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Chapter Text

England, December 1944

As Eleanor walked along the snow-covered streets of Stamford, her thoughts could drift to nowhere but London. She had dedicated the past years into making a habit out of fantasising she was wandering the city’s busy roads instead, picturing crowds where there was vacancy, and luminous signs and marquees instead of quiet houses. When the war had just started, she had even hoped it might bring some sort of modernisation; yet the old parish town would not change, as it had not changed for hundreds of years, with only a few tarmac roads as evidence of the twentieth century, and even fewer cars to accompany it. And so Eleanor carried on dreaming of both her past and future, with no choice but to march along the insipid, endless rows of limestone buildings of her present.

She had been so immersed in her imagination she had forgotten to mind her balance in the frozen pavement, and she found herself on the floor before she could think to do anything about it. She fell on her knees and wrists, which came to hurt terribly, though not enough to distract her from embarrassment. Hair covered most of her face like a dark curtain, but she could still spot a woman already coming in her direction, asking if she was alright.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she answered quickly. 

Before the woman could fuss about any further, Eleanor had gotten up and had taken a right turn. She entered a quiet alley, even if it meant taking a longer path, for it at least hid her from the witnesses of her slip. As she straightened her clothes and pinned her hair back into place, she thought she should at least be grateful it had happened before she had the groceries with her, for Aunt Doris might as well skin her alive if she came home with cracked eggs and empty jars of milk.

It was snowing again by the time she circled around St. George’s church, making her way back into the main road. The square was mostly deserted except for a group of soldiers who loitered on the opposite side, though she made sure to pass them gingerly. She was so absorbed in the task of not slipping again, she barely had time to realise someone was shouting at her until it was almost upon her.

"ELLE!"

It had been a desperate cry, so fretful it stopped her to a halt. She turned, instinctively, and only registered something approaching her very quickly in the quarter of a second she had to process it.

There was an urgent collision and, before she knew it, she was being embraced. Someone else’s warmth was travelling across their connected chests, and she could feel an accelerated heartbeat as strong arms held her closely. She stood, rigidly, not knowing what else to do.

Then he pulled away, and she saw him for the first time. He must have been one of the soldiers she had passed, for he wore the traditional ochre uniform, but he couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than her. Any other detail blurred away when he cupped her face to stare at her, appearing to analyse her so thoroughly she’d think he was trying to memorise the details to paint a portrait later. His icy fingertips burnt her cheeks, and they shook and rattled in a way that was probably not caused by the cold. He held her so close she could have counted the eyelashes on his eyes, or traced the freckles on his nose.

"Elle?" he whispered.

His tone was so desperate she almost wanted to say yes to whatever it was that he was asking. But he was a strange man, perhaps a delirious one, and she was reminded of how his grip was only a fragment of his real strength. So she pushed away and said, "Do I know you?"

He finally let her go. He dragged himself backwards, though he wouldn’t stop gaping at her.

"PEVENSIE!" A grave voice roared, and a tall, blonde man rushed towards them. He also wore the uniform, though he strutted with authority. "What do you think you’re doing?"

The man who had charged on her seemed to at last come to his senses. He blinked repeatedly, turning to his superior, and mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I… Sorry," he said, glancing once more towards Eleanor. "I thought I knew her."

"You thought you knew her," the blonde man repeated quietly, nodding. He then took a deep breath before adding, "Go back to camp, Pevensie."

The soldier swallowed whatever excuse had almost crawled its way out of his mouth. "Yes, sir." He bowed his head and retreated, not before shooting one last glance at Eleanor.

"Miss?" The officer now addressed her, his voice significantly softer. "Are you alright?"

Only then did she realise she’d been trembling. She gritted her teeth before answering, "Yes."

"Please forgive his behaviour. I’ll see that he is punished for it."

"Right," she muttered, frowning. "Thank you, officer…"

"Barrow."

"Officer Barrow."

He tilted his hat in a quick nod. "Have a good evening, miss."

"Thank you," she said again. 

She spied behind him. The soldier was nowhere in sight, so she turned and continued her way.

His face, however, would not leave her mind, and it was only through muscular memory that she found herself at Mr. Taylor’s shop a few minutes later. She fumbled through her pockets until she finally found their ration card and Aunt Doris’ shopping list, which Mrs. Taylor then began crossing as she filled two brown paper bags with its items. By the time it was done, Eleanor had already outlined a whole script of how she would tell her friend Birdie the story later. "It was frightening, of course", she would say. "But his eyes seemed so sad. As if none of the war’s horrors could ever compare to the grief of yearning for her, whoever she was to him."

She grabbed the bags from the counter and smiled as she imagined Birdie’s awestruck face. She thought, as she began making her way back home, that she might see the soldier again. After all, the troops had arrived only a few days earlier, and there was no telling how long they would be stationed in town for. Would he try talking to her again? What would she do, then? Or worse, what would she do if he didn’t?

She had just begun mulling all of her questionings when their answer appeared before her. At the end of the block, standing watch on the side, was the man she was still thinking of. He still looked troubled, but took cautious steps towards her.

He stopped a few feet away.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," she tried replying, but it was more of an exhale than a sound. She cleared her throat. "I thought you went back to camp."

She was finally able to take him in this time. He was taller than her, and very slender. She could peek a few strands of brunette hair loosely tucked under his uniform hat, just as dark as her own, and his eyes were a somber shade of brown, which she had a hard time diverting from.

"I was supposed to," he confessed, and Eleanor thought she heard the faintest hint of humour in his voice; the corner of her mouth twitched nervously in response. "But I wanted to…" he continued. "I suppose I wanted to apologise. Properly."

She nodded.

"It was unacceptable, how I acted back there. It must have been frightening for you, and I’d like you to know that it is not within my nature to behave so poorly. I’m very sorry."

"Thank you," she replied. "I appreciate it."

He smiled. "Could we start over?"

She found herself smiling back. "Of course."

He took a step towards her and offered his right hand. "I’m Edmund. Edmund Pevensie."

She stared at his hand, trying to wriggle the grocery bags to her left arm.

"Oh, I’m doing this all wrong," he muttered anxiously, reaching for the bags and taking them from her. "Here, let me."

"Oh, you don’t have to…"

"Please," he insisted. "It’s the least I can do."

The bags were now securely on his arms, and he looked at her once more.

"May I escort you to your place?"

Eleanor adjusted her hair and coat. "Yes," she said. "And I’m Eleanor Harrison. Though everyone calls me Nora."

Edmund beheld her in such a way that made her second guess herself, and she felt as if she had just answered a question wrong in front of the entire class. But, very quickly, his expression changed back to politeness.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Nora," he said.

"You, too. Edmund," she added quickly.

"Will you lead the way?"

Eleanor obliged, restarting the walk back. Edmund walked beside her, silently, and she wondered if she should say something.

"Won’t you get in trouble?" she asked.

"Trouble?"

"With Officer Barrow. He seemed very… keen on punishment."

"Oh." He chuckled. "No, don’t worry about Barrow, he’s… He’s mostly talk. Besides, he’s only a lance corporal."

Eleanor quickly eyed Edmund’s uniform, which was bare of embroideries or insignias, but she hoped he was right. "Oh," she murmured. "Have you been in service for long?"

"Eighteen months."

"And have you been overseas?"

Edmund didn’t answer straight away, and his gaze vacated into the distance. "Messina," he finally said.

Eleanor’s eyes widened as her chest filled with boundless questions, but she realised he didn’t seem very eager to share whatever battle stories he might have — they had just met, after all. She did, nevertheless, store that information in a secure drawer in the back of her mind, and she was sure to inquire further as soon as he gave her the slightest aperture.

"What about you?" he asked.

"Oh, I’m still in school," she confessed. It seemed embarrassing to admit to it when he had just mentioned he’d been in the war frontlines.

"School?" His eyebrows furrowed. "How old are you?"

"I’m eighteen. I’m finishing secondary school. I’ll graduate in the spring."

"Right, of course," he said, shaking his head. "Forgive me, I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I was just surprised. Most girls I’ve known don’t go on to secondary school."

"Yes," she said quickly, "well, my aunt insisted, actually. I meant to volunteer for an auxiliary service as soon as I came of age, but she wouldn’t have it."

"Oh?"

Eleanor shrugged apologetically. "She wants me to continue my studies. Thinks some university in London might accept me, even though I’m a woman."

"I’ve heard more and more colleges are opening up to co-ed."

"Well, even so," she dismissed him. "I wish I could be of more use for the country."

They had just reached the main road, which was overflowing with a mix of loud chatter and roaring motors. They stopped by the pavement, waiting for a car to pass so they could cross. Edmund turned to her, looking at her so intently she could feel the blood flooding the skin in her cheeks.

"I think pursuing an education is a way of serving the country," he said quietly. "Could you imagine if we all stopped studying to fight in battles? We’d have more wars erupting in no time."

A harsh breeze blew her hair away from her face, and Eleanor hoped Edmund would think her redness was due to the cold.

But he hardly seemed to notice. "When this is all done," he continued, "I hope a next generation of scholars will make sure we remember the horrors we’ve faced. So we never have to face them again."

Edmund began crossing, and Eleanor followed with a second’s delay. "Of course," she replied. "We will do well to remember the sacrifices of the loved ones we’ve lost."

The conversation had turned a lot sombre than she had anticipated, but Eleanor liked it — she felt very grown up discussing the war with a soldier from the British Army. None of them said anything else until they entered her neighbourhood, and, though it was dark and already deserted, Eleanor hoped someone would spy them from behind their curtains. She could already imagine people commenting on how they’d seen her walking with an officer, and she fantasised of graciously refusing to address such rumours with shy smiles and vague responses.

"You mentioned you lived with an aunt?" Edmund asked.

"Aunt Doris," she nodded. "And Uncle Rupert."

"And your parents?" he said very carefully.

"They died when I was seven."

Eleanor was used to people reacting with shock and embarrassment when she revealed that, but Edmund didn’t seem too fazed. Instead, he nodded once grimly.

"I’m very sorry, Nora."

He sounded so sincere she almost caught herself apologising for even saying such a thing. She’d been so used to romanticising her own tragic backstory, she sometimes forgot the tragedy of it. Edmund, on the other hand, acted as if this affliction was somehow also his own, and she wondered if that was simply a consequence of having lived through a war. Mr. Radcliffe, Birdie’s dad, occasionally bore the same melancholy whenever he told stories of his youth.

"It was a long time ago," she said, as she always did. "And my aunt and uncle are very caring."

Edmund smiled. "I lived with my aunt and uncle for a bit, too," he said. "In Cambridge. They were very kind to take me and my sister. Though they had their own peculiarities — they did not eat meat, for once."

Eleanor’s mouth fell open. "No meat? What, not even fish?"

"No, not even fish. They were very strong-minded on a few matters. I used to think the vegetarianism was due to some sort of fondness for animals, but my cousin Eustace had the hobby of collecting insects and pinning them to cards."

They both laughed at the same time; nervously at first, but it soon grew more comfortable.

"He’s actually a great kid," Edmund said, "though the insect thing is something I’ve never really understood."

"Perhaps he’ll go off to become a Biology student."

"Yes, that would be very fitting."

Before she could realise it, they were already turning to her street. She spotted her house in the distance, and her chest deflated. For a moment, she even considered taking another walk around the block, perhaps pretending she lived somewhere else, but she lacked the courage to do so. 

"What about your parents?" she asked, accepting that this was probably the last question she’d have.

"They moved to America a couple of years ago. My father was released from the army so he could accept a teaching position in California. My sister Susan went with them, mostly to keep company with my mum."

"Oh." Eleanor’s voice was frail. "My father was a professor, too."

Edmund raised his eyebrows kindly. "What did he teach?"

"Mathematics. And yours?"

"Theoretical physics."

She was not able to mask the impressed look on her face. Physics was the subject she struggled with the most at school. "Perhaps they would have gotten along," she managed to say.

Edmund’s smile was sympathetic. "Perhaps they would have."

They halted at the front of her house. It was a traditional limestone building, with two windows at each floor, grimy stone slate roofing, and a brick chimney already fuming with smoke, which indicated Eleanor was probably late for supper, and Aunt Doris wouldn’t likely be in her best humour.

"This is me," she said, smiling weakly. "Thank you for the company. You certainly made a winter fifteen-minute walk a lot more pleasant."

He bowed his head courteously. "I’m glad to be of service."

When he went to transfer the bags to her, his fingers brushed very fleetly on hers, and Eleanor thought she was lucky to not have dropped the groceries in that same instant. They both looked away, flustered.

She had been about to turn and flee inside when he called her.

"Nora?"

"Yes?"

"Do you… do you go to the shop everyday?"

She blinked. "I go to the shop whenever my aunt asks me to. Which is almost everyday," she chuckled. "Why?"

Edmund took a deep breath. "I was wondering when I could get another fifteen minutes with you," he said.

Eleanor felt her insides turn in ways she had never known them to, and her legs appeared to be set on transforming into jelly. She forced them into solidity and breathed in and out, trying to get her body back to its normal functions.

"Right," was all she could think of saying.

Thankfully, it seemed like it was enough. Edmund didn’t smile, though he stood taller, contently. "Right," he echoed. "I’ll see you around, then?"

She gulped. "I’ll see you around."

"Goodnight, Nora."

"Goodnight, Edmund."

Eleanor’s shoes were frozen in the chilling stone doorstep, and she watched unmoving as Edmund walked back and disappeared at the turn of the street. Throughout that night, even though she warmed with the heat of the fireplace, Aunt Doris’ lentil soup, and her wool blanket, she could still feel the blisters of where Edmund’s icy hands had touched her, burning through her skin in comforting permanency, and she longed for more of it until it left her entire self scorched.

Chapter Text

England, December 1944

It had snowed all day, but Birdie was waiting for her at her own doorstep, dutifully keeping guard, though enveloped in two layers of heavy-looking scarves.

"Nora!" she called as soon as she spotted her, running across the street to greet her. Flocks of frozen crystals that had deposited on top of her plunged to the air and floated in a trail behind as she sprinted to Eleanor’s side. Eleanor would have remarked it as fairylike if she hadn’t been so preoccupied on her friend’s behalf.

She hugged her friend, though she kept an aghast look on her face. "Why were you waiting outside? You’ll catch a cold!"

Birdie’s eyes were as big as always, her cheeks bright red. There were snowflakes still tangled in her hair, and her lips had turned from its usual rosy shade to a purplish tinge.

"I didn’t want to risk missing you."

"You could have come inside, then."

Birdie made a face. "Well, I didn’t want to meet your aunt, either", she admitted.

She frowned. "Is this because of that vase you broke?" Birdie’s face turned full scarlet in agreement, and Eleanor shook her head. "Birdie, it’s been weeks. You can’t avoid her forever." Though she still felt guilty as she said it, because Aunt Doris was known to hold a grudge, and she was even more strongly known for her sternness.

"Watch me," Birdie said merrily, taking the lead.

They began their walk to Mr. Taylor’s shop. Since Eleanor had told her of her first encounter with Edmund, Birdie had insisted on accompanying her halfway on each occasion. She’d wanted to see for herself this enticing, handsome soldier Eleanor had described, and she was most frantic upon witnessing what she later referred to as "undeniable magnetism". 

As they advanced, Eleanor kept straightening her coat and combing her finger through her hair. She had spent the last half hour in front of the mirror, combing her hair and picking at her skin in distress, and still she felt ever aware of everything wrong in her image.

"You look beautiful," Birdie commented.

Eleanor wasn’t sure she could believe her friend entirely. She often reserved kindness and admiration which Eleanor felt undeserving of. "Thank you", she said anyway.

"I ran into Gracie this morning."

Eleanor’s head turned immediately. "Did you?"

"Actually, she came to the shop to repair one of her fancy shoes. Talked for a good ten minutes about how lavish her wedding’s gonna be and all that."

"As usual."

"Anyhow, she asked about you. Said she saw you strolling with some soldier."

Eleanor’s chest rose with satisfaction. "Did she say anything else?"

"No," Birdie said. "Though she did seem unhappy about it."

"Grudgingly?"

"Definitely."

The two girls giggled and took each other’s arms as they continued their journey. It was already Christmas week, and some of the shopkeepers had decorated their windows with ribbons and pines. There was even a miniature snowman built in front of the library, and it prompted them to begin humming carols together.

"Do you think he’ll get you something for Christmas?" Birdie suddenly asked. "Edmund?"

"I don’t know," Eleanor replied. Despite her obsessive daydreaming of him for the past week, during which they had met two other times, she hadn’t considered that. Would he get her a present? Should she get him one? Of course, she would assume he didn’t have enough to buy her anything with a private’s salary, nor many belongings he’d give away, so it was very improbable.

Her insecurity turned into resentment towards Birdie. Why did she have to create this expectation in her mind? Now Eleanor was bound to be disappointed when Edmund didn’t gift her for Christmas, even though they were still only acquaintances. The word cut her deeply, but what else could she call them? They had met, three times, during which they’d only learned so little about each other. He had told her about his parents, his siblings and the house he’d grown up in. She, in return, had told him of her parents, her aunt and uncle, and even of school. There was still so much she wished to know, she had no choice but to resort to her own imagination for answers.

They at last reached Mr. Taylor’s shop. Eleanor went inside, returning only with one bag in her arms, while Birdie ran back home. Eleanor then made her way unaccompanied to St. George’s church, where she and Edmund had met for the last three times, and found him in his usual place.

He stood next to a lamplight, looking upwards. 

"I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long in the cold," she said, as she approached.

His gaze descended until it reached her eyes, and he shook his head lightly. "It’s a beautiful sight." He then reached for the grocery bag she was carrying, cradling it safely in his arms, and nodded towards the opposite direction of the road. "Shall we?"

