Author's Note: Finally, we are in Narnia! I have been so anxious about posting this chapter that it went through several days of revision before I am satisfied.


Chapter Three

Of Memory Murmuring the Past

Agnes felt suspended between two worlds. One stronger and more insistent. London's cold, dreary air clinging to her skin faded into Narnia's warm, salt-laden breeze warming her body. The sound of crashing waves replaced the grind of train wheels, and the smell of soot gave way to the tang of the sea. Her transition was like waking from a dream into another dream.

The cerulean waters of the Great River Delta glistened under the radiant southern sun. It stretched out in front of her towards the seemingly endless horizon. Behind her, a dense thicket of trees loomed, their low branches casting dappled shadows on the sand yielding beneath her weight.

She had forgotten this sensation—how Narnia seemed to wrap itself around her, alive and vibrant. A surge of determination rebuilt her resolve. It was as if her whole soul was being knit together again, thread by thread, upon remembering how it felt to be here again.

Her laughter bubbled up unbidden. The sunlight burned her skin, but she did not care. Not now when she had already removed her shoes and relished the sand between her toes; the ebb and flow of the waves lapping at her ankles almost whispered that she was home. Contented, she hummed with her eyelids closed as the continuous cascade of waves rushing to her feet lulled her thoughts into blissful silence.

But it did not last long. Her mind refused to stay quiet. The memories of war still told her as they came rushing like a tidal wave. How much had changed since she last stood on this shore? How long had it been since she had left? A day? A year? Time has become a strange concept in this realm. She could never grasp how much Narnian time differs in England.

Then, upon thinking about England, she thought of Peter again.

The brief look they shared was filled with unspoken understanding, and she was so sure their meeting was not out of coincidence. There was something about him, something important. She had known it the moment their eyes met. If she could just reach into the memories of her past lives in Narnia, she could understand their meeting confidently and clearly. She was unsure if he would remember her, or if their paths would cross again. She had no answers—only questions and the faintest sensation of destiny and inevitability pulling her toward something she could not yet understand.

"Peter," she whispered. The faint whisper of the wind seemed to carry his name, as though the world were echoing it back to her.

A wave crashed against the shore, pulling her back to the present. It brought her to a matter that she was fully certain of: she had returned to Narnia.

As she turned away from the waters, her heart stopped as she saw the ruins before her. The subtle signs that hinted towards a place she knew all too well before the full realization made the blood in her veins cold. The emotions she felt earlier flushed all away.

Her gaze landed on a broken ruby-gold banner, its edges singed with fire, and the memories surged like another wave consuming her entirely. Amidst the overgrown vines on a crumbled rock stood what was left of Cair Paravel.

The once majestic castle capital, a shining beacon of their glory, was now a skeleton of its former glory. The towers that had pierced the sky were broken, their stones scattered like fallen stars. Vines crawled over the remnants of the walls, nature reclaiming what man and war had destroyed.

Shadows of the siege floated in her vision—Narnian civilians fleeing through the castle halls in a hasty attempt to evacuate, their cries echoing against the stone as flames licked the banners, tapestries, and paintings of their empire. Her breath hitched, her chest tightening as the weight of her failure pressed down on her.

Without hesitation, Agnes climbed and ran towards the ruins after her wet sandy feet slipped back in her shoes. Cool sweat contrasted down the warm skin of her face under the sun's heat. She fought off the branches blocking her path at a speed fueled by desperation and guilt. Not even minding that the decent fabric of her sleeves did not exist anymore. She only slowed down when her hair had been caught through the thorns or when it was her school uniform instead. Nonetheless, her mind was set on moving as fast as she could.

She stopped at the remnants of where the entrance once stood. Half-buried in rubble, the Northern Gate was still faintly recognizable. Its intricate carvings were marred by wreck and decay. It was hard to tell at first, but recognizable after closer scrutiny of its markings.

There was a painful tug in her heart as her mind pulled more memories. They pierced through her mind like being stuck with a white-hot branding. Agnes' knees threatened to give way, but she forced herself to stand. She briefly took a long wistful stare at some particular spots of the castle before turning away when the heaviness in her chest became unbearable.

