There was no feast in Cair Paravel after the second victory over the White Witch. No celebration, as there usually was during that time known as the Golden Age, after a battle had been won. Only a somber silence in Cair, and indeed, across Narnia, as the black flags were hung in the palace and the order for the harbor to be closed given.
This victory had been hard won, and Cair and all of Narnia mourned the loss of her youngest King, the black flags of mourning hanging from the city gates, and all ports closed from trade.
Though King Lune usually stayed in Narnia after an alliance between the two of them heralded success, this one found him returning to Archenland and to his wife and son after only one day spent at Cair, his usually joyous expression especially pensive as he embraced the rulers he had come to see as his own children, and thought of the one he would never embrace again.
He had left behind quite a few of his troops in the event that "Narnia had need of them," for which the Queen Susan appeared grateful, though her siblings seemed far less so. Narnia was vulnerable now, quite so, and she had no doubt that other nations with less kindness in their hearts toward this land would seek to take advantage.
Calormen had yet to do so, at which she was rather surprised. In fact, after King Lune, the Tisroc had been the first to extend his condolences from another nation upon hearing of the death of King Edmund. He'd sent his most trusted emissary before the ports were closed, bearing gifts that he hoped would help Narnia in her time of need.
The gifts had been accepted, but the emissary had been sent away shortly after; an affront to Calormen at any other time.
It was said that High King Peter had become distracted, sitting upon his throne with his thoughts far away, slow to show any emotion or make any decision, even as to the fate of the Fell Creatures that had surrendered after the death of the White Witch. Some said he was waiting for Aslan to return. Others said the death of his brother had broken him.
The youngest little Queen, Lucy, sequestered herself away in the Royal Library, reading old scrolls and seeing no one but her siblings and Mr. Tumnus, her closest confidant. And indeed, the only one of those three who listened to her words with patience, in those sad days.
The Queen Susan presided over the palace as she always did, going about with head held high and often overseeing tasks that were the High King's responsibility, lest they not be seen to at all. She wore black gowns and yet came out of her chambers each morn with a clean face, and did not once break down before her people, a hidden strength in her that they admired, though none would have protested had she mourned for their beloved king.
It was on one such day that Queen Susan decided to go and find her sister for herself, the younger girl having not come to breakfast or dinner, and, though this was not exactly a rare habit between the two of her siblings these days, it concerned Susan nonetheless.
She knew that Lucy was still in the Royal Library; she'd asked several of the mice about the castle to watch out for her, and to tell Susan if she left or did something foolish. It was not that she was expecting her normally happy sister to do something foolish; she was merely terrified of losing another sibling to anything, even to the books that Lucy had buried herself in.
She didn't know what her sister was in there doing, all this time. She supposed Lucy had found all of her favorite fairy tales, the ones Edmund used to tell her when they were younger, or perhaps she was reading all of Edmund's favorites.
Susan couldn't help but shudder at the thought, remembering Edmund's favorites.
Edmund. Sweet, patient Edmund.
She could see him in every facet of the castle, every crevice. Could see him in the mirror that hung on the wall outside the throne room, the very same mirror she could remember stopping in front of before everything started that awful day, when the boy made of stone was brought before them and the news of the Witch's return told by that awful hag.
"There will be at least fifty grievances for King Edmund the Just."
It took her some time to realize she had been standing in front of the mirror, staring at her own sorrowful reflection for much longer than could be considered normal, but seeing Edmund's face in it made her never wish to look away.
And then she was moving again, but she had no peace as she hurried down the marble corridors, seeing Edmund in every glistening reflection, hearing his subdued laughter down the hall, seeing his touch upon everything she passed.
She supposed she must have looked quite foolish, running through the halls as she was, holding up her skirts and glancing around like a frightened animal. She was rather pleased there was no one about to see her, all busy with their duties in trying to bring Narnia back to normal.
Well, almost normal.