They began their way back in silence. Eleanor risked spying him through the corner of her eyes, and she noticed he seemed very deep in thought. She resisted saying anything for a bit, fearing he might be annoyed by the interference, but she couldn’t hold herself for long.

"Do you miss home?" she asked. The holidays always made her think of her parents, and she could only assume it was the same thing that had been bothering him.

He nodded. "I always do."

"This is your second Christmas since you’ve been drafted, right?"

"That’s right. Though I’m glad at least I’m spending this one in England."

"Were you in Italy last year?"

"Yes."

"What was it like?"

He grinned, shaking his head. "Not as terrible as you’d think. We were freezing in camp, of course, but one of the guys, Timmy, had gotten hold of a chicken for us to roast, and we washed it down with a bottle of wine we’d salvaged for the occasion. We had nothing to season the chicken, and yet I recollect it as the best tasting thing I’ve ever had."

Eleanor muffled a laugh. "The best tasting thing you have ever had?"

"The best tasting thing I’ve ever had," he pledged.

"Well, then I won’t dispute that."

He chuckled. "What is the best tasting thing you’ve ever had?"

She stopped to consider it. "Oh, it’s nowhere near as exciting as your roast chicken story."

"Still," he insisted.

"I think it was the last birthday cake I had before the war." As soon as she said it, the taste of melted chocolate and buttercream frosting filled her mouth with water, and she was confident in her choice of answer. "My aunt made this incredible chocolate cake, the kind that would send a doctor hollering. My friends slept over that night; back then, the three of us fit in my bed. And then, in the dead of night, after my aunt and uncle had fallen asleep, we went back downstairs and ate the whole thing by ourselves."

"It sounds marvellous," Edmund said.

"It was", she agreed. She hadn’t had anything close to it since the sugar rationing had begun. There had been one time, almost three years prior, when she and Birdie had found a box of chocolates in the Radcliffes’ cellar. They ate the whole thing in a rush, too ravenous to even consider sharing, only to be met with the worst indigestion of their lives when the sweet turned out to be already long spoiled.

"When is your birthday?" he asked.

"November."

"Well, everyone says the war will be over before the next summer," he said. "So, if all goes well, you might be getting a cake on your next birthday."

She smiled at the prospect of chocolate, summer, and peace. "Oh, I wouldn’t wait until November," she said. "I’d bake the cake as soon as I got my hands on enough chocolate."

Edmund laughed, and she felt giddy in her achievement.

They had just reached her neighbourhood, which she now saw as the bitter reminder that their fifteen-minute walk was coming to an end. This time, however, it also cued her to reach for her bag, where she had stashed away her handiwork.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" She took out a pair of simple, grey gloves. "I meant to give you this."

Edmund seized the gloves with his free hand, which was in its customarily pale colour, except for a few reddish spots on his knuckles. He observed them curiously, as if this was his very first time seeing such an object.

"I noticed you never wear gloves," she said, since he remained silent. "And your hands usually seem cold, so… I supposed the army probably didn’t provide such trivialities, and…"

"You made this?" he asked quietly.

"I got quite good at knitting since the war began," she explained. "During the air raids, we were all hauled up in my old school, and… well, since no bomb actually went off here, it was mostly just a lot of sitting around and waiting."

Edmund still studied the gloves. "This is beautiful," he muttered. “You’re very talented."

She dismissed him instinctively. "Oh, that’s because you haven’t seen my aunt’s work. She’s like a magician, really. Back when people still had weddings, and one could purchase all kinds of fabrics, she sewed the most breathtaking dresses. Brides came from all over Lincolnshire for her."

She remembered sitting by and helping her aunt with her laces and needles, dreaming of one day becoming as gracious as the grown ups before her. She would offer them tea and biscuits in exchange for their own romantic tales, and at night she would sneak out of bed to try on some of the gowns herself.

Edmund gestured to the grocery bag suggestively. "Will you help me…"

"Oh, sure," she said, taking the bag so he could put on the gloves. Thankfully, they fit him just fine, and Eleanor sighed in relief.

He took the bag back, still admiring his new accessory.

"It matches your uniform," she commented.

He smiled, and she stuffed her chest in pride. "Nora, this… I don’t even know how to begin. Thank you."

"It’s nothing."

"No, it’s incredible. Really, I can’t put it in words how much this means to me."

"They’re just gloves," she whispered.

He looked at her for a moment, very intently, but he must have decided to drop whatever it was he had been about to say. Instead, they continued their walk in silence.

"Are you excited for Christmas?" He finally spoke, just as they had reached her street.

"Oh," it escaped in her startle. "A bit, I suppose. It’s always a better meal than usual. And you?"

"Same thing. Though my current definition of a better meal is probably a lot worse than yours."

He said it humorously, but it left Eleanor feeling bleak. "If you don’t have plans, you’re more than welcome to join us. We probably won’t have a whole chicken, but perhaps some crispy potatoes?"

He looked fearful. "Oh, I didn’t mean to sound as if I were…"

"No, not at all," she cut him. "I just… Well, I… It would be nice if you joined us. Besides, I’m sure we can spare an extra plate."

"No, you don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I’m sure. Also, I had promised to keep Timmy company."

"You could invite him, too."

"Oh, no, that would be too much of an imposition. You and your family don’t even know him."

"I’m sure you keep good company."

He frowned. "What makes you so sure?"

"Well, there’s me, for starters."

It took a second, but Edmund laughed. "I suppose you have a point. You are very pleasant company."

Eleanor felt her face burn, but she pressed on. "So does that mean you’ll at least consider my invitation?"

He turned serious again, staring into her eyes. "Are you sure about this?"

"I’m sure", she assured him. "Would you like a handwritten note?"

A light snort escaped from his mouth. "No, that won’t be necessary. Alright, I can consider it, but only if you promise me your aunt and uncle are fine with this."

"I’ll have them write you a very heartfelt letter."

They stood in front of her door, looking at each other. Eleanor made the calculations in her head, and realised they had just reached their first hour of conversation. Only an hour of knowing him, and she already craved a thousand more. What would it be like, she wondered, a thousand hours with him? She could hardly begin to fathom it; it felt like a dream too high for her to reach.

After they parted that night, Eleanor laid in bed reliving every moment in her mind. She thought of how he had called her talented, of how he had said he couldn’t put in words how much her gift had meant to him. She thought of his smile, and how she had made him laugh. How could anything compare to such a high? How could anything else matter as much? She began fearing perhaps she had barely lived until then, not in her eighteen years of existence. She wondered if, in a distant future, she would look back at this moment and realise this had been when her life had begun at last. It might as well be true.

Chapter Text

England, December 1944

Aunt Doris would not be so easily persuaded, so Eleanor traced out a plan. She spent the next day running errands, doing chores around the house, and essentially trying to anticipate any of her aunt’s needs. She’d want her in her best humour, so she waited until Uncle Rupert came home from work to try and chip in her Christmas proposal.

They were all gathered around the hearth after supper. Uncle Rupert was half-asleep on the sofa, Aunt Doris took to her embroidery kit, and Eleanor watched attentively, waiting for the ideal moment to bring her topic up. When her aunt turned on the radio and began humming along to the music, she realised this would be her best shot at it.

"Aunt Doris," she called, hoping her voice wouldn’t give away nervousness.

"Hm?"

"Do you remember I mentioned making the acquaintance of a soldier last week?" She had rehearsed every line, and she spoke the words very slowly.

Her aunt had not yet looked up from her work. "Do you mean the one who assaulted you?"

Eleanor’s heart doubled its beat in the same second. "He didn’t so much assault me," she responded. "He… greeted me very enthusiastically."

"Whatever you wish to call it, Eleanor."

She glimpsed at her uncle, whose gaze was entirely withdrawn. He did not notice her silent cry for help, so she swallowed and continued.

"Well, I was wondering if I could invite him over for Christmas dinner," she blurted the whole thing out before she lost her courage. "He spent last year’s in Italy and… I thought it would be a nice gesture to offer him one good meal."

She thought of mentioning the meal could serve as a thank-you to Edmund’s military services, but it would do no good to try and appeal to her aunt’s patriotism — she scarcely had any. She had, however, a soft spot in her heart for those who had been forced apart from their loved ones, much like Eleanor and herself.

"He hasn’t seen his parents or his siblings for almost two years," she said.

Though Aunt Doris continued stitching testily, Eleanor’s argument proved effective, and she at last sighed. "Fine. I suppose we can manage an extra mouth."

Eleanor exhaled only half the breath she’d been holding. "Well, actually," she said, in a very small voice, "I was wondering if we could also have his friend Timmy over."

Aunt Doris dropped her needle and looked at her directly. She did not smile very often, and she had an intense kind of gaze that used to make Eleanor want to hide inside her covers and never come out. "So you want me to have two strange men over for Christmas?"

"It’s Christmas, Doris", Uncle Rupert finally seemed to come alive. He adjusted himself upright, passing his bony hand on the sides of his head, where he still had a few silver strands neatly tucked. "We can make room for two gentlemen — two soldiers of the king’s army."

The woman straightened up. "Am I supposed to host the entire battalion?" she protested.

"No, only Nora’s friends," her husband answered simply.

She huffed and jolted her body back to her chair. "I don’t suppose they have any special requests?"

Eleanor smiled. "No, they’ll be more than happy with any meal that hasn’t been cooked at camp."

Her aunt didn’t reply, instead turning up the radio and going back to her embroidery. Though it wasn’t the merriest of confirmations, it was enough of an approval nonetheless, and Eleanor felt a rush running through her entire body.

Aunt Doris grumbled over dinner details for all of the following days, though she seemed preoccupied with making a good impression. She and Eleanor scrubbed every inch of every floor until it glistened, and she even put Uncle Rupert to fixing a faulty lock in the upstairs bathroom, something they had put off for months. In one of her many runs to Mr. Taylor’s shop, Eleanor and Edmund tailored the specifics of the event, and she only hoped Timmy was indeed a nice enough company.

"He’s quite the charmer, actually," Edmund had assured her. "I think he might just win over your aunt."

"Oh, you haven’t met her," she had replied.

"I’ll make sure he’ll behave," Edmund had promised.

On Christmas Eve, Eleanor and her family attended the midnight service along with Birdie and her own parents. Despite already being eighteen, Eleanor loved the idea of going out so late at night, and she loved even more wandering about town beneath the starry sky. The city was louder than usual, and carols were permanently heard in the distance. On their way back, she and Birdie took the lead, arms locked as always, while their families tagged a bit behind. Eleanor heard sniffling, and she turned quickly to spy Mrs. Radcliffe wiping her face with a handkerchief.

"Is your mum okay?" she whispered.

Birdie shook her head. "She always gets sensitive during the holidays. Grant is still in France, and it’s been almost two months since Theo’s last letter."

"Edmund said the war is likely to be over before the next summer," she said, hoping it might offer some comfort.

It seemed to work just enough, and Birdie’s face lit up. "Oh, that would be fantastic timing! Grant had promised to teach me fishing when he got back. He always said he would take me back to that lake near Tallington."

They continued their way through the dark, snowy streets until they had reached the front of their opposing houses.

"Let me know how your dinner goes," Birdie urged in her ear, before they separated.

"Will do."

"I mean, who knows? Perhaps, a year from now, you’ll be attending service with Edmund! We could all go together — you, me, Theo, Grant and Edmund!"

"Oh, don’t be absurd", Eleanor replied, despite having already fantasised of similar scenarios herself. She already envisioned returning to Stamford the next Christmas, after her first term at university in London, perhaps even with a ring on her hand.

She daydreamed of possibilities for their future for so long she barely slept that night. At first light, she jumped out of bed and rushed downstairs to begin preparing for the dinner. There were carrots to wash, garlic to crush, potatoes to boil, and sprouts to roast. She and Aunt Doris had already been labouring away in the kitchen for an hour when Uncle Rupert suddenly appeared, holding a package in his hands.

"What is that?" Aunt Doris demanded.

He opened the wrapping to reveal a whole raw chicken inside. Eleanor’s jaw hung open, and she stepped closer in admiration. It had been months since she’d seen such a thing, and it was almost as if she had somehow forgotten how big it could actually be.

"Rupert!" his wife cried. "Where on earth did you get this?"

"Traded with Mrs. Sloane’s boy."

"How much did you pay?"

Uncle Rupert shook his head. "It doesn’t matter. It’s done, Doris, alright? Now let’s make sure it doesn’t go to waste."

Aunt Doris still looked too stunned for words, so Eleanor ran to her uncle and hugged him. "Oh, it’s wonderful! Thank you, thank you!"

"I’m glad you like it, dear."

Aunt Doris, eventually, decided to accept the new addition. "You’ll spoil her," she made sure to mumble audibly, though she got to prepping the chicken. "Buying from the black market! Oh, we’ll all be damned!"

But nothing could have ruined Eleanor’s spirits then. For the rest of the day, she skeeted from one room to another, whistling along to the radio, unable to refrain a grin from settling in her face. She bathed as soon as most of the cooking was done, put on her favourite dress, and even borrowed her aunt’s lipstick, painting only a delicate coat. As she admired herself in the mirror, she thought of how this would be her first Christmas as an adult, and concluded that it felt very much like so.

She began pacing as soon as night fell. It was half past six when she finally heard knocking at the door, to which she jumped and straightened her hair one last time. 

Edmund was positioned in front, wearing his uniform as usual, and still it took her breath away.

"Merry Christmas, Nora," he said.

"Merry Christmas, Edmund," she whispered.

She then noticed the man behind him. Timmy was shorter than him, with reddish brown hair and a crooked nose, and he smiled promptly.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Harrison," he said, asking for her hand, where he placed a light kiss. "It’s a pleasure to finally meet you."

Eleanor was still a bit taken aback, but she managed a smile. "Nice to meet you, too, Timmy. Edmund’s spoken very highly of you."

He dismissed her gallantly. "No need to lie on his account, miss. Your smile alone has already enamoured me."

She looked at Edmund, who flashed her a quick grin. "Told you he’s a charmer," he murmured.

Eleanor smiled widely and gestured for them to come inside. The two soldiers obeyed, making sure to thud their boots clean upon entering, and stood stiffly, waiting for her command. She fetched her aunt and uncle, and the four exchanged quick and polite greetings.

"Thank you so much for having us this evening," Edmund said. "We hope we’re not intruding."

"No, not at all," Aunt Doris replied.

"Here," he offered a package Eleanor hadn’t even noticed he’d been carrying. "We hope it is to your liking."

It was a wine bottle. Eleanor didn’t know the first thing about wine, but her aunt and uncle seemed very pleased with the gift, and they thanked Edmund profusely. They then spurred everyone into the dining table, where the food was immediately served.

"Everything smells delicious, ma'am ," Timmy said, eagerly eyeing each dish.

Aunt Doris brushed him off, though she smiled. "Oh, we had to make do with what we had."

"I know you had a very special roast chicken last year," Eleanor said. "I hope this is somewhat close."

"Oh, we’re sitting indoors with cutlery and napkins and all," Timmy replied. "It’s already much better."

Uncle Rupert sat at the end of the table and cut the chicken open. As they began eating — Eleanor’s stomach had been voracious with anticipation all afternoon — Timmy told them the story of how he’d gotten ahold of said chicken in the past Christmas. It ended up involving both bribery and something of a heist, and by the end they were all laughing, even Aunt Doris.

"That’s the good thing about having grown up on a farm," Timmy concluded. "You get really good at breaking into coops."

"How about that," Uncle Rupert laughed. He had just opened the wine bottle and began filling everyone’s glasses. "What about you, Edmund? Wherever you grew up in?"

"I’m from London, sir," Edmund answered, holding his glass steadily as the older man poured the drink for him. "The greater area, to be more exact."

"Is this your first time getting to know more of our countryside?"

"No, not at all. When the war started, I was still too young to be drafted, so my siblings and I were evacuated to the countryside to escape the bombings. We went to live at a professor’s house in Cornwall."

"How was it?" Aunt Doris asked.

"It was quite pleasant," Edmund said. "It was a large estate, and we had plenty of room to play. Some of my fondest memories are from those days, despite everything else."

"Sounds lovely," Eleanor commented.

"And how many were you?" her aunt inquired.

"Well, there’s Peter — he’s the eldest, and he’s also in the army. Somewhere in Germany, last I heard." He made a grim face. "Then there’s Susan, who’s with my parents in California. And Lucy’s the youngest, she’s still in school. She’s living with our aunt in Cambridge, as I did, before I was called up."

"This professor must have been the most indulgent man," Uncle Rupert said. "To have taken in four young children! Tell me, boy, was he very old?"

"A bit, sir, yes," Edmund admitted. "Though he was the gentlest of hosts. And I say this because we weren’t the most tranquil of guests."

Uncle Rupert laughed heartily. "I can imagine not."

Edmund didn’t smile all that often, so Eleanor had learned to memorise every aspect of it when he did. This time, however, his grin was unlike any other of his she’d seen until then — it had the aloofness of childlike mischief, and for a second she thought she’d glimpsed the child he once was. "We put him through several trials," he said. "The house was enormous, and we played hide-and-seek for hours on end. We ran and swam in the gardens, and we even played cricket when the weather was nice."

"Oh, is that how it all began, then?" Timmy intervened. "Edmund’s the best shoot in our squad. Got a hawk’s aim, that one."

Edmund shook his head. "No, actually I was terrible at it. One time, I sent a ball through a very intricate stained window, and it hit a priceless suit of armour in the room inside."

"Oh, no," everyone laughed. 

