted her hands on her scarlet dress and walked forward, crouching to look at her aim.
The two on either side lined up perfectly with the dagger, a straw's width away from the dagger itself—close without hitting it. The one above it was a hair off-centre. Lucy sighed, reaching forward and pulling the daggers out. She collected the rest of them, lined them up on the table, and started throwing again.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
She reached for the other three and heard a sigh behind her. She drew her arm back over her head, the golden lace on the end fluttering as she readied her throw.
"Lucy, it was just a birthday cake," Susan said in a coaxing voice.
"I know." She released the first dagger, her other arm already passing another dagger to it.
"It wasn't even your fault. Eartaxe admitted he thought he could time moving it through your throwing demonstration, to make it even more impressive. You weren't expecting a huge cake to appear. It would have startled anyone."
Lucy didn't answer. She threw her last dagger, and reached to her belt for her special one, the one that never missed. Father Christmas had left some magic on it.
"It was just a birthday cake. Edmund said he doesn't even mind, the cake still tastes the same."
Lucy paused, her breath hitching in her throat. "It wasn't a cake last time," she whispered. Susan's arms come around her and cradle her shoulders, but that still couldn't stop the image of Peter, eyes wide, standing a Centaur's length in front of her. He'd seen the arrow coming, had moved so it would bounce off his armour instead of his younger sister's head, but he hadn't seen Lucy throwing her dagger. He hadn't said a word as the gold buried itself in his leg, hadn't said anything as the blood ran red. Lucy had been aiming for the Wolf's neck, she'd been aiming for the Wolf, she hadn't meant to hit her brother, she hadn't—
His eyes had been so wide, and the next moment both his lips were white, pressed together—
Lucy had run forward, already pulling up her cordial, only Peter had stopped her, one warm hand on hers. He'd given command over to Diggertaut, voice strained, his hand still holding Lucy's, and had asked for her help to retreat, to make it back to the healers. Peter had come home limping, and Lucy had gone to the practice fields every morning. Her head knew it hadn't been her fault, she wasn't a Centaur to predict the future or her brother's movements, but—
The dagger was hers, the hand that threw it was hers, and she had done her brother harm.
It had taken all three siblings two weeks to stop her visits to the practice fields.
And then she had nearly taken Eartaxes' ear off. The Dwarf had grinned, wiped the frosting off the rim of his ear and promptly stuck it in his mouth, smacking his lips and proclaiming it was good.
And Lucy found herself on the practice field once again, not using her magical daggers, just working on her aim over and over and over. If she'd bent her finger a little more, she might have hit Ertaxes' head. And there would be six Dwarfs going home instead of seven.
She couldn't throw with Susan's arms around her shoulders, and she needed her daggers back. She ducked out of the hug and moved forward, walking to the line of straw figures and getting the daggers once more.
Thud. Thud.
Susan was probably still there, but strangely quiet. Lucy didn't know what to say to her.
Thud.
Then a hiss of wind, and the thrum of a bowstring sounded from beside her; in the target beside her own, an arrow hit the dummy's right shoulder, perfectly placed to slip between chinks of armour, and to make a warrior drop his sword. Lucy looked over, and her sister was already drawing another arrow.
"Susan, you don't have to-"
"I'll stay out here till you're ready to go in," Susan responded softly. She drew the string and arrow back, and released. The arrow flew and thunked into the straw dummy's forehead, dead centre. "Lu, no matter how good I am, if something comes between my target and my arrow, I cannot change what it will hit."
Lucy didn't respond.
"Come inside, Lucy," Susan coaxed. "Come help us clean up."
Lucy didn't want to, but Susan was using her older sister voice, the mothering one, and Lucy found it hard to say no when she was this unhappy. She could use the comfort. So she collected her daggers and Susan's arrows, handing them to her, and they began walking back.
"If it's my dagger, isn't it my fault?" Lucy asked suddenly.
Susan answered, smoothly, as if she knew a question had been coming, "No more than it was when Grimfeather got in the way of the snowball you aimed at Edmund." Lucy couldn't help but smile at the memory, the big, tan-feathered owl covered with snow, it glinting on his large round spectacles (which Ed swore he used for effect, since most Owls had excellent eyesight), before all of his feathers fluffed up and he shook himself, scattering snow in the sunlight. "If even one of our grumpiest librarians doesn't blame you for a snowball he got in the way of, how could it be your fault?"
"Then why does it feel like it is?"
"Because it's your dagger," Susan admitted, one hand reaching over to brush Lucy's hair back. "But supposing Peter put his sword away, and a Narnian picked it up and, while carrying it, dropped it on his own foot. Peter would have no responsibility for that, but he'd still feel awful."
"Because it was Peter's sword," Lucy said slowly, following the train of thought.
"Which wouldn't mean Peter would be right," Susan added, and Lucy smiled, a bit wryly.
"We'd have to talk him out of it."
"Just as we three will talk you out of this," Susan finished. "I think I see Edmund," she added as they drew near the castle steps.
It was indeed Edmund, casting sharp glances at both their faces. Whatever he saw there made him step back inside for a moment, coming back out with two plates in his hand and coming down to meet them. He offered one to Susan first, and then turned to give Lucy's hers, grinning a little.
"I saved you some cake," he said, and Lucy looked down. Her piece had a very large hole in it, taking away almost half.
"I thought you'd like this one," she heard her brother say in a teasing tone, and she looked up at Susan. For a moment, just a moment, to ask permission, and then she grinned at her brother and threw the cake.
Thud.
It hit him squarely in the face.
Prompt: Write about a time when Lucy missed when she threw her dagger. What or whom did she hit instead?