Their population had been decimated by the Witch's return, by the army she had waged against the "usurpers," as Susan had been told she called them. Though, in the end, Peter had won, it had been with great cost. They had lost many loyal soldiers. Not just Edmund, Susan tried to tell herself, though this seemed only to strengthen her pain.
She was not the only one who mourned the loss of a brother. She mourned the loss of one of Narnia's Kings, and since her siblings seemed unable to do so, she had to remain strong for Narnia.
Sighing, Susan lifted her shoulders and walked with renewed purpose to find her sister, not once glancing around this time.
She found the royal library just as Mr. Tumnus was leaving it, closing the double doors behind him and dabbing at his eyes with the old handkerchief Lucy had once given him. He did not notice Susan until they literally collided with each other.
"Oh, Your Majesty," he stammered in surprise, earning a look from her. No matter how many times the Pevensies attempted, it seemed that Mr. Tumnus would never learn to simply call them by their right names. Well, all but Lucy, of course, but he would do anything she asked, Susan knew.
"That was quite my fault, Mr. Tumnus," she said serenely, clasping her gloved hands together, "I was lost in thought."
Mr. Tumnus quickly put away the handkerchief, looking rather happy that she had not mentioned it. "Easily forgiven, Your Majesty. It seems we all are, these days."
He moved to go around her, but Susan placed a gentle hand on his arm. "How is she?" she asked, voice softening considerably as she nodded toward the closed door of the library.
Mr. Tumnus sighed, following her gaze and looking rather guilty to be confiding in Susan about Lucy's condition even as he answered. "She is...determined, that one."
Susan gave him a sad smile. "I had a feeling you might say that."
"Just...give her time, Your Majesty. And your ears. She needs someone to listen to her, especially now," Tumnus replied.
Susan dipped her head, reminded of how that task had always seemed to fall to Edmund in the past. Ed... "I know that. It is just so hard to hear what she wants to say."
And then Susan was moving past him, into the library. She heard Tumnus shut the door behind her, and was grateful for the scant amount of privacy this would provide the two Queens of Narnia. They had so little time alone together these days.
The Royal Library at Cair was one of the more magnificent rooms in all the palace. Though there had been precious little of Cair when the Pevensies had first come to Narnia but an abandoned relic, the library had, to the surprise of all, remained largely intact since the first days of its use, and Archenland, Galma, and Terebinthia had largely contributed to its stores over the years since.
The ceiling reached almost as high as that of the throne room, the walls covered in shelves full of books, and, at the opposite end of the room, a balcony overlooked the Eastern Sea, scrolls lying unattended on it.
As it was, filled to the brim with scrolls and faded old books as the room was, it was difficult for Susan to find her younger sister in the mess, but she eventually spotted her; buried beneath a rather precarious shelf of maps with three large, leather-bound books in her lap.
She walked forward, gracelessly falling onto a stack of books as close to her sister as she dared go before she thought she would lose her footing in all these upended novels, and sat down, waiting for Lucy to acknowledge her.
When the younger girl did not, seemingly engrossed in whatever it was she was reading, Susan finally let out a long sigh. "This was always Edmund's favorite place to go, whenever he needed to be alone."
And it was true. Edmund had loved this library from the moment he had first set eyes upon it, endeavoring to add to it as much as he could. He'd always loved books, even...before. Lucy, not so, preferring the company of others to the solemnity of this place.
Lucy did not respond, though Susan thought she had given her little sister the perfect opportunity to speak, as Mr. Tumnus had suggested she do. Instead, the Valiant Queen remained engrossed in that book, and finally Susan pulled it from her fingers.
Lucy let go without much strain, sighing and picking up the book beneath that one while Susan gazed in horror at the title, having imagined her sister to be in here reading...well, she didn't know, comforting fairy tales or Edmund's favorite books, but not this.
"The Deep Magic, and what Came Before," she read. "Lucy, whatever are you doing, reading these? They certainly aren't your usual stories."