"The housekeeper wanted my head for it," he continued. "But Professor Kirke didn’t mind much at all. He simply went on to tell us stories of things he had broken as a child."

Aunt Doris and Uncle Rupert smiled and took each other’s hand. "Sounds like you must have had an absolutely wonderful childhood."

"I have been luckier than most," Edmund said, in a way that sounded like he’d thought about it extensively.

Eleanor could barely hide the bitterness in her own heart. She felt happy for Edmund, she did, but she was also overtaken with jealousy. Family had always been the one thing she never tired of longing for; she had been robbed of her parents when seven, and with it the possibility of having siblings. She remembered watching enviously whenever Birdie’s brothers came to escort her back from school, even if they teased and taunted her relentlessly. She absolutely hated hearing stories of how homely their family lives were like, and even secretly rejoiced when the two were called away to war, as if Birdie would finally be hers, and hers alone.

The resurfaced feelings left a sour taste in her mouth, and Edmund’s wine — which at first sip had felt sacred and luxurious — turned bitter and stained her buds with the aftertaste of guilt. She ate the rest of her meal quietly, making sure to smile on cue when everyone did so. Uncle Rupert took a second bottle from his cupboard, which Eleanor knew to be a very special courtesy, and refilled everyone’s glasses as they carried on talking after the food was gone.

She was glad to watch her aunt and uncle gleefully entertaining their guests. Aunt Doris turned on the radio, which began playing slow tunes, and she told them stories of how her late mother used to sing to her when she was little. The party moved to the living room so she could show them a picture of her family: she and Uncle Rupert were at the centre of the photo, standing gallantly in their wedding clothes, and Eleanor’s grandparents stood on either side. It was one of Eleanor’s favourite pictures in the house; when she was younger she’d stare at the old couple for hours on end, hoping she’d eventually become familiar enough with their faces to be able to imagine their voices.

"Is this your father?"

She jumped when she noticed Edmund next to her, staring at a different picture on the wall.

"Yes," she said, turning to admire her father’s photo. He looked exactly as she liked to remember him: solemn but kind, scholarly but sensible.

"He was very handsome."

She chuckled lightly. "If you say so."

"What about your mother?"

Eleanor wondered whether she should dwell into such an issue during such a casual conversation. Before she could decide, however, Edmund became suddenly distracted by something behind her. When she turned, she was met with Aunt Doris and Timmy swaying in the middle of the room, hands held on one side, hips and shoulders connected on the other. Uncle Rupert was at his usual spot on the sofa, watching the scene amusedly as he drank the rest of his wine. Before she could comment on it, Edmund was next to her, one hand in offering. She stared at him for a second before taking it.

His hand was warm this time, and it burned her the same. They hadn’t been this close to each other since their very first encounter, when he’d hugged her behind St. George’s church. She ogled the collar of his uniform, not daring to meet his eye this closely, and they moved slowly in circles. Her heart ringed so loudly she could barely listen to the song that was playing, but she forced her ears to submission, if only to distract herself.

"Do you think I’ll remember how you looked when you smile?" A grave voice preached from the radio. "Only forever, that’s putting it mild."

She was so nervous she stepped on Edmund’s foot, which he didn’t seem to mind, though she still apologised profusely. "I’m not very good at dancing," she whispered.

The corner of his lips curved. "Me neither. I’ve heard the secret is one should simply act confident, as if they’re the best dancer in the world."

"Even if you step on other people’s feet?"

"Especially then."

They continued dancing until the song ended, and kept on for the next one as well. As they kept close, Eleanor could only think of how Edmund’s warmth was something she would probably ache for until the end of her days. The jitters she had felt all those times walking next to him in the snow were nothing like what she felt now, breathing the same air, the palms of their hands pressed together into a fold.

“What were you saying about your mum?” Edmund murmured next to her ear, low enough for only her to hear.

Perhaps it was the wine, or maybe the feeling of his hand holding her waist, or most likely the combination of the two. Whatever it was, it stole the truth too easily from her lips.

“My aunt never liked her much,” she confessed. “None of my father’s family did, to be honest. They resented her for how my father distanced himself from them, as if he had betrayed them somehow for moving to London. In fact, I had met my aunt and uncle very few times before my parents died and I had to come live with them.”

Edmund didn’t respond immediately, and they twirled a couple more times. “It must have been frightening for you.”

A shrill shattering sound suddenly broke them apart. Eleanor jumped and saw her uncle’s glass had fallen on the floor next to them. She waited in distress for what would follow, but Aunt Doris simply laughed and asked if her husband was okay.

"Fine," he replied, seeming a bit dozed. "Just a bit tipsy, dear."

He readjusted himself on the sofa, apparently unbothered. Eleanor then ran to pick up the shards, bringing a thick piece of cloth to envelop them in. Edmund kneeled next to her and helped her collect the glass, which they then took to the kitchen.

"I don’t think my uncle has drunk much in a while," she excused him.

"Should I not have brought the wine?" he worried.

"No, it was great," she said. "They’re having a lot more fun than I imagined."

Eleanor finished wrapping the cloth and deposited it neatly by the trash can. They turned at each other in the dimly lit kitchen. In the next room, they could hear lazy chatter and music carrying on.

"How did you even get a hold of a wine bottle, anyway?"

"Would you believe me if I said Timmy won it in a bet?"

She smiled. "Actually, yes."

"Oh, that reminds me," he said, reaching for something in his pocket. "There’s something else I brought. I hoped to give it to you privately."

He handed her a crumbled tinfoil wrapped object. She felt his expectant gaze as she opened it, and she gasped when she identified the intense dark brown tone of chocolate.

She covered her mouth, which was already wide open in exhilaration. "Is that…"

Edmund smiled in response.

She shook her head. "How did you get it?"

He shrugged. "Bets, heists, bribery. The usual process."

She couldn’t help but giggle idiotically. She brought the candy to her nose, and it intoxicated her with all the wonderful scents of happier times. She had been about to bite into it when she suddenly caught herself. "Oh, you should have some as well."

"No, please. It’s a gift."

"Are you sure?"

"I’m sure."

"Do you not like chocolate?"

"Oh, believe me, I was once crazy about sweets, back when I was a kid. But it’s your gift, you should have it all. I insist."

"Oh, I should probably save some," she said, breaking the chocolate in two and wrapping one half. "For my friend Birdie."

"Is that the same friend that helped you eat your last birthday cake?" he asked.

"That’s the one."

"Wasn’t there another one? I thought you’d said you were three."

Eleanor halted, surprised he had remembered such a detail. "Gracie," she said. "But we’re not close anymore."

"Did something happen?" He then frowned. "Forgive me, I shouldn’t intrude."

"No, don’t worry. We just… grew apart, I suppose. She kind of deserted us to start chasing boys around. Worked out for her, in the end; she’s engaged to this very rich bloke. He even has a car and all."

"I see," he muttered. "I’m sorry."

She dismissed him, going back to her chocolate instead. She proceeded to break her half into two again, offering one piece to Edmund. "Please," she said. "I can’t eat this in front of you while you watch."

He at last took it, though a smile was almost creeping to his lips. They then ate their pieces at the same time, eliciting the same silly response on both of them. The two squeaked in titters, raising their hands to cover the brownish stain on their teeth. The sweet was as exciting and familiar as she remembered. For a second, Eleanor felt like a kid again, eating chocolate in secret, rejoicing in their naughtiness. They muffled their laughter until they had swallowed every trace of sugar from their mouths, leaving them dizzy and lightheaded.

A different kind of silence fell upon them then. Eleanor had always found their kitchen too narrow and crammed, yet at that moment it seemed to shrink even further somehow. Edmund took one step towards her, deliberately reducing the space between them. He stopped when they were as close as they had been when dancing, but this time she had nowhere to look but his eyes. They were even more compelling this close, as if their darkness drew all matter to it, as if they were absorbing her whole.

He lifted his hand to touch hers, which had been resting at the countertop. His touch was soft, gentle, as he traced a path from her wrist to her nails. He held her hand, ever so fleetingly, to turn it backwards. His thumb drew along her open palm, following along the lines as if they were a map to lead him somewhere. Then he took a second step closer.

As he did so, her heart began beating so forcefully she was sure its outline would begin showing in her chest, creasing her dress with its shape. They breathed heavily in synchrony, and Eleanor liked the weight of the air he had just exhaled filling in her lungs, rejoicing in the smallest trace of Edmund travelling through her, even if so temporarily. He moved nearer, until they were only inches away. She closed her eyes and waited, yearning for the contact that would satiate her at last, but nothing came.

When she opened her eyes again, Edmund was trembling away. He looked almost terrified, and his mouth was slightly open in dismay.

"I should go," he murmured simply.

In the next minute, he and Timmy thanked them for the wonderful meal, complimented Aunt Doris’ cooking and Uncle Rupert’s wine, wished them a merry Christmas once more, and left the house. Eleanor watched in silence as he retreated hurriedly, reliving the moment in the kitchen and wondering why it had gone so hopelessly wrong.

Chapter Text

England, December 1944 - May 1945

The letter announcing the troops’ relocation came in three days later, and the brevity of Edmund’s words did nothing to cauterise the wound in Eleanor’s pride. He was swift, direct, precise. She read all of his sentences as only polite courtesies; even the promises of more letters to follow sounded like he was simply following etiquette. Edmund was gone, and the memory of him vanished almost as quickly as he had fled their house at the end of Christmas night. A new year began, but the city of Stamford remained as stoic as ever — its streets cleared of groups of soldiers and military trucks, their campsite disappeared from the horizon, and it was as if they had never set foot there.

Aunt Doris and Uncle Rupert asked a few questions on Edmund and Timmy on the days that followed, but Eleanor avoided answering those, and soon they dropped the subject altogether. Even Birdie quit pestering her after a while, tired of being the receiving end of Eleanor’s bitter remarks, and it was in solitude that Eleanor at last came to terms with the tragedy of hers and Edmund’s story — that there was no story to be told, not really, not at all. He had never been interested in her, not in the way she wanted him to. He had been lonely, and she had been desperate enough to see affection where there had only been affinity, and she had tried to fit him into the heart-shaped pit in her chest, but he had gone right through it.

Despite the quietness and the still unforgiving gusts of winter, Eleanor kept making the detour by St. George’s church whenever she came back from Mr. Taylor’s shop. She tried tricking herself into feeling Edmund’s ghostly presence in the howling of the wind or in the long shadows beneath street lamps, but instead all she could sense was his absence. Could she have imagined his entire existence, just as she had imagined his infatuation? She almost convinced herself of it — it was, after all, better to question her sanity than her self-worth.

But January ended, and the snow melted away, and the new term demanded Eleanor carry on. Aunt Doris had villainized herself to Mr. O'Conry’s eyes to ensure she finished secondary school, and though she hated every second spent with the withering, crabby professor, Eleanor wasted her days away in the classroom. Perhaps her father had been uncommonly lucky in snatching both an academic career and a great love story, and she would simply have to settle for one. But as she filled in application forms and beheld photos of centuries-old universities, imagining a carefree collegiate life with more exciting friends, she thought maybe London wasn’t a bad settlement at all.

The idea of this new life — fashionable and sparkly big city dreams — had just lodged itself in her heart when its predecessor bursted the door open, shaking the entire place and commanding immediate attention. It was a quiet Wednesday night; Eleanor had just joined Birdie and her parents for supper, and she came home to find only Uncle Rupert still in the living room. Though he had been snoring loudly, the old man jolted awake as soon as she came in, calling her to him.

"Yes, Uncle Rupert?"

"Nora, there you are," he said, as he struggled to get up from the sofa. "Doris said you were at the Radcliffes."

"That’s right."

"How’s Bert?"

"Fine," she shrugged. Mr. Radcliffe had been taciturn as usual; what else could she say, that he still had a leg and a half?

"Good, good." He then reached for an envelope that sat discreetly atop the fireplace, handing it to her. "This came in for you today."

As she reached for it, her first thought was of Edmund. It had become second nature for her to see any kind of mail and think of him, just as it had to close her eyes and see his dark eyes in the blackness behind her eyelids. But she shook the thought off — it wasn’t him, it was never him — and tore the envelope open, unfolding the letter within.

She didn’t believe it when she read its content, not even when she saw his signature. She stood, bewildered, as Uncle Rupert waited for her reaction. He watched her, smile cocked and ready to be released, his big eyes wide in anticipation. But Eleanor simply kept reading and rereading the letter, clutching it tightly to believe its permanence, still fighting the urge to fall back into the trap she had just clawed her way out of. But it was true, and the paper wasn’t disintegrating from her hands as it did in her nightmares, and Uncle Rupert stood in front of her as real as herself, and as real as this letter.

She finally looked up. "It’s from Edmund," she announced.

*  *  *

Dear Nora,

I’m not sure whether you will get this letter at all. I have written so many drafts lately; I lost faith any version of it will ever find its way to you. But if you are reading this, if my words and thoughts are being heard by you, then I should begin with apologising.

I am embarrassed to remember my actions as of the 25th of December. I hope your aunt and uncle will someday forgive my rudeness in abandoning dinner so early and so hastily, after they graciously accepted me and Timmy, two complete strangers, into their home. Most of all, I pray you will find it within your heart to still want to hear from me when I took off without bidding you farewell, when you were such a good friend to me, at a time when I so desperately needed one. Perhaps my apologies will turn to dust in the flames in your hearth, or perhaps they will be torn to pieces and drown in the river that crosses your town. Either way, I suppose I should accept my fate. I’m not entirely sure why I’m even writing this letter.

I realise I also did not even give you the chance to cut ties with me. I promise I will not write any more until I hear back from you, which you might never do, which would be perfectly understandable. In which case, I apologise once more for the inconvenience.

But, in the rare odds that you might still not entirely loathe me, I could tell you our news. We are now stationed back south, in the area surrounding Cambridge, which I hope means I will reunite with my sister Lucy very soon. This is the longest we have ever been apart, and I miss her dearly. If you would ever meet, I believe the two of you would like each other very much.

If it is not too much to ask, I would like to hear of Stamford. I hope you and your family are well.

Edmund

*  *  *

Dear Edmund,

Thank you for your letter. I was very pleased to hear from you, and hear that you are well. Do not worry about my aunt and uncle, they had an excellent time in yours and Timmy’s company. As for me, I understand the army and the war are both greatly demanding, so do not worry — I am still at your disposal for friendship.

I am glad to hear you are heading back south. I hope you can reunite with your sister, of whom you had spoken so highly of. I am flattered that you think we would get along, considering so, and perhaps one day we might find that out.

Unfortunately, I believe there is not much to be told of Stamford. It is as uneventful as ever, now that the troops are gone and the holidays are over. I am back under Mr. O'Conry’s dictatorship, and we have begun with university applications. We are targeting mostly colleges in London. 

My aunt and uncle are both in perfect health, and they appreciate your concern.

Best wishes,

Nora

*  *  *

Dear Nora,

Your letter brought me to much appreciated high spirits, thank you so much for taking the time to write back. Apparently, Timmy and Cooke, another of our fellow comrades, had taken a bet on whether you would or not — and Timmy is now replacing Cooke in some of his night shifts for it. He sends you his regards.

I was able to visit the city on my time off for the past two weekends now. Lucy and Eustace were so delighted, they even surprised me with a cake to celebrate our reunion. It was certainly not as sumptuous as we were used to before the war, though it tasted a bit like my childhood, back when she and I would sneak into the kitchen late at night to try our luck as bakers. It reminded me of your story as well, and Lucy even suggested we mailed a piece to you, but Eustace argued it would arrive as a rotten sludge. Sadly, I think he was right. Lucy said you are welcome to visit her in Cambridge, if you are ever in the region, and she will bake you an even grander cake (with chocolate and sprinkles, she instructed me to write, though I have to idea how she’d even get a hold of such things).

I’m so glad to hear you are applying for London! Will you be trying for your father’s former university (was it King’s College?)? I remember you mentioned having fond memories of the few years you lived in the city, before you moved to Stamford.

Either way, I will be rooting for you. I must confess I miss the capital, and I will likely move back there as soon as I am dismissed from service. Perhaps one day we will run into each other Christmas shopping at Regent Street, when this is all over.

Sincerely,

Edmund

*  *  *

Dear Edmund,

Please tell Timmy I found his lack of conviction to be quite upsetting — though I suppose long nights out in the cold might be punishment enough, even if spring came in punctually this year.

I am glad you were able to reunite with your family, and just in time for the Easter holidays. I remember you mentioned they do not eat meat, so I suppose roast lamb won’t be in order (though I doubt anyone could get access to lamb during these times anyway). Tell Lucy her offer sounds lovely, but I’m afraid Aunt Doris would not let me take such a trip by myself, especially not before I graduate, and not during the war. I thought we were heading somewhat to its end — even Birdie’s dad mentioned it seemed just like last time — but I read in the paper this morning that there was yet another bombing in London. I’m not sure how selfish this makes me, but I can’t help but wonder if colleges will even still be standing by the time I am due to get there.

Speaking of which, yes, my father taught at King’s College, and I am applying there. I don’t think I have mentioned this in my previous letter, but I am hoping to pursue a History degree. What you said that first day we met, about how crucial it is to revisit our past to avoid repeating old mistakes such as this war, was a deciding factor in choosing this course. But, then again, I was never a natural at the exact sciences, like my dad.

Thank you for your kind words, as usual. I do fancy the idea of shopping at Regent Street! My mum once took me to a very elegant café in a hotel there. I don’t remember much, only that I felt like a princess in a palace. Which, I suppose, is not an uncommon dream for a little girl.

In case this reaches you in time: Happy Easter!

