Author's Note: This chapter is inspired by Percy Bysshe Shelley's poem "Ozymandias," which is one of my favorite poems.

Chapter Four

O Sorrow, Wilt Thou Rule My Blood

Once they were settled, Agnes and the Pevensie siblings moved out of the treasure room. They had carried everything they could on their journey to find other Narnians. They also decided to inspect all the spaces and corners of the ruins to scavenge any useful items among the rubble, moss, and daisies. The roaring waves from below echoed through the warm, broken halls as they sifted through what they could inspect.

Eventually, Agnes picked up a weathered ornate goblet she had seen through the rubble and dust. As she ran her fingers over the carvings that were flattened with time, destruction, and weather, a memory from her early years rushed back to her.

The feasting room of Cair Paravel was alive with music and laughter. The goblet now in her hand had once brimmed with golden mead as fauns, dryads, and dwarves danced under the starlight. Centaurs and satyrs talked among themselves in happy drunken stupor. An older Agnes, barely past her twentieth year, raised the goblet for a toast alongside Narnian people of every kind. Her voice blended with theirs in a song of hope.

"To the future of Narnia!'

And they cheered with her and bubbled into laughter.

But the laughter faded abruptly. The memory blurred and cracked like shattered glass, giving way to the smell of blood and sweat of battle. She remembered raising this golden goblet in celebration. Now, it was gathering weather and time in the ruins. She crouched and returned it, not seeing any more use of it when there was nothing to celebrate.

Agnes continued wandering. Her school shoes crunched over broken tiles and glass as she pressed deeper into the ruins. She kept finding debris and fragments of things that barely resembled keepsakes, decorations, and many other possessions of the castle capital brought painful memories to the forefront of her mind. These items could have been hallmarks of histories and legacies of alliances and achievement, but they were all left behind in the chaos. Her fingers brushed against the cracked stone wall.

Centuries ago, in a different lifetime, she had issued commands to the great council and rallied the army. She had been so full of fire then, so certain of victory. But now, the silence was deafening, and the weight of all she had lost pressed down on her like stone.

The fire was long gone, replaced by the cold awareness of her failures. It was youthful naivety, she thought. She had been so full of hope and belief in Narnia but was forced to become more pragmatic or even battle-hardened as time passed.

As she walked still deep in her reverie, she realized something different in her arrival, aside from the remnants of chaos and destruction that she was in. Despite the ruin, the foundations of the castle still stood. The weathered stones had endured the siege and time itself. Perhaps, she thought, she could endure too. She paused, her breath steadying.

Perhaps, there was still something left to protect.

Her gaze darted ahead and landed on Peter, who was also looking through the rubble and dust.

In the corner of the ruined throne room, Peter was also looking for something to salvage. Her eyes watched his movements closely. He was regal and precise in every move he made, like a true expert swordsman, even if he was just doing a menial task. The image of the schoolboy she met in the underground station was no more. He was and always have been her liege. And she thought, just briefly, if she was really meant to protect him as her High King.

Sensing he was being watched, Peter turned in her direction with a guarded expression. "You found anything, milady?" he asked.

She shook her head in resignation. "Nothing of importance, my liege."

He nodded as she walked slowly to him. His hands were dusty and his knuckles bright red. Then, a memory surfaced forward, she remembered his brawl back in the underground station. Her postcard that she gave to him. "You had been in a fight, Your Majesty," she brought up.

Peter's shoulders sagged as if immediately tired of the conversation. "He bumped me."

"So, you hit him?"

He got more exasperated. His lips pressed together in a thin line. "No, I happen to be the one who threw the first hit. Hard," Peter defended. "And, it wasn't only because I refused to let him treat me like that."

Her cheeks felt hot as she realized his words. Her postcard that fell.

Before Agnes could say anything else, he busied himself again on scavenging, as if a messy corner was suddenly interesting attraction. From there, he spotted something glinting beneath a pile of rubble. He knelt, pulling free a small, charred object—a child's wooden carving of a lion.

"A toy," he said, holding the object up in the daylight.