Lucy sighed, snatching the book back. "You'd know if you'd even bothered to pay attention to anything I've been telling you since..." she trailed off, eyes suddenly brimming with tears. "Anyway, I think I might have found something."
"Lucy." Forget what Mr. Tumnus had said. Susan could not bear to see her sister like this, scrambling for answers, in denial of what was so plainly before her. Of what so plainly lay in the crypt beneath Cair Paravel, the first monarch of the Golden Age to be entombed, and without even Aslan's blessing, for he had not come even for that.
And Susan could not say how much that hurt, to know that Aslan had abandoned them so fully that he would not even come upon the death of her brother. Perhaps she might have forgiven him had he simply abandoned them to the Witch, might have listened to whatever excuses he had for not returning while she terrorized Narnia, but Edmund...
"Lucy, please look at me," Susan pleaded, and finally, finally, Lucy looked up at her, eyes so full of pain that Susan almost wished she hadn't. "Lucy, Edmund is...he's dead. He isn't coming back, and playing with the Deep Magic, with something so far beyond our understanding, it isn't going to bring him back."
"It brought Aslan back," Lucy argued stubbornly. "When the Witch killed Aslan on the Stone Table, because he wasn't a traitor, the Deep Magic brought him back to life. Edmund wasn't a traitor. Aslan forgave him."
"I know that, Lucy," Susan responded quietly, hating the accusation in her younger sister's voice.
"Who's to say the body we found was even Edmund's? Can you recognize it?" Lucy continued with her wild theory.
Susan sighed. "When the White Witch killed Aslan, the Stone Table was still a device for killing traitors. When he came back to life, it cracked. Now," she swallowed hard, "now it's just a table made out of stone, Lucy. A relic. It hasn't held any magic since."
Lucy shook her head. "No, you don't understand. That isn't Edmund lying in that crypt. I know that it isn't, and I'm going to prove it."
"Then who else it would be, Lucy?" Susan demanded, voice raising despite her efforts to remain patient, to listen, like Edmund might have done. "Tell me why I should believe you." Especially when Lucy had not once gone down to visit the body in that crypt, had not once glanced at it, since her healing cordial had failed to revive their brother.
She knew her sister was reacting even worse to the death of their brother than she and Peter were. Susan simply didn't know how to help her without hurting her more, in her own grieved state, for Lucy seemed locked in the firm denial that Edmund was not truly dead, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
"Someone the Witch found to make it look like she killed Edmund. She wanted us to believe it, so that she could die knowing she'd won," Lucy continued, not bothering to notice Susan's bemused gaze. "Aslan would never-"
"If Aslan hasn't abandoned us, then where is he? Why isn't he here now? For that matter, why didn't he come when the Witch was brought back to life, or when Edmund was taken captive?" Susan demanded, hating the way her younger sister flinched at her raised voice but needing her to understand. "He's abandoned us, Lu. He isn't coming, and Edmund is gone."
"No," Lucy shook her head. "No, that isn't so. Aslan is the reason Peter was able to defeat the White Witch, again."
"Lu-" Susan tried again, reaching out to push a stray strand of hair behind Lucy's ear, but the girl jerked from her touch. She sighed. Though she was generally known as the mother to her siblings, Edmund had always been so much better at comforting Lucy than she. He'd always seemed to understand his siblings, even herself, in a way that Susan never could.
And Susan needed Edmund here now. For, though she was mother, she needed someone to comfort her just as badly as her siblings.
Lucy stared down at the book in her hands. "You'd better go and check on Peter," she said softly, refusing to meet Susan's gaze.
Susan sighed. "Lucy, I'm sorry," she tried again. "I didn't mean to upset you."
Lucy just turned away from her, burying her nose in a book once more. And as Susan stood and left the room, smoothing down her skirts as she did so and ordering one of the passing mice to keep an eye on her sister, she couldn't help the horrible feeling welling up inside her that the Pevensie family had never been so far apart, not since coming from...that other world.