Best wishes,

Nora

*  *  *

Dear Nora,

Forgive me for reaching you so bluntly, but I must defend my honour (which, as it seems, Edmund has dragged through the mud). Of course I never doubted your gentle heart, not even for a second. I was simply trying to teach our dear friend Edmund a lesson: that he should learn to cherish people as wonderful as you a lot better. I hope he has picked up on it, but feel free to write to me if he hasn’t.

Yours truly,

Timmy L. Keeffe

*  *  *

Dear Nora,

It seems Timmy has taken the liberty to write directly to you, and I can only hope he hasn’t written anything too obscene. Or too gallant, for that matter —I’m not sure if he is as charming in his prose as he is in his spiel.

Thank you for the holiday wishes (and forgive me for not including yours in my previous letter, I should have known it would be my last before Easter)! I was released on Sunday and had lunch at my Aunt Alberta, and she served us a fantastic vegetable roast, which I’m still dreaming of to this day. 

As for what you said about the colleges in London, I believe it is only natural to worry, and it is not at all selfish to be concerned for the plans you are currently working so hard for. Speaking of which, do let me know when you start getting results; I’m sure you will do wonderfully. History seems like a perfect fit for you. Your aunt and uncle must be very proud.

Of course we can never be entirely sure, but everyone I’ve talked with recently has claimed the war will be over still this month, or at least in May. As I am writing this, we are currently getting ready to relocate once more, and I believe this time it will be back to London. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.

This café you mentioned sounds absolutely wonderful. I would love to see it for myself.

Sincerely,

Edmund

*  *  *

Dear Edmund,

I’m so very sorry for taking such a long time to reply. I hope this reaches you, since you last said you were probably going back to London, and I believe the army will begin to be dispatched very soon now that Germany has surrendered.

Birdie’s older brother, Grant Radcliffe, was killed in action somewhere in the south of France on April 3rd. They only received the letter at the beginning of this month. I was deeply saddened by the news, though I must admit I was never too close to him. He was a decade older than me, which seemed so old back when we were kids — we were never fit to be playing together. I have this singular memory of him, of a day he dared us to enter a graveyard at night. Birdie never made it past the gate, but I went on to even climb a gravestone, only to receive a penny for it. I think he called me a nutter afterwards, but I took it as a compliment. After all, he was so much older. But twenty-eight still feels awfully young to die, doesn’t it?

Anyway, the Radcliffes are inconsolable, and they haven’t even opened their shop since. Only Birdie came out for the street party when victory in Europe was announced, but only after I told her Mrs. Sloane from down the street had fresh carrot cake, and still she took a lot of convincing. I saw Mrs. Radcliffe once, as she was shuffling with the curtains one day, and I barely recognised her. I’m not sure she has eaten at all since hearing the news. Aunt Doris has been bringing them all soup for the past few days.

I’m sorry for dumping such sorrowful news at you — this is hardly the cheeriest of letters, is it? I suppose I thought you might understand. You never mentioned if you lost anyone close to you during this war, but I think you would know, better than most, how it feels.

I hope you and Timmy are well.

Best wishes as always,

Nora

*  *  *

Dear Nora,

I am so sorry to hear this. There is no need to apologise for the subject matter; I’ve learned, through the years, that it is better to externalise whatever it is you’re feeling, even if you’re just writing it down on a piece of paper. I am glad to be of any assistance you might need.

Please offer Birdie and her family my deepest condolences, though I doubt it will be of any use. Unfortunately, I have seen this happen far too much. It is not something we can ever be really prepared for. All I’ve learned, in my experience at war, is that no soldier ever feels aged enough, and all deaths on the battlefield will always be a life cut too short.

Timmy and I are currently staying in southeast London, lodged in a boarding house along with a dozen other soldiers who have also been recently dispatched. We might stay here for some time; there is always service in the reconstruction of the city. The address is on the back of the envelope.

I look forward to hearing back from you, as always, but take your time.

All my love to you and your dear ones,

Edmund

*  *  *

Dear Edmund,

I’m so glad to hear you are dismissed and back in the capital! You must have access to the freshest news — have you been around Downing Street, or have you perhaps witnessed any important figures? The city must be so loud.

I have the most wonderful news! King’s College has written back, and I have been accepted in! I can hardly believe it myself. It has been a whole week of celebration in our house: Aunt Doris has made me a skirt and a dress, and Uncle Rupert has let me try whiskey for the first time. Do you like it? I thought it was awful, it felt like I had swallowed flaring coal.

Birdie has taken to herself to restart opening the shop everyday, though Mr. Radcliffe is never seen anymore (I think Birdie takes the work to him at home). I’ve been visiting her in the afternoons, and she seems to be carrying on well enough. She’s asked me about you, and said to wish you her best.

All of our best wishes,

Nora

*  *  *

Dear Nora,

Congratulations! This is an incredible achievement, and I hope you are as proud of yourself as I am! I think you’ll like the liveliness of London, and I am sure you will do wonderfully in college.

It is true: the city is loud. I think the men are happy to be around so many people, especially so many lovely ladies, and the pubs are always full. I’ve accompanied Timmy in some of these nightly excursions, but I must confess I have been preferring the quietness of the lodging instead. This is currently where I am writing from, in fact.

As for your question: whiskey is not my personal favourite, but I’ve learned to enjoy it since joining the army. The standard for distilled drinks is much, much lower in camp.

I walked around Regent Street yesterday morning, and I think I found the café you had mentioned. Was it the Café Royal, inside a hotel? I didn’t go in, of course, my old coat would uncover my improperness at once. I did, however, hear the music that was playing inside, and I couldn’t quite believe it. I think it was the same one that played on your aunt’s radio on Christmas night. The lyrics said, "only forever, that’s putting it mild."

I’m glad that Birdie is doing better.

And congratulations to you once again!

Sincerely,

Edmund

*  *  *

Dear Nora,

I am writing this only a day later from my last letter, but I suppose it is of a mild urgency. I don’t know if you recall me saying I was evacuated to a professor’s house when the war first started? His name is Professor Diggory Kirke, and he has invited my sister and I to his house for the summer. He is selling the property very soon, so he would like us to make the most of it during this time. Lucy is already on her way there with Eustace, and it appears he is bringing a friend from school. 

I am writing to inquire whether you would like to join us. I know your aunt might be a bit hesitant to send you away to a stranger’s house, so if you’d prefer it, I could have Prof. Kirke call her. His address is at the bottom of this page.

I was planning on leaving on June 12 th . There is a train that departs from Paddington Station in London at noon (details are below). If you could travel from Stamford in the morning, I would meet you at King’s Cross and we’d take the tube to Paddington, and then ride the rest of the way to Cornwall together. If, however, you are not yet dismissed from school, you are more than welcome to meet us later. We are likely to stay there until the end of August.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Edmund

*  *  *

Dear Edmund,

Oh, this is so exciting! I would love to accompany and meet your friend Prof. Kirke, as well as your family. The itinerary works perfectly for me.

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

Nora

Chapter Text

England, June 1945

Eleanor sat on the train station by herself, and she passed time tormenting her heart with her mind’s cruel imagination. Stamford’s stone buildings and tarmac roads were sizzling in the heat, yet she clutched at her sleeves in unbearable anticipation. She had filled her suitcase with dresses and skirts and swimwear, but Aunt Doris had insisted she take a coat with her at the last minute. She put it on and walked out, too stressed to consider a better alternative, and was now stuck looking silly among the light-dressed travellers around her.

The last week had been tortuous enough. Aunt Doris had not been happy with her going away for her last summer before university, which Eleanor could not even begin to understand — wasn’t she the one who had insisted Eleanor pursued higher education elsewhere? If she were to study far away, what difference would it make if she left a month or two earlier? It was only with Uncle Rupert’s interference that Eleanor was able to go through with her summer plans, and ever since the two women had barely directed word to each other. Eleanor had hugged her begrudgingly, only because she knew otherwise she might later regret it, but Aunt Doris proceeded to shoo her bluntly out of the house. Eleanor would be late, she had claimed. Now Eleanor sat on a bench, still half an hour early, with nothing else to do.

"Nora!" A shrill, sugary voice ringed to her left. She jumped in her seat and turned to find Gracie, elegant as always, making her way towards her. Her blonde hair shined in perfect twists, underneath a red hat that Eleanor knew probably cost more than her entire outfit, and she smiled like someone you’d see in a magazine cover.

Eleanor smiled promptly, standing to greet her. "Gracie! How lovely to see you!"

"Oh, it’s been too long." Gracie embraced her lightly, kissing the air around Eleanor’s face. "How is your aunt and uncle?"

"In perfect health, thank you for asking. And your parents?"

"Fine, fine. With all the wedding preparations, I’ve hardly had time to see them too often. I am actually on my way to meet with a seamstress in London, did I mention it? Albert’s godmother, Lady Rutherford, insists she is the best in the country. Otherwise, I would have come for your aunt, of course."

Despite their recent disagreements, Eleanor stiffed defensively for her aunt’s pride. Still, she kept her voice contained. "Of course," she said.

"And what about you? Wherever are you off to?"

"I’m spending the summer at a friend’s estate in Cornwall," she announced coolly. She hoped Gracie would give her an opening to boast on Professor Kirke’s supposed commodities, but Gracie seemed to know better.

"How wonderful," she simply responded. "I’m sure you’ll have a fantastic time."

The two kept their plastered smiles on, though silence fell upon them. Eleanor wanted to tell Gracie the details of her acceptance to King’s College in London, how excited she was to move there. She wanted to talk about Edmund — she always wanted to talk about him — and how they had exchanged letters for the past semester. She wanted to tell her of the song they had danced on Christmas night, and the neatness of his penmanship whenever he wrote her name on paper, and…

"How is Birdie?" Gracie suddenly asked. Her voice was softer now, and for a second she seemed like the friend Eleanor used to know, not the dolled up woman she had disappeared into.

Eleanor’s face fell, and her cheeks burned in shame. "I think she’s getting better," she said, though she didn’t entirely believe it herself. "She’s been getting out of the house to open the shop everyday. I think her parents are in the worst shape."

Gracie nodded. They barely looked at one another now, instead focusing on the passersby or whatever bird was crossing the sky.

She hadn’t spoken much to Birdie since the news of Grant’s demise. She had cried, witnessing the state of the crumbled family, imagining Grant taking his last breath in some foreign battlefield, an ocean away from home. But that had been it. It hadn’t been her grief to share; so she simply watched as the hollowness consumed the Radcliffes, hoping they might someday grow themselves back whole.

"Is Theo coming back?"

"Yes," she answered warmly. "He should be arriving this week." It had been her strongest argument to Aunt Doris to justify her leaving for Professor Kirke’s house: that Theo was coming back, and he’d take the eldest child position Birdie had been carrying since the two brothers had been dispatched to war. He’d take care of Birdie, the shop, and her parents. He’d do a better job at it than Eleanor ever would.

"Oh, that’s the train", Gracie declared, waving to the approaching locomotive as if expecting it to recognise her, and Eleanor thought she heard a note of relief in her voice. 

They picked up their suitcases and said their farewells at arm’s length, proceeding each to opposite ends of the train. Though she might have been mortified byss the display of their disparate classes in a different context, Eleanor was glad to separate herself from Gracie and their uncomfortable common topic of conversation. She found a seat by the window and took to distracting herself with the idea of Edmund — her favourite pastime for the last six months. It was a lot sweeter to dwell on those happy memories instead, and she curled up with the comfortable, reliable past as the midlands rushed by her right side.

Eleanor could barely keep herself still when the countryside gave way to the city of London, busy and lively and more turbulent than she had been able to envision from her childhood’s recollection. The streets felt like one neverending construction zone, but she delighted at the idea of it all. Perhaps she, too, could rebuild herself anew once she moved back in the fall.

When the train stopped, Eleanor stared at her appearance reflected on the window. She caught herself fussing over her hair, trying to see herself through Edmund’s apathetic gaze. The thought of her past vanity was still too mortifying to bear, the memory of painting herself up with makeup, of trying to make her plainness more attractive for him. She then jumped up and rushed out of the carriage, only to lose herself in the crowd of the congested station. 

It was hopeless to search for anyone in the middle of the platform, so she lingered by the sides waiting for all to quiet. She had been so preoccupied with the possibility of not finding Edmund in time, and consequently missing the train to Cornwall and delaying the whole trip, she barely realised she had not prepared herself to actually reunite with him. She could scarcely make sense of it until she found him a few feet away from her.

There he was. No longer a memory, no longer a character in her daydreams. He was real, tangible, volatile, inscrutable.

“Edmund,” she breathed.

He had spotted her, and now made her way towards her. He wore a short-sleeved buttoned shirt, which was tucked inside brown trousers, and his hair had grown considerably. It was so strange seeing him without his military hat, without his uniform. But her bewilderment was the most unsettling of all, because this was who he had always been, wasn’t it? This was the true Edmund, and she had only known him when he had played the role of a soldier.

“Nora,” Edmund said, his voice so soothing and tender. There was so much for Eleanor to take in, but all she could do was look into his eyes. Had they always been this beautiful?

"Hi," she said, unable to refrain from smiling.

"Hi," he replied, matching her uneasiness.

They stood awkwardly. They stuttered something at the same time, and both broke into nervous laughter. Eleanor signalled for him to go first.

"I… It’s great to see you," he said.

"You, too. You look… younger," she chuckled.

He frowned. "Younger?"

"Without the uniform, I think."

"Oh." He looked down, seemingly analysing his clothes.

"I meant it like…" she rushed to explain herself. "You look good."

Edmund’s skin wasn’t as pale as it had been in the winter, but still the flush surfaced on his ears. "Oh. Thanks. You look lovely. As always."

Eleanor had not yet found her voice when a whistle sounded across the platform, and they both concentrated back on their surroundings.

“We should get going,” Edmund said, reaching for her suitcase. He carried his own with his other hand, and she followed him as they began making their way out. “We don’t want to be late for the next train.”

They walked a little on the way to the underground station, though Eleanor could no longer bring herself to care about London or her own fantasies for the future. Edmund talked of the neighbourhood, of recent politics and rebuilding programs, and she reveled in the sound of his voice, impossibly clear amongst the city noises. They reached Paddington station just as their train to Cornwall arrived, and soon they were set and ready to depart for the summer. As she began the final leg of their journey, Eleanor couldn’t help but feel independent, accomplished, and so incredibly adult.

They made small talk as the city disappeared from around them. Edmund asked her of her aunt and uncle, and she told him of how her final year at school had gone — it hadn’t felt very special at all. Only Eleanor and Willie Norton had remained in their year, and they had both worked individually on their own college applications. Edmund noted that at least she had the benefit of having already studied in a co-ed classroom, tiny as it was, so university shouldn’t be much of an adjustment.

In turn, he told her he planned on either returning to his studies or picking up an office job. "I shouldn’t wait too long," he explained, "with the army being demobilised. Everyone will be looking for jobs, and they won’t hang around for much."

Eleanor agreed silently. She observed the greenery that flew past her window as a way of distracting herself from the proximity with Edmund. They shared a double seat, which was big enough to allow a few inches between them, but her body was stiff from maintaining the same posture. She would not cross that bridge herself, though she hoped desperately he would. 

The space, unfortunately, remained untouched. As they talked, she would sometimes scout for small details of his that she didn’t yet know. She noticed he double tied his shoes, and he either kept his hands clenched in fists or entirely stretched. She realised this was her first time seeing his bare arms, since they had met during the winter, and was surprised they were toner than she had expected. She even noted the hair on his forearms were thin and sleek, and with each observation Edmund suddenly felt realer.

"You haven’t been to Professor Kirke’s house since you lived there?" she asked, after Edmund told the story of his and his siblings’ train ride there.

He shook his head. "This will be my first time returning," he said. "Which is why I’m glad we’re staying there for the whole summer. It’s a pity we won’t all be reunited."

"Do you mean Peter and Susan?" She remembered Edmund mentioning only Lucy and Eustace in his letter.

"Peter hasn’t yet been dispatched. I’m not sure he will quit completely at all. He was promoted to captain in his company, so he might carry on working an office job for the military."

Eleanor nodded. She didn’t catch any traces of resentment in Edmund’s voice, despite looking for it, but she couldn’t help but wonder what exactly the relationship of the two brothers was like. Edmund mentioned Peter the least. "And Susan?"

"It was all on very short notice, so she couldn’t come. Besides, they are already planning on visiting England for the holidays, so it’s better to save for those tickets."

"I see. That’s good, though, isn’t it? At least you’ll be reunited soon."

He agreed kindly. "You’re right."

They kept mostly to those topics for the rest of the ride — family, friends, future. The five inch gap between them prevailed in its vastness, and any hope that still hid itself in the nooks of her heart was uprooted and exterminated. There was no mention of that fleeting moment in the kitchen, when they had been close enough to taste the chocolate in each other’s breath. He had called her a friend in his first letter, and she knew that was all she would ever be.

Still, she was content. Being Edmund’s friend was better than being nothing at all, and she would stand the burn of his proximity gladly. It was a torment she would welcome with the sweetest of smiles, as a sailor embracing the siren as it drowned him lifeless.

Their station barely looked like one: there was a white fence, only a few yards wide, with a sign that said Coombe Halt. There were benches on each side, and stairs that descended to ground level, which was essentially dirt. Eleanor stepped out, glad she had chosen her brown shoes, and looked around. There were hills and mountains everywhere she turned.

"Really feels like the countryside," she laughed lightly, as Edmund appeared with their suitcases. He put his own on the ground to use his hand to block sunlight from his eyes.

"Quite the change from London indeed," he replied, though he had opened a small smile. "Or Stamford, really."

"It’s lovely."