The silence was deafening. This was the aftermath of Cair Paravel's demise. Now, the thrones were claimed by nature yet ruled over none. Such a high price for her failure.

She traced her hand over the crumbling stone, her thoughts quelling into one single prayer. In her mind, the clash of swords returned—the desperate cries of the Narnians, the acrid stench of smoke as the gates fell. She had been there, rapier in hand, shouting commands until her voice gave out. And yet, it had not been enough all along.

"Aslan, if you're still watching—if you can still hear me… I don't know if I deserve your guidance. But, Narnia does. Help me find the strength to do what needs to be done. And if there are others out there, show me the way to them. Please."

Although, it seemed that her prayers this time were unheard. Like her other prayers in the past.

Where was He when they asked for Him? When they needed Him? Now, He called her back to nothing but ruins. All she had built to protect, had fought for, gone just like that.

She hoped to be forgiven for her lapses. For leaving when they needed her the most. But she swore to set things right. She had not returned to Narnia to mourn. The realm brought her back for a reason beyond sorrow.

Agnes clenched her fists, her sorrow hardening into resolve. If Cair Paravel could fall, so too could the enemy who had brought it to ruin.

She returned her gaze to the bright horizon of the magnificent sky—endless like the possibilities explaining why she was here. The cool salty breeze swept through her as her heart pounded with a renewed sense of purpose.

Somewhere out there waited for her return.

And she would find them.


Agnes tried to retrace the steps of her past lives in the ruins of Cair Paravel. They led her wandering through the barren halls until she stumbled upon what used to be her quarters a lifetime ago. Her chest tightened at the sight. There were no remnants of her past life that could be seen anywhere. It was devoid of her.

She looked for any signs of where her weapons may be, but she could find nothing from the weathered rubbles and thick moss. As she inspected the worn-out cobblestones for any loose stone, a memory dawned upon her like a morning fog being lifted away.

The treasure room.

The one where she was last seen before she was sent back to England.

With that, she turned on her heel to find the familiar broken statue of a king, whose name she had forgotten. She crossed the overgrown courtyard and paused before the shattered staircase. Moss blanketed the stones, and vines hung from the walls like forgotten tapestries. Wildflowers pushed through the cracks of the stones against the weathered walls. Her fingers brushed a weathered column as her gaze fixed on the ruins of the throne room.

However, her feet persisted, refusing to stay in one spot longer than necessary until she finally found the entrance to the treasure room. Once there, she immediately shoved the king's statue aside with extraneous effort. It was as if her body had its own accord as her arms pushed and heaved against the marble until it revealed the treasure room.

The dim glow of sunlight filtering through the collapsed ceiling illuminated the ancient treasure room that held tarnished and broken relics of a bygone era of splendor. Dust and decay hung in the air, swirling in the faint shafts of light.

Before she could examine the items, four statues caught her attention. The Kings and Queens of Old Narnia. She remembered she had stood before them during the night of the siege, and many moments ago in the previous lives she was here.

But she was drawn more to the statue of High King Peter.

With a thumping heart, she slowly lifted the lid of his chest, and there inside, laid the fabled sword with a lion-head pommel among the possessions of old weapons, jewels, and gifts from allies. The one she was so anxious to protect from may fall with finality into the wrong hands.

Agnes' breath hitched in her throat as her fingers brushed on the sword's quillon block. The feeling under her touch beckoned her home. The skin from her shoulder down the waist seemed to sizzle on her skin like it was singing—calling to Rhindon, the sword still hidden despite the years' aftermath.

With a deftness of skill, she drew out Rhindon and held it up. The lion-head pommel shone faintly under the sunlight that seeped through the large cracks above. It was still pristine as the day she last saw it. Rust had yet to claim it, despite all the time being sheltered in its scabbard. Its weight was perfect and righteous in her grasp. Her gaze traveled from the carefully sharpened debole down to the golden lion-head pommel of the sword, and back to the prophetic words inscribed across the sword's well-polished fuller.