She could barely remember a time when she might have thought that was Edmund's fault, for pushing them all away and being so cruel to Lucy before he was rescued from the White Witch. Or Peter's, for failing to listen when Edmund so clearly needed him to. Or perhaps all of theirs combined, for being so stubborn.
But now, she could not help the unshakable feeling that it was her own doing, this time.
Edmund had met Calormen's emissary to Narnia, Amin Tarkaan, several times during the few years that he had been its King, and had from the beginning knew that there was something...off about him. Knew that he was not so trustworthy as he liked to pretend, sharing state secrets with the Four in an attempt to bargain his way into their good graces.
He had warned his siblings, and had found Oreius to be an ally in this, that the man was not to be trusted, and to this day believed that doing so had saved his life, during that horrible incident when he had been taken prisoner by the Tisroc.
Of course, he had never believed that the oily little man would resort to kidnapping, where his master seemed to look upon the act happily enough.
It was some relief, though, he supposed, to know that a Calormene Emissary was in Cair at all.
In meant that his siblings had won. That they had somehow defeated the White Witch, for otherwise the man would have never stepped foot in Narnia. And though Edmund would certainly have liked to know how they had done it, he was more happy with the realization that they had.
"You will pay for this, if you don't release me this instant," he hissed at the man through clenched teeth the moment he was within spitting distance, standing on the deck of the Ambassador's own ship. And briefly considered spitting, too, before Mahir's hold on his upper arms tightened, and he knew he would not get away with the act.
The Emissary lifted an eyebrow at the scrawny, dirty young man before him, and it took Edmund a moment to realize that the man did not even recognize him.
He was not sure whether he should be offended or not, considering that they were within walking distance of Cair Paravel. Or swimming distance.
Walking distance. If only he could get away, he would be free. He would be able to go back to his siblings in an instant.
A pity then, that he had not been lucid for the journey to his home. Had only awoken on this foul ship, to be greeted with the Emissary's equally foul gaze.
He glanced around the ship, taking in everything his tired gaze could see. The men, all Calormene, eying him with casual interest, wondering what a barbarian captive was doing on the deck of their ship while they still made port in Narnia, no doubt. The Captain, moving forward as if to protest, and then thinking better of it under the Emissary's scathing look.
And just beyond him, the men securing their ship in the harbor, the Narnian harbor, Cair Paravel looming in the very distance. Narnian envoys would be here any moment to welcome them, would see Edmund, would know...
It was enough.
Before he could truly rationalize what he was doing, Edmund moved, reaching back and grabbing the dagger that Edmund knew was secured to the bounty hunter's waist, pulling it free and bringing it around to cut loose his bonds.
Mahir swore, lunging at him, but, just this once, was not fast enough.
Edmund's bonds came free with a satisfying snap, and he held the dagger out toward the man, lips curling into a sneer as he backed toward the bow of the vessel.
The other men on the ship were on alert in an instant, reaching for their own weapons -whether that consisted of scimitars or mere rope - and moving toward him. Edmund didn't think. He slashed out with the dagger at the nearest man, a sailor, who let out a rather satisfying shout before attempting to lunge at him.
Edmund rolled under him, jumping to his feet and finding himself happily at the Wheel. The men froze, unsure how to stop him, for none were quite so desperate as he in that moment, and he had the smallest inkling of hope that he might yet survive this.
Edmund spun the wheel without a second thought, eyes widening as the ship jerked lazily to port, and the men in front of him fought to keep their footing on the deck.
He held the dagger out in front of him as though it were his sword, hissing, "Let me off this ship if your value your necks."
He was aware of how foolish this was, somewhere in the back of his mind. That even if he now had control of the wheel, they were still anchored in the harbor, and these men still stood between him and freedom.
He just didn't care.
"Drop the knife, boy," the Captain spoke then, the one man that Edmund had not accounted for, standing behind him. He could feel the tight notch of an arrow against the back of his neck, felt his face burn with the realization that he hadn't been paying attention.