Edmund scanned the dirt roads. "They were supposed to come and get us. It’s a long way to the professor’s house, though I suppose we could walk if all else fails."

They had just adjusted themselves on one of the benches — with an even bigger gap between them this time — when they heard the sound of something very loud approaching. They stood up, going towards the platform’s edge, and Eleanor could already hear excited voices.

There was a wooden wagon making its way towards the station, pulled by a single brown horse, and carrying three waving kids. They began chanting their greetings already from a distance, and one of the girls jumped out onto the road before it even stopped. Eleanor only registered her bouncing brown curls before she threw herself at Edmund, hanging herself from his neck as he fought to keep his balance.

"Edmund!" she cried gleefully.

"Hi," he chuckled, carefully putting her down. "Missed you, too."

"And Eleanor!" The girl turned to her, grinning widely, and throwing her arms around her as well. She was a bit smaller than Eleanor, thankfully, and hugged with skill, tucking herself in all the right corners.

Eleanor smiled when they separated. "Please, call me Nora."

"Nora, right," she laughed. "I’m Lucy, Edmund’s sister."

The introduction was merely a courtesy, for Lucy carried many of the same features as Edmund: she had the same freckled skin, round eyes and a slight snub nose. Her hair was a tone or two brighter, however, and it glistened to reddish in the sun.

"So pleased to meet you," Eleanor said. "Edmund’s told me so much about you."

Lucy still held her by the hands. She looked at Eleanor so earnestly it was almost distracting, and for a second Eleanor thought back to the day she had first met Edmund. He had looked at her with just as much intent.

"Oh, I feel like we’re friends already," Lucy said, squeezing her palms.

The other two kids had caught up, and they took turns introducing everyone. Eustace had blonde hair and puffy cheeks, and Eleanor thought he somehow looked like a boy who would collect insects for a hobby. His friend Jill had golden hair that reminded her of Gracie, though she wore it with a fringe that only accentuated her youth. They were both very excited, and the two began arguing to see which one would take Eleanor’s suitcase to the wagon.

"We’re cooking dinner tonight!" Lucy was telling as she directed Eleanor to the back of the wagon. "I hope you like fried fish! We went fishing a few days ago. We can go tomorrow, too, if you’d like! Have you ever gone fishing, Nora?"

"Oh, only a couple times…"

"Well, you don’t have to fish if you don’t want to, but the trip is still worth it. We can go swimming in the river, the water was so delightfully fresh the last time!"

Lucy climbed onto the wagon with no difficulty, but Eleanor halted, staring at the wooden slab one could barely call a ladder. Before she could give it a try, Edmund had appeared from behind her, and he offered his arm in support. He held her weight firmly until she prompted herself up, and Eleanor resumed the conversation with Lucy to avoid looking back at him, fearing her face would flare up.

"Oh, we have a quarrel we’d like you to settle, since you’re our special guest," Jill said as they began moving. Edmund had positioned himself to the front, taking the reins with austerity, and the rest of them sat on the sides. "Eustace has been insisting we make chips, but Lucy and I would rather have mash."

"We thought it was best, since we’re already frying the fish," Lucy complemented.

"But I want chips," Eustace pointed out. "Since I’m not eating the fish, I should have preference."

"What do you think?" Jill concluded.

Eleanor blinked, panicked by the responsibility flung at her. "Oh," she began. "Can’t we make both? We could use the same oil for the chips and the fish."

"Oh, brilliant!" Lucy cheered. "Why didn’t we think of that?"

They then began listing more ways in which they could prepare the potatoes, and Lucy began calling dinner "The Great Potato Pageant". When they finally reached the professor’s house, they had already decided each of them would be responsible for one potato-centred plate, which would later be judged and ranked by Professor Kirke. They leaped out of the wagon and ran inside, eager to get started on their dishes, but Eleanor lagged behind. She stared, wide-eyed, at the majestic estate in front of her. It had three stories, beautiful brick walls, and every window had ornate frames around them. If she had been a kid, she would have believed a fairytale princess could have lived there.

"Are you alright?"

She turned to find Edmund still in the carriage. "Yes," she replied. "I was just… it’s very beautiful here."

He smiled. "It is. I’ll go take this to the stables. Can you find the way?"

Eleanor nodded, so he took off. She walked towards the door, where the others had disappeared into, and took careful steps inside.

The manor was just as sumptuous in its interior. There were paintings, sculptures, tapestries, and ornaments in every way she looked. As she spied through the first floor arches, she concluded the entire house must be a maze of stairs, for they went in every possible direction. Before she could get lost, however, Lucy came back running and took her arm, apologising for leaving her behind.

Lucy took her first to her room, which was right across from hers and Jill’s; the boys would be sharing the room beside it. They then walked around the house, so that Lucy could give her a proper tour. They ran into Eustace and Jill at some point, and they seemed to be racing for no good reason. Lucy showed her the door to the professor’s study, which was closed, but she explained Eleanor was not to trouble herself about him.

"He’s perfectly sweet," she said. "He just naps for most of the day, really. But you mustn’t worry, he is a very heavy sleeper."

They at last made their way back to the kitchen, where they began preparing their dinner. Edmund soon joined them, and the room was flooded with chatter. Lucy, who was the most skilled at cooking, was voted responsible for the fried dishes, while Eustace and Jill decided to each make their own mash, competing on whose would be the fluffiest.

"Do you mind if I teamed up with you?" Edmund proposed to Eleanor. "Or we’ll all get so sick of all these potato dishes we might never want to eat potatoes ever again."

"That’s probably for the best," she replied.

They decided to make baked potatoes after Eleanor found cream and cheese they could use for their fillings. After they propped the halves in the oven, they went on to assist Lucy with frying, since they’d have to wait for their dish to bake. Lucy told them of what they had been doing for the past week, and she also filled Edmund in on the contents of Susan’s last letter.

"Oh, Ed," Lucy exclaimed suddenly, "I think I saw chives in the greenhouse!"

"I’m on it," he said.

"I’ll go with you," Eleanor said.

As they made their way towards the back of the house, Edmund told Eleanor more stories of their time there, pointing out things that had scared him when he was younger, or things he and his siblings had broken. There was an antique hall bench with their four initials carved under the armrest, and there was a great tapestry of philosophers by a tree with a brown stain that still smelled faintly of black tea.

"I can see why you played hide-and-seek here," she noted. "This place is enormous."

"I’ll show you all the secret passages during the next days," he replied. "It took us weeks to find them all."

The greenhouse was easy enough to find, but the chives were not. Its insides had long grown overflowing with all types of weeds, bushes and vines, evidently the result of years of neglect, and they had to push through twigs and foliage to search for the herb. Edmund was at last able to locate it, and they left with a handful of it. 

"So," Edmund said, as they made their way back to the kitchen, "what do you think of everyone so far?"

"It’s only been the first hour," Eleanor laughed.

"Still," he smirked, "wouldn’t you mind indulging me just a bit?"

She could, of course. "Honestly, they all seem great. I can see why it would be so hard to stay away from them. And you and Lucy seem to have a very dear relationship. I thought it was sweet that she called you Ed."

"Oh." He turned serious. "My family calls me Ed. You can… you can call me Ed, too. If you’d like."

Eleanor simply smiled and nodded, knowing her voice would tremble if she tried to use it.

When the food was ready, they set a very long dinner table with the fanciest plates and cutlery Eleanor had ever seen, and they even brought decorated candle holders to light up, claiming it was a special occasion. Eleanor wondered whether she would have to change for dinner, but no one else bothered, and, when the professor finally came down, he was still wearing his night robe.

Professor Kirke had voluminous, overgrown white hair, and a pointy goatee that made his head shape look like a triangle. He seemed constantly distracted behind his round glasses, but he was as amicable as described, and he greeted Eleanor with much enthusiasm. He did, however, appear to show a favouritism towards Lucy, whose fried chips he declared the best potato dish of the evening. Eleanor noticed Jill got a bit quieter after it, though she lit up a bit when Eustace complimented the peas and carrots she had roasted the night before.

There was no time for dreams or fantasies when she collapsed in bed later. It had been so long since Eleanor had felt this way — this feeling of wanting the next day to come as soon as possible, this security of knowing only great times lay ahead. She drifted gladly to unconsciousness, eager for it to skip time until morning.

Chapter Text

England, June 1945 - July 1945

It was easy enough to get accustomed to the routine at Professor Kirke’s house, for the days were filled with merriment and serenity. They all had chores to complete during the morning — as it seemed, the professor hadn’t been able to maintain the servants the estate required, only an irritable housekeeper Eleanor barely spoke to. During the afternoon, they were free to do as they pleased, and they mostly chose to spend every minute under the sunlight. They went fishing once, as Lucy had promised, and Eleanor was able to catch a fish herself, which they roasted with garlic and lemons later that night. Lucy and Edmund tried teaching them how to ride a horse, unsuccessfully, much to their disappointment. They played cricket and even football in the gardens, though Edmund was the only one who could properly do it, and the rest of them only ran around in giggles. It rained only twice, but the house was equally as interesting on the inside, and time was relished away just as easily.

"Oh, you’re too good at it!" Jill had cried on the first stormy day, when they were all hauled up in the billiard room. Eleanor and Lucy had been looking through books they had picked at the professor’s library, while the other three played chess. "It’s no fun!"

Edmund grinned back self-assuredly. It had been surprising at first to notice him thawing under his family’s presence; Eleanor saw he smiled a lot more often now, and his remarks turned sharper and sillier each time.

"Can’t you let them win once in a while?" pleaded Lucy after Jill and Eustace refused to go to bed that night, choosing to discuss chess strategies under a lamplight instead.

"Oh, come on, Lu," Edmund replied, "watching the two get mad is half the fun!"

Lucy had sighed hopelessly, but Eleanor had repressed a giggle. Edmund did catch her amusement, however, and he seemed satisfied enough. He went on, of course, to destroy Jill and Eustace in the next chess matches.

Eleanor began borrowing books from the library, with Lucy’s assistance, to read in bed at night. Lucy seemed to like romance just as much as her, and she made her a tall pile of her favourite reads. Edmund also pitched in a few recommendations of his own, though his included mostly books that explained the functioning of trains or cars, and Eleanor made sure to include them at the very bottom of her list. He did, however, recommend one or two detective stories, which she found delightfully intriguing, and provided them with topics of discussion for days on end.

It became hard to remember life existed outside of the house, as well. The professor never turned on the radio to listen to the broadcast; Eleanor felt as if another war could have started, and they would never know. The housekeeper, Mrs. MacReady, was responsible for taking the carriage to the nearest town to shop for groceries, and the estate seemed self-sufficient for everything else. Her life had settled itself inside the perimeter of the professor’s property, and she had no desire whatsoever to cross it.

It was only when she realised June had ended that Eleanor was reminded of the fact she had promised to write and call back to Stamford, and she hadn’t yet done either. But her heart hardened whenever she thought of hearing Aunt Doris’ voice through the other end of the phone, and she never seemed to want to ruin her day with it, so she stalled. At last, she decided to write to Birdie instead.

"Hi," she greeted Edmund, whom she found roaming one of the many corridors. She had hauled herself up in her room after lunch, crafting Birdie’s letter, and came out to find the estate almost deserted. "Where is everyone?" 

"Oh, they went to pick up Mrs. Plummer from the station. Professor Kirke’s friend? She is staying over for the weekend."

"Right, of course!" They had spent the morning preparing three different types of pie for Mrs. Plummer’s welcome dinner — one with meat, one with vegetables, and one for dessert. She dearly hoped the woman would be as fond of pies as they had supposed her to be, or else she’d be left with only canned beans and toast to eat.

"Do you need anything?"

"I was hoping to take this to the post office, but it seems they have taken the carriage, haven’t they?"

"Well, the post office isn’t as far as the train station, I think it might be two or three miles. We could go walking."

"Oh, there’s no rush, really."

Edmund had already begun making the way out. "It’s not like I have plans," he said. "I was actually on my way to invite you to take a book outside and lie on the grass together."

She knew he would have made the same invitation to Lucy or Eustace or Jill, and it didn’t mean anything, but she revelled in joy anyway. They set off, walking side by side on the muddy path, and Eleanor thought back to when they had first met, back in December, and how they had gotten to know each other during those strolls. She remembered feeling so elated when they had reached their first hour of conversation, and she concluded they must have definitely reached a few hundreds by now. Still, she was as enchanted by Edmund as she had been then.

"Careful!"

There had been a loose rock, but Eleanor was yanked upwards by the arm. She tripped back to balance, assisted by Edmund. One of his hands held hers, and the other was placed on her back. As she met his concerned eyes, she thought rocks were the least of her troubles.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, fine," she managed. "I should have paid more attention to where I was stepping."

"And I should improve my manners." He let go of her, positioning himself to her side, and stiffened his arm in a hook. "Here."

Eleanor took it, and they resumed walking, arms locked. Since they had arrived at the estate, Edmund had kept a respectable distance, and this was the first time he was consciously touching her. She realised, as well, this was also their first time spent entirely by themselves — despite having spent so much time together, they always seemed to be surrounded by Lucy, Eustace, and Jill. 

She immediately redirected the subject into chess, asking him about all kinds of tactics, and he gabbled on about openings and defences. He told her of his favourite players and their most famous games, and he listed the best books for her to get started, if she would ever like to take up the hobby. She listened actively and responded appropriately, though all she could really care about was the feel of Edmund’s skin on hers.

The post office was a general store as well, and, after posting Birdie’s letter, they bought a pack of mints to share and sat on the first bench they came upon. Despite the end of the war, Eleanor’s favourite sweets and candies had yet to return to shops, though she didn’t mind it. Sharing a pack with Edmund felt sacred in a way, for it reminded her of the time they had split a piece of chocolate in her aunt’s dimly lit kitchen, granting each other the intimacy of seeing the children they used to be.

"Have you written to your aunt?" Edmund asked, after a minute. She had noticed him reading the receiver address in her envelope, right under Birdie’s name, before she posted the letter.

"Not yet," she admitted, hoping there was enough lightness in her tone. "But Birdie lives right next door, so she can pass on the news. Besides, my aunt has the professor’s address, and she knows he has a telephone in the house. She could reach out if she wanted to."

Edmund frowned. "Did you not part on good terms?"

"Not the best," she chuckled.

You are so ready to abandon us , her aunt had said, on her last day at Stamford, right as she was finished packing for the professor’s house. Like your father. Off to chase some stupid infatuation across the country.

They sat in silence for a while, and Eleanor knew Edmund could hear her cracking her mint with her teeth, chewing on them until they dissolved into nothing in her mouth. But those last weeks together had made them grow used to each other’s presence, enough to not feel the need to fill it with unnecessary dialogue, and they sucked on their candy in thought.

"I didn’t say goodbye to my dad when he left for California," he finally said.

Eleanor turned to him, but he was staring straight into the distance. "Why not?" she asked.

"I was angry then. I didn’t want to leave my room. My mum and Susan came to say goodbye, but he never did. I waited, until I heard the engine of the car starting outside. He left."

"But had you two fought?"

"We had argued. I was mad at him for leaving the army, even though I think his work in California might still be military related, or else he wouldn’t have been dismissed from service. I was angry that he was deserting his country, fleeing the warfront. Peter had already enlisted, but I still wasn’t old enough. I was mad that he was dragging mum an ocean away."

"Does she not like America?"

"She likes it well enough, but still. She has three kids in Europe."

And there it was, the bitterness. Not for Peter, as she had initially suspected, but for Mr. Pevensie — Mr. Pevensie, the military veteran and university professor.

"I was mad at him for leaving Lucy and I behind, off to live with an aunt we had never even met before," he continued. "Professor Kirke was already deep into financial issues, so he couldn’t take us, not unless our father aided. He said he couldn’t. Yet the letters Susan wrote all told stories of parties she had attended, or gifts she had received.

"We didn’t get along with Eustace for the first few months. But, even after we became friends, Lucy and I were still an added weight they were putting up with, a silent strain which piled up as extra plates in the sink, bulkier stacks of clothes to wash and iron, towering chunks of bills."

Eleanor shifted in her seat. "I’ve always felt a bit like that, too," she heard herself saying. "With my aunt and uncle. Like a burden they had never asked for." It was true, she realised as she said it. Perhaps that was why she so often indulged herself with escapist fantasies of moving to London. All this time, she wasn’t only toiling to prove her excellence, but rather to exonerate her own presence in Stamford.

Their eyes met, and Eleanor began to comprehend how misguided she had been in assuming Edmund had been fortuitous simply for having a big, complete family. In her envy, she had been too immersed in their differences to notice their similarities — that he, too, felt like the scraps of his own family.

Edmund nodded once. "I couldn’t wait to turn eighteen so I could enlist," he said. "I thought I’d be finally doing my part. I’d be off my aunt’s back and defending our family instead. I’d be serving my country, unlike my father. If I’m being honest… I thought I’d finally get his attention. His respect."

"Did he…"

"He wrote to me. A few months after I had joined. He said he was proud."

She pursed her lips. "But that’s a good thing. Wasn’t it?"

"The letter reached me when I was already in Italy. By then the army didn’t feel like something to inspire pride anymore."

He didn’t elaborate, and Eleanor didn’t inquire. Despite their growing closeness, Edmund still refused to disclose details on how the war frontlines had been, and he never talked about his time in Italy.

When the last of the mints was over, they got up to begin their way back to the house. Edmund offered his arm again, and Eleanor gladly wrapped hers around it. Before they could walk, however, he turned to her briefly.

"I’m glad you joined us this summer," he said quietly. "It’s been very nice having you around, Nora."

