Preamble

It was 1940. The war had already been going on for a year and was quickly reaching a steaming point. Mass atrocities were now harrying the continent.

Some people considered times like these perfect to become reckless. Of course, with no bad intentions whatsoever... unfortunately, with no good results either. One must be, of course, over eighteen years of age to enter the army in whatever position drafted. And a man. She wasn't of age yet, and she certainly was no man. But that never stopped her from trying before, and it certainly wasn't going to stop her then.

Blankly, she stared out the window; the sky was gray, just as it usually was there, and large clouds were moving toward her. She heard a tapping on the window and it quickly became a pitter-patter. All she did was watch as people ran for cover, two stories below, and umbrellas flew open as the clouds dropped their buckets of water, puddles plinking as the rainfall became heavier. She never took her attention away from the murmuring of the rain through the window as it was the only thing, at that moment, that could keep her from lashing out at any by-passer.

"Eleanor." A big hand was placed upon her shoulder, but she did not turn around.

"Ellie." The large hand, which clearly belonged to a man, gently shook her shoulder. Again, she emitted no response.

The man whose handheld Eleanor's shoulder sighed and sat down beside her, running a hand through his silky straight, short black hair.

"Please, Ella," he pleaded, looking back up at the sixteen-year-old who finally turned to look at him the moment he called her so. The realization then hit him as he stared at the girl's face, which was void of emotion.

Her dark skin was slightly paler than the usual, and her chocolate brown hair no longer had its usual shine to it. Her beautiful hazelnut, green-specked eyes that once shone with life and happiness had become nothing but a dull shade of brown and were simply... empty. They didn't light up like they usually did when they caught sight of him, and that really brought a bullet to his heart. It hurt him a lot. It broke him inside to see her that way.

Eleanor turned her gaze back to the window. "They're gone, Charles." She paused. "All long gone. And what if you don't come back," she said, though it wasn't a question. She was pointing out reality.

Charles did not— could not answer. He didn't know what to tell her to make her feel better— to make himself feel better.

Eleanor's father met his quietus at war in 23. Incidentally, it was but months before she was given sight and breath, so he sadly wasn't there when she was brought into the Kirke's humble abode, and she was left with his wife, her mother then by adoption, and five older brothers, Charles being one of them. Around six years later, she lost her eldest brother in another war.

She was wrecked.

The only thing that lightened up her spirits, then, was her first trip to Narnia the week after her loss. She'd been revealed the truth about who she was, where she came from; she was Narnian. Her earthling given name was Eleanor Shealyn Kirke, her first name derived from the suffix of her Narnian name being Ella. Ironically, she always preferred to be called Ella, even before she knew of her true origins. It was that or Shea, and so everyone who knew her called her one or the other, though it was mostly Ella. Charles' nicknames for her always varied; he would call her Ella, but sometimes also Ellie or Elle. She was only called Eleanor when she was in trouble or disappointed someone, which was rare, except for three people who called her one or the other most of the time.

Currently, she only had her one brother left, Missus Macready, who is a caretaker of sorts, and Professor Digory Kirke, who is the father of her adoptive father whom she never met, and the father-in-law of her mother whom she lost when the current war had begun. She never minded the idea of being adopted, though. They were her parents, and her brothers were her brothers. Blood isn't always thicker than water in such cases. Besides, she was raised by them. She couldn't just opt and leave after finding out she was adopted. No. They took her in when no one else would. They fed her, gave her clothes, and gave her shelter. They cared for her, so she couldn't just turn her back on them. They were her family no matter what.

But now she lost them, and every single loss was just as bad as the previous one. Henry, the second eldest, perished in another war, two years after Erick's demise. The third eldest, George, died from a tumor that was too deeply and fatally plunged inside of him, as an arrow to a heart, to be removed. Ella wanted to donate her own hollow organ, but he refused, not wanting her to throw her life away at such a young age. Fabien, the fourth eldest, passed in her arms, taking a bullet for her throughout a bank robbery.

She never forgave herself for that.