Desperation made Peter a better fighter. It made Edmund careless.
The knife clattered to the deck of the ship loudly, the sailors breathing an audible sigh of relief.
And Edmund found himself, once again, on his knees, as Mahir held him down. Panting as he struggled to stand, telling himself that, should he survive this, he would have to get Oreius to train him in fighting a bit more dirty, for clearly he'd not had enough practice at it as he'd thought.
But when the emissary finally spoke, it was not to the Just King, but to Mahir, standing just behind him, as if Edmund were not worth the time of day. And he looked almost angry, on Edmund's behalf.
"This is not the boy I asked you to bring me," he said finally, and Edmund's eyes widened at the words.
Perhaps he had simply been imagining that anger would be for him. Of course he was; he knew well that this man had made his fortune in the slave trade. What would one captive barbarian mean to him?
Mahir had told him that the boy he was sent to find was the bastard of some wealthy Tarkaan. He had not once imagined, however, that this was the Tarkaan Mahir was referring to. Calormen's Emissary to Narnia since the beginning of trade between Calormen and Narnia in the Golden Age.
Oh, what a small world they lived in. He was almost amused, but then he remembered that he was still this man's captive.
"The boy was dead when I arrived," Mahir said shortly. "But I have brought you another prize. Behold King Edmund the Just." And then he was shoving Edmund forward, for it seemed that all gentleness had fled his actions in the sight of the Tarkaan. "I think that this should more than make up for my failure. And I'm sure the Tisroc will appreciate it, in any case, if you do not."
The Emissary's eyes widened. "You've brought me the King of Narnia?" he demanded, suddenly looking rather scared, and Edmund could not help his smirk at the sight. After all, the ship was in a Narnian port. If they were caught...oh, but Edmund might just enjoy that. Might have to put a stop to it before Peter went too far, but might enjoy it for a little while, just the same.
"He is a greater prize, is he not?" Mahir demanded, nodding to Edmund. "I will travel with you to Tashbaan, where you will release my sister in exchange for the King. I am sure that, as the current state of Narnia is, your reward will be much greater than the return of a bastard and a slave."
The Emissary swallowed nervously, though, this time, Edmund thought, he did not seem so frightened of Edmund or his country than the man standing before him. "Agreed," he said finally, though there was a catch in his voice that made Edmund perhaps just as nervous. "Though I require seventy percent of whatever reward the Tisroc, may he live forever, will grant."
The bounty hunter let out a low growl. "You can have all of it. I did not take on this job for the money. I simply want my sister freed."
The Emissary smirked, as if he knew something the bounty hunter did not. "I will hold you to that, then."
And then, from still afar off, but near enough to make the hairs on the back of Edmund's neck stand, a voice shouted, "Make way for Queen Susan the Gentle."
The Emissary's eyes widened as they settled on Edmund. "Get him below. Now."
Edmund tensed against the bounty hunter's hold on him, attempted to throw him off despite the fact that his hands were once more bound behind him, Mahir's dagger at his throat, biting against the beating pulse there.
Edmund let out a scream of warning.
The Captain swore, motioning for his men to help Mahir drag the boy below deck, and someone hit Edmund over the back of the head. He saw stars, if only for a moment, but it was enough.
He found himself pushed down the ladder, landing in a crumpled mess at the bottom, and then hands were pulling him to his feet and dragging him past the curious faces of the rowers.
His bounty hunter shoved him against the mainmast, muttering something unsavory under his breath even as he held Edmund down and motioned to the others to move back, lest Edmund have the idea of stealing one of their weapons in a misguided attempt to escape once more.
"Scream again, and you'll find your sister joining you," Mahir hissed in his ear, but Edmund hardly heard the words in his excitement.
He was almost tempted to scream anyway, for he knew that Susan's loyal guards were not far behind her. Still, he could never take that chance with his sister's life. With her freedom.