She bit the inside of her mouth to stop her dazzlement from leaking into a stupid grin. "I’ve been having the best of times. Thank you for inviting me… Ed," she added courageously.

He readjusted his stance, without letting go of her. "It sounds nice when you say it."

"Ed?" She laughed. "Does it sound different?"

He smiled. "It does," he said.

Eleanor thought she understood what he meant. She had loved looking at her name spelled in his handwriting, and she felt like she was being lettered for the very first time. She couldn’t help but hope he shared such feelings, but either way she kept a smile on her face as they chattered all the way back to their lovely summer bubble.

Chapter Text

England, July 1945

For all of Professor Kirke’s eccentricity, Mrs. Polly Plummer Scott was exactly the opposite of what one would imagine his closest friend to be. She was his same age, but couldn’t bear to remain stashed away in the house for even a second. After greeting them all very enthusiastically, she left her luggage and marched out, eager to explore the gardens, visit the stables and the now deserted barn, and tour through all of her favourite childhood memories, which she told with incredible liveliness. Eleanor happily tagged along, fascinated by the idea that the estate had been home to countless summers prior, exactly like the one she was having.

Mrs. Plummer — how they all called her, despite her wedded name — brought even the professor to her high spirits, and Eleanor saw more of the old man in those two days of the visit than she had during the past weeks. He accompanied them as they dusted around the house, in the kitchen cooking every meal, and even in the gardens as they played ball — which Mrs. Plummer insisted on participating herself, despite everyone’s concern. There was a lightness in her, and it seemed to spread through them all.

It was her first time meeting the others as well. She embraced them all as old friends, as if they were her own kin, and even invited Eleanor to visit her in London. She was nothing like Eleanor would have imagined the capital’s high society to be like, but she couldn’t have been more grateful. It made her even more excited to start her new life, which she could already envision in living colours: attending classes at King’s College, meeting with Mrs. Plummer for afternoon tea on the weekends, exploring the city at night with Edmund.

"But do make the most of your time here," Mrs. Plummer had said. "London tends to paint its greyness into you if you’re not careful enough."

Eleanor had only smiled politely, thinking the silver-haired lady was talking mostly about her own past than of Eleanor’s future.

The day of her departure came sooner than expected. They all arranged a great feast for her last dinner, grander than any meal they had had thus far, and Mrs. Plummer did her best to prevent the food from being laced with bittersweetness. She told stories of hers and Professor Kirke’s childhood in London, which seemed like over a century ago — before blitzes and wars and all of their destruction. They laughed remembering the professor’s late uncle, who apparently used to claim he had descended from fairies, and who had lived in the same room Eleanor was currently sleeping in.

"But you should be fine," Mrs. Plummer told her. "He left most of his madness in his study back in London."

"Or better, in Narnia," the professor reckoned, chuckling.

There was laughter all around the table, but Eleanor alone frowned. "Narnia? What’s that?" she asked gently.

Everyone’s mouth froze open, though no one answered at first. There were a few exchanged looks, some furtive and others abashed, and Eleanor regretted ever intruding. For a second, she felt as if she had just walked into a room where everyone had been talking about her.

"Oh," Edmund finally cut the silence. "It’s this… place we used to escape to when we were kids. Back when we came here for the first time, when the war had just started. It was this magical land where we were kings and queens."

"Not all of us," Eustace noted with a grin.

"No, not all of us," Edmund agreed amusedly. "I was going to say it started with my siblings and me, but really it was passed on to us by Professor Kirke and Mrs. Plummer."

They turned to the elderly couple.

"Well, we were the ones who saw Narnia to its creation," Mrs. Plummer said. She then looked at her friend expectantly, and he sighed and removed his glasses.

"Would you like to hear the story, dear Nora?" he asked.

Eleanor bore a small smile. "If you don’t mind telling it, sir."

"Very well. I suppose it does start with my uncle Andrew. It was a summer when my mother had turned gravely ill, and we had moved to my aunt’s house in London. Uncle Andrew was their brother, but he wasted his days away tinkering with his dreams of becoming a magician."

"Oh, Uncle Andrew," Mrs. Plummer sighed.

"One day, Polly and I wandered into his study," he continued. "And we were presented with these rings."

"Two green, two yellow."

"Two green, two yellow. The green ones transported us into these enchanted woods, which had little ponds of water everywhere. Each pond was a portal to a different world, and we could use the rings to travel through them. One of them was Narnia."

There was a pause, and Eleanor saw everyone shared the same dreamy expression, all off in this faraway land of their imagination. She thought it was sweet, how they had all indulged in the same fantasy. She, too, had relied on made-up stories to endure all those terrible years of war, though hers lacked originality — mostly, she had stuck to fairytale books or romance novels from distant times.

"But Narnia didn’t yet exist when we arrived. It was blackness, hollow. It hadn’t been dreamed of."

Mrs. Plummer nodded. "We all waited in the dark for a while."

"We waited. And then we heard a voice. The most beautiful melody I have ever heard, so unearthly I can’t even recall it. I only remember being certain it was singing the world into existing. It serenaded the sun into its birth; it hummed roots into trunks, into branches, into leaves; it roared animals to life. And it had the form of a great lion."

The last sentence spun Eleanor out of her trance. "A lion?"

"Aslan," Lucy said.

"He created Narnia. He crowned its first king and queen, he chose animals to be given the gift of speech, and he determined the trees to be able to walk."

Eleanor smiled. "Walking trees and talking animals?"

"And dwarves and woodland spirits," Jill said.

"And fauns! Centaurs!" Lucy cried.

"River gods," Edmund complemented, "and naiads and mermaids…"

"Sea serpents and dragons," Eustace said with a smirk.

"Yes, all of that," Professor Kirke concluded. "Narnia was a land of many adventures. Mine was not as exciting as all of yours, I suppose. I only came back with an apple."

"But an extraordinary apple," Mrs. Plummer protested.

"An extraordinary apple, indeed," he agreed. "It healed my mother back into her former health, and its tree produced the most magnificent apples I have ever seen. Unfortunately, it was put down by a dreadful storm, and I had it made into a wardrobe, which just so happens to be in a room upstairs."

"It was through this wardrobe that we travelled to Narnia," Edmund explained.

"And had your own adventures," Eleanor replied. "Of kings and queens."

"That’s right."

She chuckled, sipping the last of her drink. "It’s a wonderful story. It would make a great children’s book."

There was something stiff in Edmund’s smile, though it seemed to disappear quickly. "That’s probably true," he said.

There wasn’t room for more stories after that, for Mrs. Plummer’s train back to London would be very early in the next morning, so they all went to bed straight from supper. When she laid in bed that night, she thought of all the great times Edmund and the others must have had playing as knights and heroes, fighting in great adventures or exploring the most remote corners of their creativity. When she closed her eyes, she tried picturing walking trees and talking animals spurting from the darkness, and she struggled to conjure the voice Professor Kirke had described.

She dreamed of its song, calling to her through the mazes of the professor’s house. In the dream, she turned left and right, and climbed up and down countless sets of stairs, but she could never reach it. She had run through every floor until she finally reached the attic, and through its window she spotted a creature roaming the distant woods. It was an enormous cat, with buff coloured fur and a long tail which ended in a hairy tuft.

She could still hear echoes of his melody when she awoke. She didn’t open her eyes for as long as she could, trying to savour the last bits of music her brain could still taste. The bedroom was almost as delightful as her dream — sunlight poured heavily into the wooden floor, which in turn moistened the air with a warm, earthy fragrance. She could hear the sounds of the nearby nature outside, and it reminded her of the chant she had chased in her unconsciousness.

She got dressed and set off to roam the house. It was only in the kitchen that she found another living soul; Edmund had his back on her, busy with lighting a fire for the kettle.

"Morning," she said.

"Oh, morning," he replied. "Tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please." Coffee was for lonely days draped over textbooks, and she did not want a reminder of them. "Where is everyone?"

"They left to see Mrs. Plummer off at the station. I stayed behind so you wouldn’t wake up to an empty house. I think Mrs. MacReady is also probably out there somewhere, though I’m not too eager to try and find her. I don’t know about you, but I don’t particularly love being scowled at."

"Likewise," she chuckled.

She helped him assemble a tray with the drink, as well as sugar and biscuits and toast, and they set off to have them in the garden. They sat at a table which overlooked the woods, and Eleanor thought back to the vision from her dream.

"What did you think of her?" Edmund asked as they ate their breakfast. "Mrs. Plummer?"

"Oh," she covered her mouth, rushing to swallow the remaining crumbs. The cinnamon biscuit was drier than she was used to, and she had to wash it down with tea. "She’s the sweetest. I hope we can see each other again when I’m in London this autumn. I would love to become better acquainted with her."

"She reminds me a bit of Lucy," he said.

Eleanor mused his observation. "I think you’re right," she said, opening up a smile. "They’re so… lively. Do you think that’s why the professor is so fond of Lucy?"

"It is possible. But it’s hard… not to grow fond of her, isn’t it?"

Eleanor’s heart grew with jealousy, though she couldn’t tell whether it was because she wished for an older brother who would love her this much, or because she wanted Edmund to speak this highly of her. 

As if he could read her perfectly, Edmund said, "I was not always so amicable towards Lucy, if you can imagine that."

Eleanor frowned. "You were not?"

He shook his head, avoiding her gaze. "I… was not as close to my siblings back when the war had just begun. In fact, it was coming here to the professor’s house, and having our adventures in Narnia, that drew us closer together."

She was too astonished to reply. Ever since meeting him, she had only heard Edmund speaking affectionately of his siblings, recounting their childhood memories as fondly as one could. She had also witnessed firsthand the tenderness he shared with Lucy — he was always looking out for her, whether that was when they swam in the rushed streams of the nearby river, or when they were cooking with sizzling oil and scorching cast iron pans.

"I had no idea," she muttered back.

"I was having a hard time at school," he said, shrugging. "It soured my disposition. Of course, it was no excuse to mistreat my siblings. I treated Lucy the worst," he admitted, "I think because she was the easiest target."

She had never seen him so embarrassed, and she wanted most of all to reach for his hand. Everyone had shameful memories they would like to forget, parts of themselves they found too hideous to ever present at the light of day. She thought Edmund was very brave to speak so openly about his, and she secretly rejoiced on him feeling comfortable enough to share it with her.

"Lucy seems very devoted to you," she dared say at last.

Edmund agreed half-heartedly. "She is too kind to hold a grudge."

After that, they kept silent as they watched the gardens and nibbled on the cinnamon biscuits. Eleanor had been thinking of something else to say when she remembered the dream she had had, and the lion she had imagined in the woods.

"So," she said, forcing a lightness in her tone, "what stories do you have? Of Narnia?"

Edmund looked a bit rattled, though he seemed glad of the new subject. "Oh, I wouldn’t know where to even begin," he replied, smiling.

"Did the four of you actually tuck yourselves inside a wardrobe?" she laughed.

He shook his head amusedly. "Sort of."

"It must have been quite a big wardrobe. Or you must have been the tiniest little things."

"A bit of both?"

"You tell me."

"I suppose the wardrobe must have seemed a lot bigger than it actually was back when I was younger. But then again, I also remember being very frustrated with how little I’d been growing. I used to think I would never catch up to Peter’s height."

"Well, it seems you grew just fine."

Edmund blushed, which hadn’t been Eleanor’s intention, though she still cherished it.

"Professor Kirke said the wardrobe’s still here," she said, hoping to relieve him.

Edmund had already recollected himself. "It is."

"Could I see it?"

They had already finished with breakfast, so they took the tray back to the kitchen. Edmund then led the way upstairs, until they had reached the third floor’s west corridor. Eleanor herself had only ventured there once or twice, and never had she dared even try and open one of the closed doors. Edmund, however, went straight to the second door to the left, which was unlocked, and he gestured for her to enter first.

There was only the wooden wardrobe in the room. A window on its right side cast an eerie beacon into the dark chamber, and light settled faintly in between the edges of the wardrobe’s intricate carvings. She was barely aware of Edmund’s shadowing her as she approached it, placing every step with the same care she would if she had been trying to sneak by sleeping cubs and their mother. The floorboards didn’t creak, though she felt them distort as they distributed the entirety of her weight. She had just gotten close enough to identify the scenes sculpted into the wood — there was a rising sun, just like the one the professor had described, as well as a majestic tree in its centre, rich with fruit she could have only assumed were apples.

"May I open it?" she whispered, unsure why she was whispering at all.

She felt Edmund walk around her and reach the delicate, rusted knob. It opened with no resistance, and Eleanor held her breath as she waited for the light to reach its secrets. She exhaled, frustrated, when the interior was unveiled, revealing only a collection of hanged winter coats.

She chuckled half-heartedly. Part of her, she realised, somehow had expected the wardrobe to present her to some entrancing reality she, too, could dwell into.

"Had you come here already?" she asked. "This summer?"

"I did," he replied. "On the first night."

"Sounds spooky."

"The moonlight didn’t help," he laughed.

"Did you go inside?" she teased.

"Yes."

"Was it not terribly scary in the dark?"

"No," he said, and he seemed genuine. "Do you want to try it?"

"I’m probably more easily frightened than you."

"I’ll be right here."

She eyed him humorously. "Promise you won’t lock me in?"

Edmund’s smile was comforting, and she couldn’t help but succumb to it. "Of course not," he said softly.

"Right then," she laughed, jumping inside. The pelts embraced her welcomingly, and, even though it was summer, it was nice to snug with them. She giggled as she stepped back, trying to hide from Edmund’s view mischievously, but instead she stumbled out of balance. She continued tripping backwards, prancing stupidly on the wooden floor as she awaited collision, but all she did was keep moving. Her arms stretched widely, but she could not reach the wardrobe’s wall.

"Nora?" She thought she heard Edmund calling, but it sounded distant and muffled.

She must have entered some kind of tunnel — one of the many secret passages in the professor’s house. Curiosity took control of her body, so Eleanor turned and marched forward, towards the unknown, eager to discover where it would come out at. Light resurfaced, and trees were painted to life in front of her. She emerged deep into unknown woods.

Though it didn’t seem very familiar, Eleanor assumed she had trekked into the woods next to the estate, despite not understanding how it had seemed such a brief path. She hadn’t even realised she had gone down three entire floors; she had probably been too entranced to notice it. She had been about to turn and make her way back to the house when she heard it — a melody. There was a voice, or perhaps a thousand of them, and they all seemed to call to her. It was the song that she had trailed in her dream, and it was closer than ever.

She thought she heard her name being called again, somewhere in the distance, but she spinned in place and set off to follow the blissful music.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2303

Eleanor’s oldest memory was of London in winter. She had been four or five, and she and her mother had been out all day running errands. Her feet were sore and her cheeks were flushed, but she had said nothing, for exploring the city with her mum was among her favourite things to do.

"Oh, my sweet girl," her mother had said, at the end of the day, dropping to her knees and cupping her face delicately. Her hair smelled like lavender. "You’ve been so good. How about we find a cup of hot chocolate, hm?"

Eleanor had beamed, excited enough to bounce along the rest of the way, but the two halted when they passed a small church. Music was leaking through the cracks in the windows and reverberating through the stone walls, and it dispersed around them until they could feel it in the hairs of their arms. It was a choir, and their voices melted together in a soft and smooth tune, sweeter than the chocolate Eleanor had been craving. Their plan to get the hot beverage was entirely abandoned, and the two had stood in silence, drinking in the music of the choir instead.

The voice that called to her in the woods reminded her of that memory. As Eleanor followed it, leaves squashing under her feet to the soft dirt, she could almost feel her mother’s touch at her hand, escorting her through the way. There was no marked path, but the forest seemed to embrace her — the trees almost looked like they glided to the sides, making a corridor she could cross through. Sunlight and wind travelled through the canopies in perfect harmony, and Eleanor smiled as the breeze made her hair dance around her face.

She soon reached a lamppost, which was lit despite being daytime. The flames, too, appeared to twirl to the voice’s melody, glistening ever so faintly.

She had been watching it when something moved in the distance. She blinked, sharpening her sight, but there was nothing to behold. A rustling of branches, perhaps. Still, it prompted her to walk towards it, towards the voice that still sang.

Eleanor kept creeping deeper into the forest, though it didn’t seem to frighten her. The voice was humming deeply, beautifully, like a lullaby, and she felt guarded by it. She wanted to reach it, grasp it, hold it close to her. She hadn’t strolled too far away from the lamppost, so she must still be close enough to the professor’s house, and the day was still young. She knew she would find her way back.

The voice moved relentlessly through the trees, and Eleanor kept glimpsing a shadow, its ghost. There was never anything to seize, no matter how much she ran towards it. It evaporated into the air, or perhaps it became the air itself, surrounding her as a mischievous spirit. Sometimes, she thought she’d heard a low rumble along the crackling of the branches, and once she thought she’d seen a glimpse of a golden mane, but it disappeared into a breaking sun ray.

That was when she caught hold of herself. What was she doing, chasing a voice through the woods? Had she completely lost her mind? Even worse, she had hoped the voice belonged to a lion — a singing lion, a lion roaming the English countryside! Oh, if Aunt Doris would see her now, she’d scold her tirelessly, and with reason. She could already hear her aunt’s voice, promising Eleanor would never travel by herself ever again. "Chasing a lion!" she would cry. "Are you asking to be killed, Eleanor? Is your life so miserable you are willing to chase a lion into dangerous woods?"

Eleanor turned, panicked, but she couldn’t even remember which direction she had come from. She spinned in place, searching for a familiar trunk frame, recognisable bush patterns, some unmistakable clearing. But it all looked the same, and her heartbeat now raced as she realised she was lost.

