A/n: I've made it no secret that I'm an atheist, an agnostic, and someone who's growing increasingly disconcerted by and frustrated with religion. That said, I don't want to use my fanfics solely to criticize Christianity. After all, I enjoy the Narniad without taking all its messages to heart, and I thoughtfully consider Lewis's views without foaming at the mouth. So even though I don't agree with everything he wrote or believed, I can still write fics that are downright Narnian—fics that anyone of any religious persuasion can enjoy. That's what I'm doing here.

There's this challenge called Adventures in Narnia 2022, in which you write a short story every day for 30 days. Today's the first day, and the prompt is one hell of a way to start the series:

Write about a time when Lucy missed when she threw her dagger. What or whom did she hit instead?

Ain't no way I'm passing that up.

† Speak to Me †

Peter and Lucy stood at the edge of the practice range. The sun was going in for the day, but Lucy wasn't. She'd been tossing the knife at the archers' targets a hundred paces away, trying to hit them and grunting in frustration when they missed, and every time she walked back to fetch the knife, her anger grew hotter.

"Come on, Lu, hand it over."

"I can hit it, Peter! I just need more practice!"

"Not when you're mental."

"I'm not mental, Peter, I'm angry!"

Peter dismissed it with a sigh. "Now look. I know how you are when you get all mental—"

"Peter, I'm not mental!"

He held up his hands in surrender and took a step backward. "Fine, Lu…whatever you say. But I'll tell you: It's not very queenly of you going on like this."

"What does that mean?"

"You know what I mean. You're a queen, and you're acting like a brat. (Besides, it's always ugly when girls want to have a row…)"

Her mouth twisted, and her face went red. "You're just like Father Christmas!"

"...What?"

"Don't you remember what he said? He said Susan and I weren't going into battle. He said, 'Battles are ugly when women fight'!"

"So that's what you've been going on about? You're mad that you can't fight in a battle? Well, he was right about that. What happened in Beruna was ugly...certainly no place for a girl to be."

"What a beastly thing to say!"

"That's called chivalry!"

"Oh, bother it all. The women can't do anything; they just look all pretty and wait for the men to come home. It's just like our world."

Peter sighed and shook his head. "Look, if you've got a problem with Father Christmas, you ought to take it up with him. Except we've got two months until December, and I reckon you're bound to explode before then. So if you're not going to wait that long, talk to Aslan."

She glared at him, then turned away and said: "Stupid Aslan."

The snap in her voice made her face go red, and she turned away to hide her glowing cheeks. She heard Peter marching up to him, boots tromping in the grass, and he felt him snatch her arm.

"That's what this is about," he said. "You're avoiding Aslan. Six months of giving him the silent treatment, and it's driving you mad."

Tears glistened in Lucy's eyes, and she let out a sob and yanked her arm away. "All right, Peter, fine. If you want the dagger, then go and fetch it."

And she whipped away and tossed it into the air.

She regretted it as soon as the blade left her hand. It spun toward an oak tree at the end of the range. A squirrel sat on the limb, stuffing its cheeks with nuts and apples. She and Peter screamed for the squirrel to move, but its munching made it deaf to the world.

Gravity began to draw the blade downward toward the squirrel's neck. The thing kept chewing, oblivious to the silver blade tumbling through the air, ready to cleave his head from his neck—

And a burst of gold rushed through the trees. Aslan rushed up and leapt in front of the squirrel, and the blade of the dagger plunged into his breast.

Peter and Lucy went still, turning white as snow. Peter's mouth dangled open, and Lucy's scream of "ASLAN!" went so high that her voice shattered. Tears streamed down her face and her mouth twisted as she charged across the range, grass and sky going bleary all around her.

Aslan fell back onto his haunches and let out a rumbling moan of pain, and Lucy collapsed to the ground between his paws, squalling into his mane, dribbling tears onto the weeping wound, sobbing, "Aslan…Aslan…Aslan!"

"Oh, child," said the Lion, nuzzling her face. "Oh, child…"

"What have I done?" said Lucy. "What have I done?!"

"It's all right," said the Lion. "There is no harm done. The squirrel is all right."

"But Aslan!" she sobbed. "What about you?"

The Lion drew his head away, and he bowed his head and reached for the blade. He snatched the hilt between his jaws, giving it a tug. With a soft squelch, the blade came free, and the wound stopped weeping tears of blood. Lucy gawked at the wound, watching it close before her eyes, and the blood faded away into golden fur, as if the wound hadn't been there at all.

"Oh, Aslan," she said in a weepy voice. "I've really muffed it."

His face went even sadder. "Child, why didn't you come to me with your sorrows?"

"I couldn't," she said. "I thought you wouldn't want to hear it. But now..." and she stared at the place in Aslan's chest where the blade used to be. "...I know you would."

He nodded and gave her a gentle smile. "Far better to let me take the blows, than to throw your words and let them land on someone else."

She tried to smile back at him, but she couldn't keep it up and started to go all weepy again. "I don't know what's worse: if you didn't answer me—or if you did."

"Child, you are a lioness," said Aslan. "Whether or not I answer, you can take it...even when it hurts."

A pang of fear rushed through her, but a warm wave of strength overtook her. "I do want to talk to you," she said. "But if it's all right...can we go for a walk?"

The Lion let out a rumbling purr. "Dearest child," he said, "I've waited for this for a long time."