"High King Peter." She found herself whispering a prayer to the statue. Suddenly, she was in another life again, praying to her liege for strength and guidance. "Your blade defended the innocent and carved hope into our future. I implore you to help me find my place in all of this…"

For a moment, she thought whether or not she was worthy of wielding this sword. Let alone hold it. She had gone to so many lengths to protect it. Yet she felt so small as compared to the legacy of Rhindon as she carried it now, even as harsh and hazy images of a lamppost threatened to barge through her senses. Eyes squeezing shut, she squirmed away as if she could physically distance herself from the visions.

Then, faint sounds—a shift of footsteps and a whispered voice—broke her reverie. Her hand instinctively moved to her hip but found just air, instead of the reassuring hardness of her rapier's hilt. But, she froze when she turned to the sound that arrived in the treasure room.

A familiar voice came into the room. " I can't believe it! It's still here ."

There, at the entrance, stood four figures. The sunlight streaming through the cracks illuminated them like a dream brought to life. Two boys and two girls. The youngest, a girl, looked at her with eyes sparkling in wonder. The youngest boy held an electric torch like it was a sword as he scanned the room with sharp caution. She recognized him as the dark-haired boy who jumped into the fight back in the underground station. Beside him, the oldest girl's graceful stance belied the shock on her face.

However, she found herself stunned at the eldest. ' Could it be? ' Her thoughts were running a marathon, trying to comprehend the shock of realization. He stepped forward with a presence that commanded her attention and obedience.

It was Peter from the underground station earlier.

"It would be highly appreciated if you drop the sword. That blade belongs to the High King of Narnia," he threatened. He stood before her with his gaze locked onto hers like a dragon possessive of his gold and she was a trespasser of his lair. "Who are you to wield it?"

There was silence as she took in all four of them. Young, unfamiliar, yet unmistakably the figures—the characters—that came straight out of legends and songs.

Most of all, the owner of Rhindon. The rightful who could wield it.

Her liege.

Her voice trembled, a mixture of disbelief and reverence. "You…" was all that managed to tumble out of her mouth.

As she uttered a singular word, the recognition in his eyes was instant and electrifying, as though the moment at the underground station had been a seed, now blooming into clarity. His expression flickered between confusion and something deeper—curiosity, maybe even disbelief as well.

"It's you…" he started quietly, the rest of the words went unspoken.

Agnes's grip on Rhindon tightened as her heart pounded in her chest. She swallowed hard, summoning the courage to meet his gaze directly.

High King Peter.

Her head felt it was turning light as a feather as she tried to wrap her head around the situation. They were the kings and queens from the royal house that she had waited to come back to for so long. In their absence, she swore her life to protect their empire. And there they were now, graciously standing in front of her.

She dropped to her knees, her breath catching in her throat. Her hands trembled as her fingers found purchase as they gripped the hilt of Rhindon that she held upright from the ground. Her head lowered in humility as it touched her clasped hands.

"Your Majesties… Forgive me. You are House Pevensie—the saviors of Narnia from the White Witch and brought the Golden Age. I have served in your name and the other royal families after you for years… But never did I think I would stand before you. Not like this."

As she looked up, Agnes saw Peter shooting a helpless look at his siblings, to which the dark-haired boy—King Edmund—replied with a shrug. On the other hand, the oldest girl, who was definitely Queen Susan, exchanged a sharp glance with Peter as King Edmund subtly positioned himself in front of their youngest sibling, who was none other than Queen Lucy.

"Would someone care to explain what's going on here?" Susan interjected impatiently, folding her arms as she glanced sharply at her older brother. "Peter."

"We met back in London this morning. At the train station," he explained.

Susan nodded, still suspicious. Her mouth was set in a hard line. From the back, Edmund hung in silent judgment, observing the scene unfold before him.

Sensing their distrust, Agnes stood up again with practiced elegance and gently but quickly placed Rhindon back in the chest as though it burned her.

On the other hand, Peter moved closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. "You were at the station. I saw you. But now, here you are," he said in a guarded tone.

"Wait!" Lucy said with eyes sparkling with curiosity, glancing between Agnes and her older brother. "You two know each other? But how?"

"Who are you?" Edmund finally spoke, insisting her with urgency.