Her breath caught as she saw what Peter was holding. The lion's features were rough, its mane unevenly chiseled, but she recognized it. Somewhere, deep within her memories from the last lifetime she had lived, she knew the child who made it. An apprentice's son who stayed in the castle capital hiding in the servants' quarters. Yet remembering was fruitless.

The boy died in the siege. And she could not save him, along with the other Narnians that stayed with her.

Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, "I'm sorry. I couldn't save you."

Peter eyed Agnes with suspicion. "You should have fought to the last," he said bluntly.

Agnes flinched but stood her ground. "And what would that have achieved? Another body for the siege to tear apart?"

Peter's jaw tightened, but something softened in his eyes as he looked past her, to the crumbled remains of the Great Hall.

"Perhaps you're right," he admitted after a long pause. "But it doesn't make it easier to accept."

Then, they heard small footsteps. Lucy emerged from the broken pillar she hid herself, apparently observing them and had been listening. She approached them and touched her older brother's arm gently. "She stayed, Peter. That counts for something."

Agnes lowered her gaze. Her heart pounded painfully beneath her ribs. "I stayed because I had no choice. The same purpose that I left, but I don't know if I deserve to live."

Peter hesitated before speaking again. "We'll have to decide what any of us deserves later. Right now, Narnia needs all the help it can get."

With a smile, Lucy's hand slid away from her brother's, then squeezed their regent's arm reassuringly. Her small fingers conveyed strongly of the valiant queen's trust. She turned back to her spot and continued to look through the broken halls with her other older siblings.

When she felt the younger queen was out of earshot, Agnes was the first one to speak. "It was never easy for me to leave. Everything had been difficult, but I persevered to lead your army. We held on to your memory and hoped for Your Majesties' return."

She was here for a reason, by the grand design of Aslan. If it meant protecting the Pevensie siblings, then she would dutifully put them back in their rightful power.

"I have waited for you all this time, my liege," she confessed. The depth of her loyalty and love to the kings and queens she never knew was enough to drown the High King with feelings of guilt and admiration for this girl, who had cared for Narnia in their absence.

The wind ruffled their hairs and school clothes. It was a jarring irony for them to wear their English clothes while standing in a land far away from where they came from. Still, it felt that time stopped for them in this moment as silence settled between them again. She knew that Peter felt her words sink home.

She made an oath to them. She made their people swear to them, not only to her.

She was slowly breathing as Peter eyed her with such softness, the same look he gave her at the underground station. Feeling bold, she took a hesitant step, before fully crossing the short distance. Her hand reached out, tentatively touching his shoulder.

"You have me, High King Peter. I'll help you carry this weight."

She was staring intently at him. Never thought that his eyes were so captivating that she lost track of time on how long she had been nearing herself towards him. Her mind was screaming to look away. But she could not help to stare into those blue eyes of his.

The old scribes were right. To place it with the words she remembered reading from history books, his hair was as light as the clear Northern sky and eyes as stunning as the glistening Eastern Sea. The thought of the sea, in which its faint scent of salt and pine clung to his school clothes, ushered herself inextricably closer to him.

Peter hesitated, his jaw tightening. For a moment, he didn't move, his gaze locked with hers. There was something in her eyes—steadfast, unwavering—that unsettled him. He looked away quickly, shrugging off her hand.

"It's my responsibility," he said, his voice quiet but firm. And yet, as he turned to leave, there was a flicker of something in his expression—regret, perhaps, or the faintest hint of gratitude.

But as he turned, his shoulders sagged, and his footsteps felt heavier as he walked past her back to his siblings, leaving her in the deserted corner of the ruins. As the sound of his footsteps receded away, Agnes could swear she had heard her heart skip a beat.

After a while, Edmund gathered everyone on the dais where the High Table was, resembling a kind of terrace about three feet higher than the rest of the walls. The High Table, where the monarchs and the great lords of Narnia once sat, was covered with mosses and wild roses.

"It's getting late, you know," Edmund said, gesturing around the darkening halls of Cair Paravel. "Look how long the shadows are. And have you noticed that it isn't so hot?"