She was there.
His sister, Susan, was here. She was alive and fine, if her visiting Calormene ships was any indication.
He could see her through the cracks of the ship's deck as clearly as day.
Susan was there, standing perhaps ten paces to the left of him, and Edmund could do nothing but stare at her. Could do nothing but watch as she faced the ambassador and see how worn and tired she seemed. His death had obviously treated her badly, and he felt another wave of guilt rush through him at that thought.
If only she knew. If only she knew that he was standing directly under her, alive and worrying over her. If only he could get some sort of message to her that it was so. If only he knew that, should he scream now and alert her to his presence, they would both be able to make it off the ship in time before they were killed.
Still, she was the most beautiful thing he could ever remember seeing, in that moment, and his hands ached to reach out and touch her. To give her some sort of signal that he was here. He could not, could only hope that his panting breaths were could only imagine what Lucy and Peter looked like, when Susan was not the eye of decorum. For Susan to be overseeing foreign dignitaries was quite common, he knew, but he had ears. That the Ambassador had not even been allowed an audience with the High King spoke volumes, and he was worried.
Of course he was worried. These were his siblings, after all.
For a moment, he thought of calling out anyway, that he probably wouldn't even make the journey back to Tashbaan, wouldn't make it if his siblings attempted a rescue, and surely Susan would rather know he was alive now rather than later, when the Tisroc sent her a part of his body as proof?
Mahir's dagger pressed into the back of his neck, and the bounty hunter hissed, "Don't even think about it, Your Majesty."
Edmund sighed, leaning against the mainmast and ignoring the curious stares of the rowers as they prepared to leave, bustling around him, not one bothering to give him a sympathetic look.
Even if they didn't yet know who he was, which he was sure the bounty hunter would rectify soon if he planned on keeping his own life, Edmund still had the pale skin of a barbarian, and was therefore of no interest to them other than monetary. And as they were on the ship of the Ambassador to Narnia, they had to know they would never see a penny of such money.
He wondered that the bounty hunter trusted that he wouldn't shout enough not to gag him, as he had done on their journey here.
"The High King sends his regrets," Susan continued above, in that graceful, beautiful tone, and oh, how Edmund had missed her voice, "but he cannot see you off."
"See us off, Your Majesty?" the slimy emissary asked, and Edmund could hear the smile in his voice. As if his sister were telling a bad joke.
"I'm afraid that, in lieu of the death of the Just King, Narnia is closing all of her ports until such a time as we feel sufficiently able to mourn his passing within the presence of others. As it is," she said calmly, linking her fingers together in what Edmund knew was a nervous habit of hers, "we wish to mourn amongst ourselves first."
A terrible excuse, one so bad he couldn't help but wonder who had thought it up for her.
And obviously, the emissary thought so as well, for, behind his oily smile, Edmund heard the unease in his voice as he answered, "Then, O Gentle Majesty, I shall convey the regrets of the Tisroc, may he live forever, that we were not able to provide more assistance to you, in your great time of need. Is there anything you would have me tell him?"
It wasn't until then that Susan's words truly sunk in. Dead. They truly thought he was dead.
Yes, he had seen the dead body the bounty hunter carried with him to the Stone Table, and some small part of him must have realized that it was not with them on their journey to the harbor, but for his siblings to truly believe it was him, dead...
Susan swallowed hard, her voice shaky when she spoke again. "Just that...we thank him for his condolences. In this time of great sorrow, the friendship of Calormen will not be forgotten by Narnia."
"Of course, O Gracious and King Majesty," the emissary bowed. "And may I pass on my own sincere regrets as to the loss of your young King. Neither will he be forgotten, but will remain a star in the heavens to guide us along this path of life."
Susan breathed out slowly, just enough for Edmund to realize that she was quickly growing bored of this conversation, but not enough for anyone who didn't know her as Edmund did, to notice, and wanted nothing more but to disappear behind Cair's walls. Yes, he knew his sister well enough to see that, even from his terrible vantage point. "Thank you, Emissary. Your words are most appreciated."
