A/N: Thank you for being here. See you on Sunday!
All rights to the world and characters of Narnia belong to C.S. Lewis and his estate.
Chapter 33 - Lost Paths & Unstoppable Gravity
Lucy's POV
Lucy walked through the quiet halls of Cair Paravel, her feet carrying her without thought, her mind heavy. She had never felt this lost in Narnia before.
Since their return, something had been missing. No, not something—someone.
Aslan.
She used to feel him in the air, in the wind, in the very heartbeat of Narnia. But now, there was nothing.
Had she done something wrong? Of course, she had.
Her fingers curled around the pendant resting against her collarbone—a golden lion's head, small but weighted. A reminder. A promise.
But it felt like just another piece of metal now.
And she felt sick.
Not just in spirit—physically ill.
She pressed a hand against her stomach as another wave of nausea threatened to rise. It had been happening more frequently now, the memories flashing behind her eyes at the worst times—the battlefield, the weight of her bow in her hands, the way the arrow had sunk into the dwarf's throat. The way he had fallen.
Her first kill.
She had been raised to fight, trained to protect Narnia, to wield her weapon with purpose and conviction. But no one had prepared her for this.
Her knees buckled, and she gripped the stone railing of the corridor, breathing through the sickness. She couldn't tell anyone.
They would tell her it was necessary. That it had to be done. That it was war.
Her breath was coming faster now, too fast.
"Lucy."
She stiffened at the sound of his voice, gripping the railing tighter before turning to face him. James stood there, watching her carefully, his expression unreadable.
She didn't blame James for her suffering. But she couldn't face him, either. With him, she couldn't pretend. She couldn't force a smile, couldn't offer polite words, couldn't act like everything was fine. Yet she narrowed her eyes. She was still angry with him.
"What do you want?" she asked flatly, her voice tight.
James hesitated before speaking. "I… I saw you walking alone."
Lucy let out a short, humorless laugh. "So what? You think I need saving?"
James frowned. "That's not what I meant."
She exhaled sharply, turning away from him. "Well, I don't need your concern."
James didn't leave. "Lucy."
Something inside her snapped.
"Stop saying my name like that!" she shouted, stepping toward him. "Like you have a right to it, like you care!"
James blinked, taken aback. "I do care."
Lucy let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "You don't get to do this, James. You don't get to show up now and act like everything is fine. Like what happened doesn't matter."
"I never said it didn't matter," James said, his voice measured, careful. Too careful.
She shoved him. Hard. "Then how are you standing there like nothing is wrong? How do you sleep at night? How do you not feel like you're drowning in it?"
James caught his balance but didn't move away. "Lucy—"
"I killed someone!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "And I can't get it out of my head! And you—" She pushed him again. "You act like you can just walk in and talk to me like I'm the same person I was before."
Her breath hitched, and suddenly, she couldn't breathe.
The walls of the corridor blurred, the space around her tilting, closing in. Her chest tightened, her breaths short, too shallow.
James' expression changed immediately. "Lucy?"
She stumbled back, her pulse hammering in her ears. She was gasping, but no air was reaching her lungs.
A familiar voice cut through the panic. "Lucy."
She barely registered Peter and Susan stepping toward her, but when Peter reached her, she collapsed against him, hands clutching at his tunic, struggling to catch her breath.
Susan was there, rubbing her back, whispering, "Breathe. You're alright. Just breathe."
James stood frozen, his expression unreadable, but Peter's was clear—concern, steadiness, quiet authority. He placed a hand on James' shoulder and said firmly, "Leave."
James hesitated. He looked at Lucy once, his face unreadable, before finally nodding and stepping away.
Lucy didn't watch him go. She just let herself be held. For the first time in weeks, she didn't try to hold it all in.
Edmund's POV
Edmund had lasted a few days.
Barely.
He had tried to keep his distance. He had tried to focus on the war councils, the training, the uncertainty of everything that lay ahead.
But his mind kept drifting back to her.
To Eleanor.
And beyond that—he felt watched.
Not paranoid. Not frightened. But cautious. Aware.
He changed his walking routes, checked over his shoulder more than necessary, and took extra care in noticing who was watching him and who wasn't.
He didn't know what was out there, but something was.
And yet, he still found himself heading toward her.
He found Eleanor by the beach, sitting in the sand, her shoes discarded, waves lapping at her bare feet as she stared out at the dark horizon.
She turned, surprised. Then her expression steadied. Guarded.
"I thought I told you not to wander alone," he said, voice low.
Eleanor lifted a brow. "You didn't say the beach."
A breath of amusement almost escaped him, but he pushed it down. He sat beside her, close enough that their arms nearly brushed.
"I don't know what's out there," he admitted. "I don't know who saw us that day, or what they'll do with it."
Eleanor inhaled, searching his face. "You think I'll be used against you."
His fingers curled at his sides. "I think if something happens to you, I won't stop until I fix it. Until I bring you back. No matter the cost."
She stilled. So did he.
Eleanor swallowed. "I'm afraid too. For my brother. For the people I've come to care for." She hesitated before adding, "For you."
Edmund exhaled slowly, his pulse hammering. This was real. This was dangerous.
"I don't think that if this is the end, we should be apart," Eleanor whispered. "We should rely on each other."
The moment stretched. Then she whispered, "Stop fighting me."
He couldn't.
He reached for her, pulling her into him. The waves crashed, but all he could hear was her.
And this time, he didn't care who saw.