Charles wasn't exactly making anything better for her; the now twenty-two-year-old man had just enrolled and got drafted in one of the aiding units of the United States Navy that would be steering the Pearl Harbor with his best friend, Thomas Jameson, or Tommy as Eleanor often referred to him, who also happened to be a very close friend of hers. They gave Charles a temporary leave because Ella had gotten herself into deep trouble— again. She tried to pass off as an eighteen-year-old and enroll into the army. Again. Of course, they wouldn't let her in because she was underage, but there was also the fact that she was but a female. Yes, perhaps they would've let her in as a nurse, or an agent, or something that wasn't a soldier or anything remotely close to it, but they didn't. And Eleanor, being of a royal and warrior bloodline, threw a tantrum. An ugly one.

She decided it was the perfect place to prove herself worthy of being let into the battlefield and challenged at least half the trained soldiers present at the establishment, where the recruitment took place and beat almost all of them by herself. Yes, she impressed the Colonel and many of the other spectators, particularly one female that could easily be mistaken for a goddess of war in her battalion armor, but that didn't mean Ella wouldn't get an intervention for almost, recklessly, beating the entire staff, and doing it for about thrice now. Her brother was disappointed in her for being so reckless, but nothing he said would change her mind. It had become rare for her to care about anything, to the point where even Charles gave up in trying to make her care, but he didn't know that some part of her still held fondness. She still loved, though she denied it. She still cared— she cared about him, about her 'grandfather'... even about Missus Macready, but she didn't let it show.

After staring at his younger sister for a moment, Charles let out an exhausted sigh. "Look, Elle, I know how badly you want to be out there and—"

"Do you?" Eleanor mused, humorlessly.

"Ella." Charles groaned.

Eleanor rolled her eyes, never looking away from the window. "I wish I were back in Narnia," she muttered.

This made Charles groan again at his unawareness of this Narnia she always seemed to mumble about ever since she was six. After Erick's death. He'd always ask her what Narnia was and she would go on and on about it, describing every single detail of that wondrous place that seemed so surreal to him. But lately, she seemed to hate it, no matter how much she wished she was there. And that made him feel bad. He had wanted her to grow up and act her age, but all the pressure he had placed upon her, and everything she'd had to endure since such a young age... he was being selfish and knew it. He didn't deny it. He knew it was partially his fault that she became reckless and danger-thirsty. He knew he was being unfair by telling her off about being the way she was and trying multiple times to join the army, but being the oldest sibling now, he had to. He had to make sure she stopped all her nonsense and stayed safe while he was away, where other people were undoubtedly becoming more and more desperate to find an escape.

When the Blitz grew from smaller places such as London, the citizens took it upon themselves to start evacuating all children to keep them safe and away from the battlefield. It hadn't been taken seriously by many as they weren't directly targeted as many others, until one night, through the Blitz, the enemy party decided to attack one of the smaller civilizations.

Finchley. Such a small town in North London, in the London Borough of Barnet, you wouldn't expect it to even be noticed by the enemy. Unfortunately, for its residents, it was. They really put the 'surprise' in the element of surprise when they bombarded the town. Parents panicked while the children froze out of trauma. It was much the case in the Pevensie family.

"Edmund! Get away from there!" Missus Pevensie yelled at her son. "What do you think you're doing?! Peter! Peter, quickly, the shelter. Now!"

Peter, the eldest Pevensie, rushed in and grabbed his younger brother. "Come on!" he ushered him.

But Edmund did not want to leave just yet.

"Wait..." he said, glancing around quickly, looking for something.

Peter groaned in exasperation. "Come on, leave it!"

"Mommy!" a small voice cried out from another room in the house.

Susan, the second eldest, shot up from her bed, grabbed the flashlight from her nightstand and spun on her heels, noticing her little sister was still in her bed. "Lucy, come on!"

With that, the Pevensies ran out to the shelter, Lucy shrieking in fear along the way. They were but a few steps from the door when Edmund, suddenly, turned around as if forgetting something very important.

"Come on, quickly!" Missus Pevensie ushered them.

"Run! Run!" Peter shouted.

"Hurry!" Susan shouted.