Everyone nodded in agreement upon realizing that the shadows, which were starker than when they arrived earlier. And, indeed, the just king was right. Dusk was fading already. The traces of its existence—the golden afternoon sunlight—sank into the horizon and plum-colored darkness was starting to roll in with bright stars dotting across the clear sky.

Peter stepped forward as if commanding a council. "We shall need a campfire if we've got to spend the night here. Let's go and see if we can collect some dry wood."

"I already found some flint and steel for the fire source," Susan offered, showing the aforementioned items in her hands.

"We can gather dry wood over there. Just pass out of the hall by a little side door," Lucy said to her brothers, asking them to accompany her.

The valiant queen led her brothers to a wide gap in the castle wall, after weaving through a maze of stony humps of hollows that were once passages and smaller rooms, now covered in nettles and wild roses. Stepping through it, they found a wood of darker and bigger trees where they found plenty of dead branches and rotten wood and sticks and dry leaves and fir-cones. The three of them carried bundles of dry tinder and small pieces of kindling in each journey and piled them up on the dais.

While this went on, the older Pevensie girl ushered their regent to follow her.

"I saw the castle well," Susan mentioned. "Just outside the hall, hidden in weeds, but clean and fresh and deep."

Agnes nodded in understanding. "So, there must be crops nearby, my queen," she replied, which made the gentle queen smile.

The girls walked out of the hall in silence, where they were greeted by a lush orchard rich with yellow-golden apples in each tree near the castle well. Their branches were still bountiful with scrumptious golden delights that fed generations of families stricken with poverty, Agnes remembered.

They plucked the fruits, enough that they could easily carry back to the hall. Agnes watched her queen closely from beside her. She noticed that Susan's bow was still intact like yesterday was just the first appearance of the White Stag.

"Wouldn't the bow have perished in time, Your Majesty?" she asked Susan.

Susan paused, humming momentarily as her fingers fiddled with her bow slung behind her. "Whether by some magic in the air of Cair Paravel or not, my bow is still in working order."

In a moment, she bent the bow and then she gave one little pluck to the string. It twanged, a chirruping sound that vibrated through the walls. The small noise made Susan smile wistfully as if it brought back the old days. And Agnes understood her gentle queen. She must be remembering all the battles, hunts, and feasts came rushing to her.

"My queen, it must be difficult for you," Agnes said. "Coming back to this world in a time you do not know of."

There was a dark expression on Susan's face. "Just when I thought I was already used to England. I remember—I am beginning to remember. Such lovely times we had here. Fauns, good giants, mer-people, and my horse…"

Agnes' face curled in understanding her queen's pain as she nodded.

"I found our coronation rings. I remembered first wearing them," Susan recalled breathlessly. She licked her lips before she continued. "I saw the little brooch we all thought I lost somewhere. There's that black armor that Peter wore in the great tournament in the Lone Islands… I remember the dwarf making my old dresses… I remember my brothers drinking out of horns."

A heavy silence passed for a beat between them. But before Agnes could even say anything to offer comfort or empathy, Susan straightened herself with a flick of her shoulders and breathed deeply through her nose. With a sigh, she resumed plucking apples until her arms were comfortably full of them.

Not wanting to press further, Agnes also filled her arms with golden apples, as she followed Susan back in the hall. The rest of the Pevensie siblings built the fire on the dais, close to the corner between two walls, so it could be warm and comfortable enough for them to sleep.

"Apples?" Edmund cried in horror, looking at his older sister like she was a mad woman, and earning a glare from her in the process.

"Does anyone still have their sandwiches?" Susan asked her other siblings which they replied with a shake of their head.

Peter reappeared with a bundle of dry wood; a wide grin was plastered on his face. "Well, I left mine in my bag," he drawled. "And I left my bag at the train station. And I left the train station in England."

Edmund groaned as he lay on his back against the stone floor, his arms folded behind his head. "Anything would do fine. I'm just glad that we're back," he sighed, never taking his eyes off the sky.

Finally, all five of them sat down with their backs to the wall and their faces to the fire. They tried roasting some of the apples on the ends of sticks, holding them carefully over the flickering flames. The skins of the apples hissed and popped as they blistered and blackened. Lucy wrinkled her nose when a sticky glob of her hot mushy apple dripped into the fire with a loud sizzle, sending up a puff of steam that smelled faintly burnt.