And then she was gone, trailed by the small contingent that had seen fit to follow her, and Edmund at least had to thank Aslan that someone had thought to do that in his absence. Ridiculous, the excuse she had offered.
Aslan, it had almost sounded as if they were begging Calormen to find some excuse for war.
And then he could see nothing but the back of her head, and Edmund stiffened, wanting nothing more but to reach out, though she was too far away to touch, wanting nothing more but to scream and alert her to his presence.
Mahir's dagger, still pressed against his throat, effectively squashed that thought. He would be dead before Susan even figured out where he was, if she even heard him. And the Emissary's men would not take kindly to having their scheme found out, and, as long as Susan was still on the ship, she would not be safe from their scheming, either.
He wasn't supposed to be here. If it weren't for his own running mouth, he wouldn't be, Edmund reminded himself morosely. After all, he had been the one to tell Mahir who he really was, when the man had had no idea before. Well, he might have had an idea, but that did not assuage the guilt in the pit of Edmund's stomach.
And then his sister was gone, and Edmund slumped, Mahir's dagger pulling away when the bounty hunter realized he was no longer in danger of yelling out.
Edmund hardly noticed when the blade was no longer digging into his neck. Hardly noticed when Mahir, with a surprising gentleness, wiped away the small trickle of blood it left behind.
It was not so long after when the oily ambassador slumped down into the belly of the ship, surrounded by servants and gazing at Edmund with a studious expression.
Mahir cleared his throat awkwardly, still clutching to Edmund's elbow as if he thought the young man could escape being locked in the hold. Well, perhaps he could, in a different time, but not with the amount of rowers and guards down here, to ensure his inability to escape.
Not with Susan still making her exit up above, weighing on his conscience if he tried.
And then it was gone, the Ambassador turning away without another look at them.
"Captain!" he shouted, and the Calormene Captain of the Riveiosa scrambled down below deck at the call. "We make all haste for Tashbaan." He eyed Edmund. "Lock him up somewhere more secure, but quickly, before the Narnians realize that their little king is not so dead as they think."
Lucy woke up sometime during the night, her head ensconced in an ancient scroll about the history of magic in Narnia, the candle that she'd lain on the floor beside her long since having blown out.
At first, she wasn't certain what had awoken her; it was barely light out, and she was alone. The room was slightly cooler than she might have been used to, sleeping in her own chambers, but, after spending a night in the Witch's dungeons, she could hardly complain on that count.
Then she realized that this light wasn't coming from the rising sun.
She looked toward the balcony sharply, eyes widening at what she saw there.
"Aslan," she breathed hoarsely, jumping to her feet and rushing over.
Aslan stood at the edge of the balcony, sad golden eyes meeting hers unblinking, though he made no move toward her. His golden fur shown in the night, and she was reminded for a moment of the time when he had broken free from his bonds, had stood behind the Stone Table and smiled at her, smiled in the face of the death the White Witch had tried to give him.
Then that fleeting moment was gone, and she could only stare, unable to move her feet.
He was too late. And he had not brought Edmund with him, as Lucy had imagined, had dreamed about in the days since their defeat of the White Witch, riding atop Aslan's back, grinning that his siblings had been so worried for him when he had been fine, had been happily with Aslan.
As if she spoke her thoughts aloud, Aslan's gaze saddened, and then he was moving away from her, stepping out beyond the balcony, through the guarding rail. He disappeared into the night like a specter, and Lucy suddenly found herself able to move again.
"Aslan?" she cried out, and then, slipping off her shoes, she ran over to where he had been only a moment before. "Aslan!"
He was gone. Susan might have convinced her, in the morning, that it was all only a dream, and so, when the time for breakfast came and Lucy met her siblings there, she said nothing of what she had seen, though they noticed a certain renewed hope in her eyes that had been absent before.