Agnes lowered her head further, hesitating, torn between the awe of the unexplainable and letting the moment speak for itself. "I am Agnes, regent to the kings and queens of Narnia, appointed to care for Cair Paravel while you were gone. For years, I waited for the prophecy to come true, for the day Your Majesties would return. And now, here you are."

Susan frowned, her voice laced with both suspicion and intrigue. "And how would that be possible?"

"I believe it's a long story," Agnes confessed, looking at her gentle queen in the eye. "Like you, I stumbled in Narnia a year ago, then it became a daily thing whenever Aslan returned me to England until he deemed that my regency was over."

Edmund continued the interrogation, asking in a skeptical tone traditionally reserved for negotiating with noblemen. "How long have we been gone? I saw catapult boulders around the eastern perimeter."

Agnes's tongue suddenly was lost for words. Could she afford to tell the Kings and Queens of her failure to do her duty? To tell them what had saved her? The salvation that she did not ask for when all she wanted was to be with her people when they were brought to their knees.

"I was here for a cumulative number of three hundred years from all the time I was brought here," she answered.

"And by the appearance of the landforms," Susan gestured towards the exit of the treasure room, "Ten hundred years had passed."

Agnes nodded before her face turned grim. "Then, there was a siege," she held her breath, considering her words before pressing on, "I was suddenly back in England during the chaos, so I can't offer more information after that. I regret to say I don't know what happened in the aftermath."

Peter's wariness lingered, his shoulders stiff as he interrogated her. "A regent, you say?" His tone had a bitter edge creeping in despite his attempt at composure. He gestured across the treasure room, his expression hardening. "If that's true, then why's Cair Paravel in ruins?"

Agnes flinched at his words, guilt prickling at the edges of her resolve. She clenched her fists tightly, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I—I did what I could," she said, her voice steady despite the weight pressing on her chest. "But it wasn't enough. We were outnumbered. We ran out of resources and they starved us out long enough to weaken us."

Despite the pain, she held her ground, standing firm with her chin raised like the lady warrior she had always been. "But we fought hard! I was with them every time I could to protect what was left of us," she protested with conviction. She met Peter's gaze briefly, a flicker of steel in her expression before looking away again. "I tried to preserve the kingdom you built, but I wasn't enough. No one was enough to fill in the void of your absence."

They could play damn well with the hierarchy of ranks and titles if they chose to, yet she remained steadfast in her sufferings and sacrifices. She was not afraid to admit her faults. There was dignity in the way Agnes carried her head, taking pride in who she was to them.

For Narnia.

The raw emotion almost caught Peter off guard. His expression softened slightly, though his skepticism remained. His jaw tightened, the tension in his shoulders betraying his inner turmoil.

The treasure room fell silent, the weight of her admission hanging between them. The Pevensie siblings exchanged knowing glances, mulling over an exchange of words and the sudden revelation. Before Peter could open his mouth, Lucy spoke, her voice cutting through the heavy silence.

"Lady Agnes," Lucy said with a kind smile. "If you truly served Narnia, then we thank you. Whatever happened here, you tried."

Agnes looked at Lucy, her expression softening. "Thank you, Queen Lucy," she replied. "Your kindness is just as the stories had told."

Edmund interrupted the charged moment, holding up a metal helmet with a grin. "Well, it looks like we're all back where we belong." He regarded the expressions of his siblings and their regent as he tried to lighten the mood. "Shall we see what we can gather from here?"

Each shared a tentative smile, a fragile alliance forming with their regent in the shadow of the past. All of them had nothing to lose if they trusted their regent, after all.

As the rest of the Pevensie siblings moved to examine each of their chests filled to the brim with their possessions from the past, Peter lingered. "You waited all this time for our return?" he asked quietly so she could hear. "You must believe so much in us."

Agnes' heart leaped in her chest. But in her thoughts, years of quiet leadership in a land that no longer existed made waiting seem trivial. "Belief isn't enough, my liege. We held on to faith as long as we could. Right now, we'll need more than that if we're to reclaim what was lost in the past."

Peter met her eyes with a resolute expression. The moment hung between them, fueled with unspoken tension and the weight of their shared responsibility. There was a flicker of something in him as he looked at her—perhaps the beginnings of trust.