"It smells—" Susan said delicately, turning her apple and leaning back slightly, as though distance would improve the outcome "—Interesting."

"I think you mean awful," Edmund grumbled in response. His stick drooped as the apple began to slide dangerously close to the fire. He hastily tilted it upright again but had clumsily balanced back when it almost touched his fingers. He sighed exasperatedly. "They keep falling off! What's the point of roasting apples without sugar? They're either burnt or raw!"

Peter chuckled, poking at the fire with a long stick to coax the flames higher. "Well, Ed, unless you've got a magic pantry tucked away somewhere, you'd better make do. It's this or nothing."

Edmund gave him a sour look. "For the record, I'd prefer a nice sandwich over this mess. Bread, butter, cheese. Even those soggy boiled vegetables at school are starting to look appetizing." He grimaced as his apple finally gave up and fell into the embers with a soft plop. "And now I'm starting to miss school suppers. How pathetic is that?"

Lucy giggled, though she tried to smother it behind her hand. "I'll trade you for one of mine." She offered her stick with an apple still wobbling precariously at its end. "I'm not sure I have the patience for this either."

"No thanks," Edmund muttered, plucking at the hem of his shirt in irritation.

Agnes laughed softly at the exchange, shaking her head as she cradled a raw apple in her hand. "It's not so bad raw, Your Majesties," she said in amusement. "And if you don't have sugar or spices for roasting, it's better this way. Our soldiers used to eat raw apples during long marches to battle. They said it made them strong."

"Did they really?" Lucy asked, wide-eyed, her attention immediately shifting to Agnes.

"Well, I think they just said that to keep the younglings from complaining to much, Your Majesty," Agnes admitted, a faint smile tugging at her lips, "But who knows? Perhaps it's true." She bit into her own apple with a satisfying crunch, its tangy sweetness cutting through the smoky air.

Encouraged, Lucy followed suit, taking a careful bite of her raw apple. The juice dripped down her chin, and she giggled as she wiped it away. "It's not so bad," she said brightly, grinning at Agnes. "Better than school pudding, anyway."

Peter raised an eyebrow, still carefully turning his own apple over the fire. "Even better than school pudding?" he teased. "You're joking. That stuff is awful, but not this awful."

Susan, watching from beside the fire with her apple cooling on a flat stone, smirked. "At least it doesn't come in lumps and taste like wallpaper paste."

"Well, that's a glowing endorsement," Edmund deadpanned, picking up one of the apples Susan had set aside and taking a defiant bite. He chewed slowly; his expression thoughtful. "Okay, fine. Maybe it's not that bad. But there's still no bread and margarine."

Peter grinned, finally deciding his apple was ready. He took a tentative bite, only to wince and fan his mouth dramatically. "Hot!" he yelped, his words muffled as he tried to swallow the too-hot fruit without spitting it out.

Lucy burst out laughing, clapping her hands together. "Serves you right for being so picky!"

"It's not funny!" Peter managed, waving a hand at her before reaching for his water flask.

Edmund smirked, leaning back on his elbows. "For once, the High King gets brought down by an apple. Write that down in the history books."

"That's enough out of you, Ed," Peter shot back, his tone good-natured despite his reddened cheeks.

Agnes watched the siblings with quiet amusement, the corners of her mouth curving into a soft smile. There was something about their banter that reminded of her own family back in England. The ease with which they teased each other, the warmth that lingered beneath the laughter. Before the war. Before Frederick went away, followed by Caroline.

As she thought about home, she realized no one was asking about anything from centuries ago. She thought it might be a test of loyalty, seeing that she was still a stranger to the Pevensie. However, as she watched their banter unfold before her, it was clear that no one wanted to be reminded yet of the duty they will have to shoulder themselves in the morning. For a moment, she let herself savor the scene, the flickering firelight painting their faces in shades of gold and orange.

Still, the just king was relentlessly disgusted. "I shouldn't mind a good thick slice of bread and margarine this minute," Edmund added dolefully.