She wandered from one direction to another to distract herself, but her eyes had already begun watering, and it was hopeless to ignore the pain in her chest. She walked and walked and walked, and her breath quickened, and her legs hurt, and she reached nowhere. She had no idea if she’d gotten closer or further from the lamppost — for all she knew, she could have been moving in circles for the past minute or the past hour.

At last, she heard something different. There was water somewhere nearby, and she ran to it.

It was a river, not too wide, with an almost still surface. There were mountains in the distance, and they reflected on the crystal clear water, translucent over the texture of pebbles on its bottom. Endless woods still scattered on all sides of the river, but Eleanor was already overjoyed to be out in the open.

She drank some of the water, and then washed her face. She sat and rested, feeling much better already, and pondered on her situation. She had reached what was probably the same river they had gone fishing at; if she followed it to the right direction she might find the main trail, and she’d find the professor’s house from there. Or she could follow it downstream — rivers always led to towns, didn’t they? Or, in the worst case scenario, in which she would remain lost, at least she’d be easier to be found near the river.

For a while, she lied on its margin, gathering her strength and observing the sky. It soothed her, to focus only on the white clouds moving through an infinite blue. She found it comforting to know, despite everything, she was still under the same sky as always. If she wanted to, she could imagine Edmund laying next to her, as they often did in the gardens outside the house, and she could hear Lucy’s giggling, or Eustace and Jill’s bickering somewhere nearby.

But the only real sounds that surrounded her were those of nature, and eventually Eleanor ceded to her solitude. She got up, straightening her clothes, and decided to walk in the opposite direction of the mountains.

She had been thinking of her sunlit bedroom when she noticed a dark shape on the opposite side of the river. It moved slowly, on all four legs, and hadn’t seemed to notice her yet. She might have been perplexed by its existence in the British countryside if she hadn’t been so frozen with fear. She scoured her mind for guidance on how to behave in its presence, perhaps in an adventure novel or an action film, but nothing surfaced. Should she run, should she try and scare it away? Could she still sneak backwards unnoticed?

The bear locked eyes with her. It assessed her with interest, and she only stared back, not daring to move. She thought of lying down and playing dead. That would be too terrifying, to simply let the creature play with her limp body, but what were her other options? She knew she couldn’t make a run, though that was what she was the most tempted to do, for it would very easily catch up to her. Bears were better at running, at swimming, at climbing trees. What could she do? What was she going to do?

It moved towards her. Slowly, perhaps only due to curiosity, but definitely towards her. It began crossing the water, and Eleanor knew she had run out of time. She had to make a call.

"Get away," she shrieked. "Leave me alone!"

The bear halted, which she took as a favourable sign. She crouched to pick a few of the pebbles, and threw one in its direction. It flinched.

"Please don’t eat me!" she shouted. It didn’t advance further, though it also didn’t retreat, so Eleanor kept screaming and yelling, pushing for the loudest, most guttural sounds she was capable of. She hollered until her throat was burning raw, standing her ground, not breaking contact with the animal. She thought, if all else failed, maybe it would deem her crazy and simply walk away. Maybe that would scare it off.

Eleanor had no idea how long she had been in what was perhaps a one-sided standoff, but she began to feel her voice weaken. By the time she was fearing she would lose it entirely, the bear finally turned around. She laughed, relieved, only to jump back into terror when she heard something else approaching.

She heard galloping, plural, and she heard clinking of metal. The bear, too, was roused by those sounds, and in the next second two horses emerged from the woods, on the opposite side of the river, with men mounted on their backs. The bear charged — actually charged, sprinting in the blink of an eye — towards them, but he was shot back. Eleanor choked as she saw the animal fall back, with two arrows plunged in it, and contort. It cried in pain, unable to rise, until one of the men jumped to the ground and raised a sword. In a swift move, the bear was silenced.

The man exchanged a few words with his partner, then began crossing the river. Eleanor was still too shocked to do anything but watch helplessly, and she was even more stunned to notice he was wearing what looked like mediaeval armour. His chest was covered by chainmail, cinched with a black leather vest, and he wore a metal hat. He held his sword low, cutting through the water, and a streak of red sprawled out of it.

"Miss?" He called, finally reaching her. "Are you alright?"

She gawked at him. He had blue eyes. "I…" she tried saying, but only air came out of her mouth. She cleared her throat. "Yes," she managed, though still hoarsely.

"Are you lost?" he asked.

She spied the second man, who had jumped from his horse and was walking towards the black bear. He kicked its limp body.

"Miss?" The man in front of her repeated. "Are you okay? Are you lost?"

Lost — yes, she was lost! She had been lost in the woods, and she had finally been found. "Yes, I’m… I’m not sure how I ended up here," she said. "I was staying at Professor Kirke’s house, and…" She blinked, eyeing once again the dripping sword the man carried. Why was he wearing mediaeval armour? "I can’t find my way back," she finished.

He nodded. "We can help you find your way back. Can you swim?"

She swallowed. "Yes?"

"Or, if you’d rather not get your clothes wet," he said, "I could… carry you across the river."

A different kind of fear crept through Eleanor’s skin. She frowned at him, wide eyed. He looked nice enough — he had round eyes and a long face, and his expression seemed concerned — but, then again, that didn’t really mean anything, did it? Besides, what were those two men doing, riding in armour, carrying swords? She thought maybe they were costumed for some theatre production nearby, or perhaps she had stumbled onto some filming location, but still she could barely make sense of it.

After all, why would they have real swords?

"I’m sorry," she said weakly, "but who… who are you?"

He seemed puzzled at first, but he then removed his helmet and bowed shortly. "Forgive me, miss. My name is Dante, and I serve in the second cavalry of Lord Donnon’s troops."

Her face must have revealed her confusion, though she doubted it truly met her actual levels of bewilderment.

"We can escort you back to the castle," he offered.

What was he talking about? Who on earth was Lord Donnon, and what castle was he referring to? She had studied the surroundings of the professor’s estate on a map, and his was the only historical house in an at least twenty miles radius. She couldn’t have travelled this far, not by foot, not in a couple of hours.

Why was he wearing armour?

A voice shouted from across the river. "What’s taking so long there?"

Dante sighed, and turned to shout back, "One moment, Marco!" He seemed somewhat annoyed, but he recollected himself and spoke more quietly, "Miss… I’m sorry, what was your name again?"

"El…" she began, right when she noticed the second man, Marco, had begun crossing the river himself. He seemed irritated, and Eleanor noticed he too carried a sword. It was not blood stained as Dante’s, though that made it seem even more dangerous, somehow, as if it was eager to be drawn.

"Elle?" Dante asked.

"Dante!" Marco bawled, marching forcefully out of the water. "Come on, let us go back!"

"I said a moment," Dante replied. "I’m talking to the lady."

"Oh, there goes sir Dante once more, off in another chivalry lesson! Look, our options are simple. Either she comes with us, or she doesn’t. Let her take her chances with the bears if she’d prefer it."

He glared at her dismissively, though he spoke as if she couldn’t hear them.

"Miss Elle," Dante pleaded, "come with us to the castle. It is not safe for you to stay alone in these woods."

She stood straighter. "I need to get back to Professor Kirke’s house," she declared, a bit more courageously.

"Is that in Beruna?"

Beruna? "No", she said. "It’s near Liskeard town."

Marco scoffed. "Oh, she’s deranged."

"Liskeard?" Dante insisted patiently. "Where is that?"

"It’s… I… I came through these woods," she said, pointing to the trees behind her.

The two men exchanged a glance, and both their faces were coated with the same serious expression.

"This professor’s house is from this side of the river?" Dante asked.

"Yes," she replied, since it was the truth.

"Alright," Marco said, plunging forward and pulling her arm. "You are coming with us to the castle. We need to take you to the general for questioning."

Eleanor tried to wiggle herself free, but the man’s grip was too tight. She turned, desperate and supplicating, to Dante, but even he seemed resolute.

"Careful, Marco," he simply said. "She’s not a prisoner."

Marco eyed her viciously. "Yet."

Dante was the one who carried her on his shoulder through the river, and then made her ride in front of him on his horse. He appeared to be trying to be gentle with her, but he abducted her nonetheless, and Eleanor persisted in her fight through the entire way to their dark stoned castle.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2303

The general was a tall, dark haired man, and his look was as grim as she had imagined. His eyebrows joined unforgivingly, and he seized Eleanor for only a second.

"What is this?" he demanded with a grave voice.

Eleanor wasn’t cuffed or tied, though she knew she must look frail and pathetic. Her clothes were still damp, the cream-coloured fabric of her dress now coated with mud and small flecks of leaves and twigs. Her knees were exposed and scraped from having tried to crawl away from the two soldiers, and she knew she looked as terrified as she felt.

"We found her on the opposite side of the river," one of them said, and she didn’t bother to check who. "She said she came from a professor’s house in the haunted woods. Said there was a town there."

The general looked at her again, this time more intently. "Who are you?"

Eleanor did not respond. She hadn’t managed a single utterance since arriving there. There had actually been a castle, with at least a dozen towers, and it was surrounded by a village bigger than her own neighbourhood back in Stamford, and just as lively. She had gaped at the men and women she had seen, all wearing feudal clothing. The village wasn’t that different from Stamford, with its stone buildings and cramped streets, but there were no pavements, much less cars. There had been a long bridge leading to the castle, and she had stared at the impossibly tall structure, wondering how it had been hidden until then.

"Her name’s Elle, sir," a voice jerked her back to reality.

The general took a step towards her. "Where are you from?" he asked quietly.

His gaze was too sharp to look away from, so she simply spoke the truth. "I’m from Stamford, Lincolnshire. In the East Midlands of England."

He stared for two seconds more. At last, he straightened himself back and said, his voice constrained, "She is an imbecile. Take her away."

She had wanted, until then, nothing more than to leave that room, but she had to let out a puff at the insult. An imbecile? Who was he, and how dare he call her that to her face?

"But, sir," Marco, to her left, came forward. "We must search the woods for the towns she claims there are! There could be hidden sanctuaries from the…"

"The narnians are extinct," the general snarled, his voice echoing through the empty chamber. "We will not waste our resources on a witch hunt based on the maniacal affirmations of a witless girl. Now, if you are done wasting my time, leave."

Eleanor’s mind raced as she was dragged out. Narnians, he had said. Narnians — from Narnia, they must be. She exhaled in relief. This was a dream. She had dreamed of the fantastical land Professor Kirke and the others had described during dinner, and she still hadn’t awoken. Her breakfast in the garden with Edmund had been but a segment of her dream, and all of this was still happening inside her head.

But why couldn’t she wake up?

"What do we do with her, then?" Marco’s voice inquired.

They were back in the entrance courtyard, and the two soldiers had taken her to a stone well, which was right in the centre. Eleanor noticed they looked sullen, any sense of righteousness drained away.

"I suppose," Dante sighed, "we let her go."

Marco buffed. "Fine. You do that, then," he said, then left, crossing the courtyard and disappearing behind one of its arched entrances.

"You’re free to go," Dante told her.

It was the last drop to make her blood boil. She knew this was a dream, but the general had called her witless, an imbecile, and her knees still hurt from wrangling in the woods.

"Free to go?" she countered. "Go where? You brought me all the way here! How am I supposed to get back to the woods? How will I find my way back home?"

"I’m sorry for taking you," he replied. "But the place you claim you come from doesn’t exist. There is nothing beyond those woods! If you stayed there, you would have been killed by some other bear or a worse creature."

"Are you saying I should thank you?"

He stuttered. He had been thinking exactly that.

Eleanor was done with arguing — none of it mattered, anyway, for she would very soon wake up. Before long, she’d rise in her sunlit bedroom in the professor’s house, and she would meet Edmund, Lucy, Eustace and Jill for breakfast, and they would set off to play in the gardens for the rest of the day. Edmund would smile at her, and it would send jitters through her entire body, and she would tuck herself back in her comfortable bed at night, warmed by the memory of him.

But that strange dream carried on, and Dante eventually took her to the kitchens, so she could eat something. She knew it hadn’t actually happened, but she could still taste the sugary remains of the cinnamon biscuits she and Edmund had eaten in the garden, before he’d taken her to the upstairs wardrobe. As soon as she swallowed the first piece of bread one of the kitchen maids had given her, however, her stomach ignited in response, and she devoured the entire thing as fast as she could. Her hunger felt real, and the bread and cheese felt real, but how could any of it possibly be?

"Can’t you take her to the maids’ quarters with you?" Dante was saying to the kitchen maid. "Adelina? As a favour?"

"She’s not a maid, is she?" Adelina hushed back. "Mistress Valencia will not have it."

"Are there no openings? She’ll have nowhere to sleep."

Adelina acquiesced, though grudgingly. "Fine. I’ll see with the mistress. But I can’t promise anything."

Dante smiled, and Adelina smiled back. It was the same hopeless look Eleanor saw in herself whenever she thought of Edmund, and she found it funny that even her fantasies were brimming with yearning passion.

She was apathetic when Adelina took her to the maids’ quarters, where Mistress Valencia — a large, rough woman — alloted her the position of a scullery maid. Adelina told her to be grateful, that Mistress Valencia had graced her with unlikely generosity, but Eleanor remained quiet and detached. It didn’t matter, for it was still a dream, and it would be over soon.

But that night, when she tucked herself into the hard bedding in the crowded room, surrounded by snoring girls and women, she fell asleep. She dreamt of Edmund, as she always did, and she dreamt of the quiet winter in Stamford. She and Edmund had been walking around St. George’s church, with snow floating blissfully around them, when a screaming voice convulsed her awake, dragging her back to the maids’ quarters. There was shouting and yelling, and Mistress Valencia came directly to Eleanor’s bed and slapped her in the face when she refused to follow her command.

The slap rattled her thoughts more than it had burned her cheek. She was sent to scour grimy sandstone floors, and she scrubbed pots and pans until her arms were too sore to do anything but hang on her sides, and she was put to chop vegetables and scale rancid fish. When the day ended, and Eleanor realised she wasn’t waking up anytime soon, she collapsed and sobbed. This was no dream — it was a nightmare, and it was her reality.

Days passed, and the exhausting routine did not change. Eleanor still had no idea what had happened or how, and she could find no answers in the people around her. No one seemed to know the name of England, or London, or even Britain. Instead, they talked of a prince, and houses and their lords, and of a place called Telmar. They called the land Narnia, but they referred to themselves as telmarines, and no one seemed to know or care about what lay in the woods beyond the river.

The cream-coloured dress she had arrived in, which Aunt Doris had sowed for her after her acceptance to King’s College, had disappeared and been replaced by long rags and dirty aprons, and any evidence of her previous life had been erased entirely. At last, Eleanor was forced to come to terms with the idea that she had been abducted to an insane branch of reality, perhaps an isolated, lunatic society that for some reason rejected all the advancements of the twentieth century, instead choosing to live as a realm from the middle ages. She even thought, for a second, that Edmund and Professor Kirke and all of them could have been operators of some kind of an extremist delirious secret society, and this had all been an elaborate plan to kidnap her. But she knew she could never believe such a conspiracy, even if it doomed her, for she couldn’t change her feelings for Edmund.

But when night settled, and Eleanor muffled her cries in the maids’ sleeping quarters, it wasn’t Edmund or the professor’s house that she thought of. It wasn’t even her parents or King’s College that filled her dreams. It was Stamford — Stamford, with its comforting and familiar corners, the streets she knew so well she had its topography memorised. She heard Aunt Doris’ humming along to the radio, and she heard Uncle Rupert’s harmonious snoring. She pictured Birdie’s smile, she lingered on the feeling of them walking with interlocked arms, she conjured the smell of leather from Mr. Radcliffe’s shoe shop. She made the way from her house to Mr. Taylor’s shop in her head over and over again, until she fell asleep. And, when she awoke, she knew she had to find her way back to them somehow.

Five days had already passed when Eleanor finally ran into Dante again. She had been crossing a first-floor corridor with one water-filled bucket in each hand, and he had been making the opposite way. She would always scan the face of every soldier she met at the castle, looking for him, and she dropped the buckets in joy when she recognised the man.

"Dante," she called, running towards him. "Oh, thank goodness! I have been looking for you!"

He seemed pleasantly surprised. "You have?"

"Yes. Look, I… I need to get back to the woods. But I’d need someone to escort me, to help me get there, and I was hoping you’d be that person."

His face fell. "I already told you," he said, "there’s nothing in those woods. You know we’re not even supposed to be crossing the river, and for good reason."

"But I…"

"It’s for your own good, alright? Believe me."

"But…"

"It’s for your own good, Elle," he said once more, already walking away.

She watched him leave in silence. He was no gentleman, and he was no friend of hers. She had no friends in that cold, monstrous castle, and everyday it felt more and more like a prison.

Eleanor understood she’d have to escape by herself. She began exploring as many floors and as many towers as she could, mapping each tunnel in her head, memorising every procedure and pattern she would come across. One day, after she spied on a recipe the cook was following and told him he had forgotten to add the eggs, the revelation of her literacy spread until it reached Mistress Valencia, and Eleanor rose in the maids’ rankings. She began to be sent to the village with an errands list, which mostly consisted of shopping for specialties or sending kitchen items to be repaired, and she utilised that time to explore the surroundings. Whenever she reached the village’s entrance, facing the vastness of land around it, she was tempted to make a run right there and then. But the ride from the river to the castle had been long, and she knew she’d soon be lost or dead without the proper resources.

One day, on her way back from the village, she stopped by the stables to take a look at the horses, and how well guarded they were. She made conversation with the head groom, asking of his practices as if she was simply curious, and realised it would be easy enough to steal a horse at night, when the stables were empty. She then began to visit them every time she returned from the village, hoping the animals would get accustomed to her.