"Mum!" Lucy cried out.

"Wait, Dad!" Edmund said.

Peter reached to grab him, but his brother had slipped from his grasp, causing him to chase after him. "Ed!"

"Edmund, no!" Missus Pevensie screamed.

"I'll get him!" Peter shouted over his shoulder, running after the young Pevensie boy.

"Peter, come back!" Missus Pevensie cried out.

But Peter ignored his mother's plea and continued forward. "Ed! Come here! Get down!"

He was ignored as well. Edmund ran inside, grabbed a picture of his father, and was then suddenly tackled to the ground by his older brother as a window nearby exploded.

"Come on, you idiot, run! Get out!" Peter shouted at him. And they ran back into the shelter with Missus Pevensie ushering them in as she caught sight of them.

"Come on! Hurry!" she shouted. And Peter shoved Edmund into a bed in the shelter.

"Why can't you think of anyone but yourself? You're so selfish! You could've got us killed!" Peter yelled at him.

"Stop it!" Missus Pevensie said before turning her attention to Edmund. "It's okay. Shh."

Peter glared down at him. "Why can't you just do as you're told?" he glowered before turning and slamming the shelter door.

That same night, as the two Kirke siblings entered their grandfather's mansion, Charles slowed down and fell into pace with his sister.

"You really gotta stop doing this, Ella," Charles said calmly. "You got many warnings before, and this time, an intervention. You were lucky my superior was sensible enough to give me a partial leave, but I might not be here next time. You really gotta stop."

"Well, lottery's going on despite the horrid timing. I guess I should try my luck," she replied with a shrug. "See what happens."

"As who? Eleanor from Finchley? They'll catch you. Worse, they'll actually take you," Charles cried out. "And not where you wanna go."

"Look, I know you don't think I can do this."

"Obviously, you're a girl!" Charles exclaimed himself.

Ella glared up at him. "And you're sexist! Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I don't know how to look after myself," she snarled. "You saw what I can do. They saw what I can do, fourteen times now!"

"It's a war, Elle," Charles tried to reason.

"I know it's a war. You don't have to tell me," she snapped.

"Why are you so keen to fight? Who exactly are you doing this for, El? And don't say dad or any of the others because you've used that excuse one too many times, even though it's not exactly a valid one. Besides, there are so many important jobs."

Ella frowned. "What am I gonna do? Collect flowers..."

"Yes!"

"... in my red hooded cape and little straw basket?" she said, tone laced in sarcasm.

"Exactly!"

"Or maybe I'll collect some scrap metal in my little red wagon," Ella deadpanned.

"Why not?" Charles asked.

"I'm not gonna sit in a factory, Charles. I'm a girl, remember?" she sassed before sighing. "Come on! There are people laying down their lives out there. Not only men, but women as well. I got no right to do any less than them. That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me."

"Right. 'Cause you got nothing to prove," Charles replied sarcastically. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back."

If you come back, Ella couldn't help but think. Mentally shaking her head, she shrugged the thought away with an eye roll. "How can I? You're taking all bits of stupidity with you."

"You're a brat."

"And you're a prat. Be careful," Ella said. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Charles could feel his heart warm up as a small smile made its way onto his sister's face.

As Charles started to walk down the hall to his room, Ella called after him, "Don't win the war till I get there!" making him chuckle, though just as he was about to close his door behind him, she called him again.

"Charles."

"What?"

She bit her lip, her hand tightening on the knob of her door. "Promise me you'll come back."

She knew she couldn't ask that... she knew she shouldn't. But she just couldn't help them. Her family always was dead serious when it came to promises. They were always filled with determination to keep them. She had asked her other brother to come back, but she hadn't made them promise, so maybe that's why they didn't fight any harder to return safe and soundly. She was being unfair, but she needed to be promised. She needed to make sure she wasn't going to lose him too.

Charles looked at her with soft eyes and sent her a half-hearted smile that slightly broke her heart. And he knew it; he could see it in her eyes. But he was going to oblige all the same. He needed to see her smile one last time tonight.

"I promise."

And she smiled.