In reality, they all felt that Narnia was calling to them, and no one really wanted to be back at school.

Shortly after the last apple had been eaten, everyone decided it was best to sleep off the night, laying close to each other for warmth near the campfire. But the ground was very hard and uncomfortable.

Agnes, who had braved through battles, was already used to the discomfort. Unfortunately, it was her dreamless nightmares that plagued her. She could not recall any of the dreams she had because the minute she opened her eyes, all of them disappeared from consciousness.

But she dreamt of the metallic scent of blood and steel. The clash of swords. A slash of a blade. The damp soil from the corner of her mouth. The glowing dim of a lantern's ember.

Then, she was falling into blackness.

As she had gotten out of a black hole inside her head, she awakened in a cold sweat with a violently thumping heart. Terror had her reaching instinctively for her rapier, only stopping when she saw a glimpse of the Pevensies' sleeping forms surrounding her.

Then, realization dawned on her as she regained senses. Slowly, her shoulders drooped in relief. She was not in the middle of chaos anymore, unlike the years of sleepless nights here in this very castle, afraid that the enemy would attack at whatever time. Peace like this disoriented her.

Glancing once more at their figures, she wondered what they felt in this kind of peace, though she and they had contrasting perspectives of peace. They remembered peace differently.

Agnes found peace whenever she was behind the barracks built around the high walls of the castle capital surrounded by the protection of soldiers and solace of civilians; the enemy lines miles away from them.

Maybe, the Pevensies found peace whenever bountiful feasts would be hosted inside the Great Hall where all of them could celebrate until the sun rose; never thinking for once that Cair Paravel would be littered with ruins of their empire that they believed were for eternity.

Though, she could not blame them at all if they feel that way. When she had arrived in Narnia for the first time, she also believed once that their empire would be eternal.

Now, they laid on an antique land where a bare colossal wreck sat—the ghost of the mighty Cair Paravel. The surviving remnants of their passions for preserving Narnia stamped on these lifeless walls, yet to Agnes, they mocked her hands that wielded her weapons and fed her heart with hope. It was a jarring and exhausting experience to be here.

Sighing, she laid flat on her back and faced the gray skies with bleary eyes that had stinging dark circles underneath that felt heavier than usual. Dawn had yet to shine down on the aging and barren Cair Paravel, so she decided to go back to sleep.

When she tried to close her eyes, a sniffing sound nearby stirred her but chose to ignore it, thinking that it might be from the wilderness. That her mind was doing typical tricks to make any semblance of the dark hour. So, she squeezed her eyes shut hard, hard, harder—eventually, she gave up forcing her to sleep when the crying sound became intolerable.

Agnes rolled on her side and met the sight of the valiant queen's glassy eyes. The lackluster in her blue eyes clearly indicated that she had been crying for some time. Her eyes were swollen red, and parts of her face were crusty with dried tears and snot.

"My queen?" she whispered hoarsely with concern, her throat dried from sleep. She rose slowly, careful not to wake up Susan sleeping on her right side. "What happened, Your Majesty?"

Lucy kneaded her tear-stained cheeks using her wrists. "Don't you feel it? I hear their suffering, feeling as if their pain is my own." Once a warm tear broke free from her eyes, the rest rolled down on her cheeks like an uneven hot rivulet.

Lucy's sadness gripped Agnes' heart like a crevice. She was too young to carry such a burden. All of them were, but she was the youngest among them. If only Agnes could do something, could have done better in the past, perhaps Lucy would not have been feeling this way.

Agnes breathed slowly as she tried to silence her thoughts before responding. It was not her time to grieve. She must compose herself for her queen. "I do, Your Majesty. The very moment I stepped foot in here. I feel them all."

It was Lucy's turn to breathe slowly as she looked at her regent with incredulity. Her lips pressed together in a thin line as she regarded the words.

"I was the reason why we left Narnia," she said after a beat. "If I had listened to Peter about me wandering off, you wouldn't be hurt like this, and nor would Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers. If we thought about how Su had a bad feeling of capturing the White Stag—" Her sentence trailed off to muffle the sounds of her whimpering by pursing her lips together again.