With a curt nod, he moved to his chest. He picked up his sword and unsheathed it.

Agnes watched silently. There was an overwhelming feeling churning her insides as she pieced together the legends and songs that she had heard so much about High King Peter and his mighty consorts from her past lives. The boy that she met in the underground station was replaced by a young king destined to reclaim his empire.

Not being able to contain his pride any longer, Peter read the prophecy aloud, "When Aslan bares His teeth, winter meets its death."

There was something new in him that he felt that he was High King Peter the Magnificent again as he held up Rhindon. This was the sword that protected Susan and Lucy from Maugrim. This was the sword that he carried to avenge Edmund against the White Witch. Rhindon was with him from the very start of his journey towards the end of it. The alpha and omega symbolized his identity as the High King of Narnia.

"And when He shakes His mane, we will have spring again," Lucy continued for him from the corner, a cordial and a dagger in her hands as she watched the two.

Peter's gaze remained returned to Agnes, his expression unreadable as he searched hers. Finally, he glanced down at Rhindon, then back at her. "You were alone all that time, weren't you?"

Agnes straightened, lifting her chin once more. "I wasn't—I had my army. I had what was left of the small council. That's all enough for me. I thought if we could just hold on… You will come back, and I won't have to bear any more losses." She held their gaze for a moment, and then her eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, returned to Rhindon. "And, now you have."

Peter hesitated, then finally smiled warily. His eyes were still clouded with questions.

Breaking away from the tension, Agnes turned and searched through the rest of the treasure room for her belongings, the weight of the past pressing heavy on her shoulders. She was drawn to a corner where items were stored haphazardly in a pile as if they were being piled in a rush. Some were wrapped in cloth, others dulled by time.

Her breath catches as she recognizes a familiar shape beneath the layers of dust. She kneels and carefully unwraps a long, slender golden swept-hilt rapier and a matching parrying dagger. The acanthus leaves engraved around a series of interwoven bars forming the guard of the rapier gleamed faintly in the sunlight.

"So, it was here all along. My blade," Agnes greeted her weapon like an old friend. Her grip on the handle was familiar like an extension of her bones. She admired the handiwork, the Narnian insignia sat on the quillon block, encrusted with rubies and yellow diamonds. In her other hand, a parrying dagger that was much simpler, but bore the intricate engravings on its woven golden cross-guard.

"Those were yours?" Lucy watched her, wide-eyed.

"They were gifts from the smiths of Narnia when I took my oath as regent. I thought it was lost to the siege."

From the corner of his eye, Peter observed her closely as he inspected the Narnian garbs that he could wear, his skepticism softening just slightly as he saw the reverence with which she held her weapons.

On the other hand, Susan and Edmund were conversing after the former realized the absence of her horn. "I must have left it in my saddle," she said thoughtfully as she turned to the others. "The day we went back."

A pang of regret struck Agnes as she remembered her last night in Narnia. Edmund noticed this and asked her, sensing her concern for its whereabouts. "You know where Su's horn was?"

"That, I can tell no longer, my king," Agnes apologized. "I had it taken away far from here when we were attacked." She wished that she knew so to ease the sorrows, watching each of the kings and queens.

All the Pevensies' gazes were fixated on the floor, the same silent anguish on their countenances that Agnes had, too, felt over and over again. The same emotion that plagued her all night whenever she approximated the amount of Narnian blood on her hands.

Something broke inside Lucy. Her blue eyes squeezed shut as the memories of the Golden Age and her first discovery of the wardrobe flooded her mind. "Everyone we knew," she started slowly, licking her dry lips, "Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers... They're all gone."

The hardest was on Peter, who stood apart from the others, staring at the prophecy etched on Rhindon's blade. When he finally turned back to his siblings and Agnes, his expression was hard, his jaw tight.

"I think it's time we found out what's going on," Peter decided.

Agnes met his gaze, sensing his strong resolve despite the whirlwind of emotions. She would prove her worth to the legends she had always revered—and to the boy she was beginning to see as more than just a legend.


Peter and Agnes now finally met (again). Let me know your overall thoughts about this. Rate and Review! Next chapter will be up next week.