Lucy's gaze flickered towards the ground between them. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling. "We abandoned them. We left Narnia behind. And now—now it's all gone." She choked back a sob, her fists clenched tightly in her lap. "If we had stayed—if I had stayed—Mr. Tumnus, the Beavers… They might still be here. Cair Paravel might still stand."

Her voice cracked, and she buried her face in her hands. "I should've listened to Peter," she said between muffled sobs. "I shouldn't have wandered off. I ruined everything."

Then, Susan began to stir and let out a tired groan. The gentle queen murmured something unintelligible which sounded like letting her rest for another five minutes, Agnes observed her and stayed still until her queen drifted back to sleep.

Reassured, Agnes slowly got up on her toes and silently ushered Lucy, all damp cheeks and watery eyes, to follow her. Discreetly, she wiped off a single tear from the side of her face, careful that Lucy would not notice. It was not her time to grieve, after all. Agnes took a long look at Susan before heading towards the courtyard, praying that they could sneak off without causing any more disturbances.

"Where are we going?" Lucy croaked, as she fell into step idly beside Agnes as she fidgeted with her fingers.

"Let's watch the sunrise to tire ourselves, my queen. Then, we shall sleep." Agnes' green eyes twinkled under the pale sky, the smile hiding her bleariness.

"Yes, please," Lucy agreed with a sniffle

Finding a low sturdy branch, both of them sat there, watching the waves of the sea dance in a continuous ebb and flow movement. Agnes watched as Lucy's trembling breaths began to slow, though tears still glistened on her cheeks.

"I remember the apple orchard." Lucy's words weaving through the quiet like a lullaby. The memory seemed to steady her, her tears mingling with a bittersweet smile as she continued amidst tears. "It was the very day before the ambassadors came from the King of Calormen. We planted the orchard outside the northern gate of Cair Paravel. The greatest of all the wood-people, Pomona, came to put good spells on it. It was those very decent little chaps the moles who did the actual digging. That funny old Lilygloves, the chief mole, leaning on his spade and saying, 'Believe me, your Majesty, you'll be glad of these fruit trees one day.'"

A dim streak of light from the horizon caught their attention. The first ray of sunlight's reflection scattered among the rippling waters of the sea. Seeing the first sign of dawn, Agnes immediately felt the pressure of her emotions leaving her body. She wanted to cry, but kept reminding herself she would later on.

"And, he was right," Lucy finished, ending her story.

Agnes smiled, feeling the dryness of her lips curl from the cool air. "The best thing that we could do is move forward, my queen."

Lucy stiffened beside her and drew her lip between her teeth before nodding. A tightening of her throat, followed by a sharp intake of breath, Lucy was not able to control her sorrow anymore. She sprung forward and wrapped her arms around Agnes's neck, pulling the latter's head close to her trembling chest. Her grief poured out like an exploding river dam as she moaned out all the pain troubling her.

Agnes, as the youngest of her siblings, understood how it was tiring to maintain a facade of emotions to look strong in front of the oldest ones. She could feel that Lucy was trying not to be another concern for her older siblings to worry about. And it was taking a toll.

Agnes froze for a moment, the unexpected weight of Lucy's grief catching her off guard. But then, as the younger queen's sobs filled the quiet morning, something inside her softened. She wrapped her arms around Lucy's trembling frame, her own tears slipping free as she held the girl close. At that moment, it was as if they were both clinging to the only anchor they had left—each other.

They both needed this.

When the sun finally broke over the horizon, its golden light kissed the weathered pillars of Cair Paravel, chasing away the shadows of the night.

Lucy's tears had stopped, though her grief lingered, now softened by the warmth of Agnes' presence.

Agnes breathed deeply, her gaze fixed on the waves. "When the others wake, we'll decide what comes next," she murmured. Her voice carried a quiet determination. "Narnia isn't lost yet. Not while we're still here."

The dawn seemed to promise a new beginning. Narnia was still alive, and so were their purpose here.

Chapter 5 will be up next week! Please Rate and Review; I genuinely want to hear your thoughts about this story so far. Follow me on X/Twitter heythereflyboy.