She also wanted a weapon of sorts — Dante’s warnings had not been dismissed by her, and she still remembered the black bear’s gaze on her. The armoury was not as easily accessible as the stables, so she planned a visit in the small hours, when guards were still half asleep. She took a bucket and a mop with her, hoping it would cover her if she happened to be caught.

There was a guard at the entrance, but he didn’t look at her twice as she waltzed in, feigning casualness. Her heart had been racing, and she stopped to breathe once she was alone inside. The armoury was immense; the first chamber featuring rows of hanged armour pieces, which lined all over the lanky walls. She roamed, bucket and mop in hand, through the corridors of displayed weaponry, until she came across the swords collection. They were those available for the common guards, she assumed, for they all shared the exact same measurements. She continued her evaluation until she found the smaller weapons, and her sight was immediately drawn to a sleek, long dagger. It was about the size of her forearm, with a leather hilt, and she thought she would find it easy to hide inside her dress. She took it, feeling the grip on her hands, and swooshed it. It certainly felt safer, but she was unsure whether she’d ever be actually able to defend herself with it.

"I hope you’re not planning to use that around the castle," a voice told her, and she jumped in place.

There was a soldier in the room, and he looked at her humorously. He wore training gear, and he had dark, tousled hair framing his face somewhat elegantly.

She put the dagger back to its place. "Oh, sorry, sir," she excused herself. "I… curiosity got the best of me, I suppose."

A smile creeped on his face. "I understand. I used to do the same when I was a kid. Though I at least managed to never get caught."

"Right," she chuckled nervously. "I hope you won’t tell on me, then."

He bowed his head. "Your secret’s safe with me."

She thanked him, smiling and bowing back tensely, and scattered out of the room in hurried steps. Once she found herself back in an empty corridor, she tumbled the broom and mop on the floor, and took a moment to regulate her breathing. It had been a close call — too close — and she had barely kept it together. How could she hope to escape from the castle, with all of its heavy security, if she couldn’t even sneak into an armoury to swipe a small dagger?

That evening, she tried finishing her work as soon as she could, eager to return to the safety of her bed at the maids’ quarters. She had been on her way back from the bathhouse when Mistress Valencia surrounded her, with her constant displeased scowl.

"Come with me," she simply said, turning and walking away, so Eleanor followed her.

The mistress said nothing further, and Eleanor knew better than to inquire. She worried in silence, scouring through the prospects of what could possibly be happening, and she feared the soldier had not been faithful to his word, had ratted her out. Mistress Valencia led her to the northern towers, where she and the lowliest maids were never allowed at, and Eleanor began distressing herself with the idea that she would be taken to some kind of torture chamber. She had learned about the most barbarous and atrocious mediaeval torture mechanisms in school, a lifetime ago, and her legs trembled as she contemplated them as a possible future.

They stopped at a simple wooden door, in a windowless corridor. It opened to reveal a cramped bedroom, with room only for a single bed and a desk. There was a tall candle on top of it.

"These are your new quarters," Mistress Valencia announced.

Eleanor’s eyes widened, and she took a step in.

"There was an opening for a lady’s maid," she continued. "You will be answering to the Lady Prunaprismia directly, starting tomorrow. Someone will come fetch you here at first light, and they will walk you through your new schedule."

Mistress Valencia then left, without any final greetings, and Eleanor was left in her new bedroom.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2303

Life as one of Lady Prunaprismia’s maids was significantly easier than that of a scullery maid, Eleanor concluded after only two days. Mornings started early, as she had to bring Lady Prunaprismia her breakfast, draw her bath, and help her get dressed for the day; but afterwards her duties slowed a great amount. Lady Prunaprismia was very far along in her pregnancy, and she preferred to keep to her quarters. Eleanor learned she had been solicited specifically for that position for her literacy, since the lady liked being read to aloud before her afternoon time of rest, in which she would sleep for an hour or two. In the meantime, Eleanor would work on a garment that needed mending, or she could even take some time for herself.

Lady Prunaprismia was the daughter of Lord Scythley and wife to Lord Miraz, the Lord Protector, though she couldn’t have been six or seven years older than Eleanor herself. She was very thorough with the precision of her execution on tasks, never accepting anything below her own standard, but she didn’t demand anything additional. On the third day, after they were finished with the book they had been reading, she told Eleanor to fetch another from the library, and she even disclaimed Eleanor could borrow one for herself, if she wished to. Eleanor beamed as she drew the curtains closed and left the lady to her resting, excited for her leisure time.

The library was only two sets of stairs below her. It was adjoined to a professor’s study, she learned, but the door remained perpetually open. Still, as she spied tentatively from the corridor, she leaned only enough to knock twice.

"Come in," a voice sounded from inside, and she obeyed.

It was only a small antichamber, lined with bookshelves on both sides. Even Professor Kirke’s private library had been bigger, with twenty times the amount of books, but Eleanor felt sheltered either way. The smell of leather and old paper were as familiar as ever, and she knew this had been the closest she had been to home ever since arriving in that terrifying castle. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine herself back in her old school at Stamford, back when she was a girl with big dreams of moving to London and studying at King’s College, though it was hard to remember the feeling. Everything from her past life now seemed as a dream she had made up in her head, and the loss of the clothes she had arrived in — the only evidence she’d once had of another world — cemented those memories as only foolish fantasies.

"May I help you?"

Eleanor jumped. She turned to her right, where a few stairs descended into a smaller, bright corner. There was a round table, stacked with books and parchment rolls, and surrounded by an arc of narrow windows. The voice had come from an old man, who had stood up to greet her. He was short and had a long, grey beard, and glasses balanced on the puff of his cheeks. Eleanor smiled, thinking he looked a bit like some scholarly version of Father Christmas.

"Hello," she said, taking a step towards him. She noticed there was someone else sitting at the table, his head bent over some book, dark hair falling in front of his face. "I am Lady Prunaprismia’s new maid. She said I could find books to borrow here."

"Of course," the old man answered. "I am Doctor Cornelius, the prince’s tutor. Now, what kind of book would her ladyship like? I remember she asked for shorter stories the last time she came here, but that was over a moon ago, and her tastes have ever constantly changed since the condition of her pregnancy."

Doctor Cornelius showed her to the closest shelf, where he pointed to the novels the lady had already liked, and the ones she hadn’t. Eleanor felt her eyes tear up as she admired the leather-bound editions, ecstatic to even be close to something she loved so much. The maid’s life had stripped her of her past vanity, leaving her bare and with only the fulfilment of human necessities, such as eating and sleeping, to bring her some joy. Whenever she thought of her bedroom at Aunt Doris’ house, which at the time she dismissed as plain and pitiable, she’d burst into tears, frustrated by her own past shallowness.

"Miss?"

She realised Doctor Cornelius had asked her something, for he looked at her expectantly.

"Forgive me, I didn’t even ask your name," he said.

"Elle," she blurted. The maids had all taken to calling her that, since Dante’s introduction on that first day, and she had grown somewhat accustomed to it. She liked, as well, the idea of embracing a different name, so she could pretend this was simply a role she was playing, a character whose life she had stepped into, but only momentarily. Elle, the maid — only a shadow of who she truly was. Nora, the girl with the promising future, would remain hidden and safe, until Eleanor could return to her.

"Elle," he repeated, crinkling around the eyes. "Pleased to meet you."

"You, as well."

"Would this one do?"

She noticed he had been explaining the contents of one of the books, to which she had not paid any attention, so she simply nodded. He plucked it out of the shelf and placed it carefully in her hands.

"Anything else I might assist you with?"

She gazed at the lined copies. Where would she even begin? "Lady Prunaprismia said I could borrow a book for myself, as well. If that would not be a problem, of course."

Doctor Cornelius seemed surprised, and he looked at her with greater interest now. "Of course. Did you have anything in mind?"

Eleanor had been about to answer negatively, when something sprang in her mind. "History," she said. "Do you have any history books? I would like to know more about… our past."

He redirected her to the opposite shelf, where he began recommending a number of works. Eleanor felt a rush through her entire body — why hadn’t she thought of that before? Of course, she hadn’t had much time to spare, but this was the best solution to her problem. She had to learn further about that strange place and whatever strange beliefs they had, so she could better plan out her escape.

She already cradled three heavy books in her arms when the professor led her back to the round table, in pursuit of some specific paper he thought she’d like. When they approached it, the boy, who had previously been too busy to be bothered, now raised his head to them.

Eleanor’s face contorted in shock and recognition. "You," escaped out of her.

It was the soldier who had caught her in the armoury, days before. But he bore an elegant tunic this time, with intricate embroideries all around the collar and the sleeves, which made him look a lot more graceful.

"You," he replied, though he sounded entertained.

Later, she regarded the professor’s intervention as a blessing, for it probably saved her from the worst of punishments. "Have you met the prince?" he said, gesturing to the boy.

Her distress enabled her from reacting for a second, though she quickly made sure to bow. "Your… Highness," she guessed, unsure what the proper title would even be. She thought, at least, that her confusion was fit for her position as a simple maid.

The prince seemed kind enough. "We met very briefly the other day," he told his tutor.

"Yes," she was eager to agree.

"Speaking of which, have you had any further advances in your… pursuit?"

Eleanor hoped her face remained neutral, though she felt her cheeks burn. "No. But I appreciate your concern. Your Grace. Sir."

Doctor Cornelius, who seemed puzzled by the interaction, then went forward to show Eleanor the paper he’d told her about. She was eager to indulge to his attention, for she was still too embarrassed to face the prince, and she looked to where he pointed. But this time something else caught her attention, and she blinked to believe her eyes.

There was a map, sprawled open right in front of her, and it showed all the surroundings of the castle. They were inside a continent of sorts, since there was sea to the east, though the drawings stopped there. The castle was further above the riverbank, closest to the northern mountains, and there was only the town of Beruna nearby. The rest of the land was depicted as either water, pines, or peaks. Could the whole place be barren? Or did those people simply not know what lay around them?

But those were questions for another time; she didn’t like the prince knowing she was studying the map, even if he seemed kind hearted. She thanked Doctor Cornelius for the books once again, and left his study hurriedly.

She had just reached the end of the hall when she heard footsteps running to her, and she turned to find the prince bringing her a roll in his hand.

"Here," he said, as soon as he reached her. "You forgot this one."

She took it, instinctively bowing her head. "Thank you."

He smiled, nodding to the pile in her arms. "Seems like you’ve gathered yourself even more homework than me."

She let out a chuckle. Was this the first friendly interaction she’d had, since arriving there?

"I also wanted to say," he continued, "I didn’t mean to tease you just now at the study. I wouldn’t want you to be fearful about it later."

Eleanor blinked. "Of course," she managed to say. "You need not worry about me. Sir. Your Highness."

He looked amused. "You can call me Caspian."

She pressed her lips. "I don’t think I should," she whispered.

"I won’t tell if you don’t," he said, winking discreetly, and left before she could answer. She stared at the curve of where he had disappeared into until the books in her arms began to pull on her back, then made her way back to her bedroom.

That night, she read the first of Doctor Cornelius’ books until her candle died out, and after that she roamed the floor until she found a moonlit window to read next to. She only went to sleep when she finished it, and she applied the same strategy to the next one the following evening.

The books mostly told the stories of Prince Caspian’s ancestors and their dynasties. All of them referred to the Telmarine conquest of Narnia, which had been about half a dozen centuries prior, but neither went into those details. They narrated it as if the telmarines had simply ventured into deserted lands, with no inhabitants but wild beasts and ferocious creatures. Still, Eleanor remembered what the general had said, that first day: that narnians were extinct. She wondered if he had been simply referring to animal species, or if the country had once been populated by people as well. 

Either way, the books did very little to help Eleanor understand what exactly was this new world she had been confined to. She’d been slowly accepting the idea that the stories told at Professor Kirke’s house about Narnia had been true, even the most improbable parts, for things she’d never even dream of happening had already happened to her. But this didn’t seem at all like the Narnia she had been told about, the one with fauns and nature spirits and walking trees.

She returned to Doctor Cornelius’ study to return the volumes she had borrowed and, hopefully, exchange them for more helpful ones. After the first week of visits, he began inviting her to join Caspian in his lessons, which she profusely refused to. It was only upon further insistence from the duo that she began to sit at a corner to read by herself, and she would eventually join them on their discussions. They studied similar things to what she had at school, though Doctor Cornelius was a lot gentler in his manners than her old professor, Mr. O'Conry. He never shouted or showed any disappointment if she said something wrong, and he seemed to take pleasure in helping her and Caspian get to their own correct conclusions, assisting only when necessary.

She settled into this new routine even more effortlessly, and guilt consumed her whenever she realised how content she was in it. What was she doing, finding joy in her imprisonment? She was supposed to be working towards an escape, not making friends. She was supposed to be trying to get back to her life, her real life in England, with her aunt, uncle, Birdie, and Edmund. But even their faces had begun to blur in her memory, and she’d weep at night trying to remember the feel of Edmund’s skin on hers. She tried conjuring the warmth of their interlocked arms under the summer sun, but all she could recall was the faint taste of mint. And when she’d muffle her face in her asperous pillow, she couldn’t recall the burn of his hand on hers — passing the grocery bags, or dancing in the living room —, only the melody of the music that had played on the radio that Christmas night.

A month had passed since she’d arrived in Narnia when Eleanor marched into the professor’s study, resolute in finding anything useful for her getaway. She hadn’t inquired further on the map since that first day, but she knew she couldn’t wait for a second opportunity to present itself.

She found the place vacant, and quickly set off to snoop around the works he usually kept to himself. There were notebooks and parchment rolls in a cupboard, and she took a few to the desk so she could skim through them. They all seemed to be illegible scribbles, and she sighed as she put them back. She then went through the desk’s drawers, where she found a red leather notebook with a metal clasp on front. She had been ruminating on how to open the lock when she realised the cover had a debossed picture engraved on it, almost too subtle for noticing in the dim light, but the figure was perfectly clear. It was a lion, staring directly at her, and she dropped the notebook in stupor.

"Miss Elle?"

She jumped to find Doctor Cornelius a few feet away from her, and she knew her stance gave away the misconduct of her intentions. He identified the red leather notebook, which now lay on the floor, and seemed to grasp what had happened in the same second.

"I take it you were going through my belongings," he said, in a coldness she never would have been able to imagine herself.

Eleanor was too paralysed by remorse, and all she had the courage to do was to keep meeting his eyes.

"Was it your lady who sent you on this endeavour? Or was it her husband, perhaps?" he inquired.

Her frown came too quickly for her to disguise it. "Lord Miraz?" she asked. She had met, of course, Lady Prunaprismia’s husband, but he had never directed word to her. In fact, he seemed bothered whenever Eleanor came into their room, even if she was simply performing her duties, as if she was a fruit fly they couldn’t be rid of. "No, I… I was curious. I shouldn’t have meddled. I’m sorry."

The old professor did not respond, so she bowed her head and circled around him towards the door. But, before she walked out, she halted.

"Professor?"

She looked back to find him holding the notebook she had dropped.

"The drawing on the cover," she said. "Is that Aslan?"

He looked as if he was about to drop the notebook himself, though he didn’t. Instead, he took two steps towards her, gawking at her with enormous eyes. "What did you say?" he murmured.

So it was true. The tales Professor Kirke had told her, the evening before she had departed, were they all real? The magic rings, the talking beasts and the walking trees?

"Aslan," she repeated, standing taller, growing confident with his terrified reaction. "The creator of Narnia."

"Where did you learn that name?"

"Stories."

Doctor Cornelius rushed past her and closed the door. "You mustn’t talk of such stories," he hissed urgently. "The Lord Protector won’t like it. He has forbidden them."

"But…"

He still had one hand holding the door when they heard knocking, and the two of them jerked at the same time.

"That must be the prince," Doctor Cornelius said.

He went to allow Caspian inside, who greeted them with oblivious jollity, and they began setting the desk for class. Eleanor noticed the professor holding the notebook on his back until he secured it back to the drawer. She kept standing near the entrance, not knowing how else to proceed.

"Are you not joining us today, Elle?" Caspian asked.

"Miss Elle has other duties to attend to," Doctor Cornelius answered for her. She simply nodded in agreement.

"Oh," Caspian replied, sounding almost disappointed.

"But I was thinking she could join us for our astronomy lessons later tonight," he continued. "If you would like, Miss Elle, I believe it would be of your interest."

He looked at her significantly, so once again she nodded.

"Meet us at the eastern tower staircase," he said. "At midnight."

His tone was final. Eleanor then excused herself out of the room and hurried back to her dormitory, where she shut herself to recollect these developments. She was glad Doctor Cornelius hadn’t seemed too vexed on her prying, though she had no idea why his next reaction had been to invite her to astronomy lessons. She would attend, either way, for his and Caspian’s friendship was not one she had the luxury of losing.

That night, she dressed herself back in her everyday clothing and waited in the appointed spot. She had arrived early, too anxious to do anything but pace in circles, until finally two figures became clear in the distance. Caspian and his tutor wore capes, and the prince brought a spare in his arms.

"It does get cold up there, even at this time of year," he explained.

They climbed for what seemed like half an hour. There were at least six sets of stairs, and there were more doors and passages than Eleanor was able to count. The way was intricate and confusing, though the two followed it with naturality, and she only wondered how often they made it. Finally, they reached the roof.

The night was clearer than any she had ever seen in England. Stars danced around the dark sky like sparks crackling from a fire, and the haste of water hummed somewhere nearby. She could see the river, which she now knew was called the Great River of Narnia, still and glistening of moonlight. It was a sight so beautiful she was forced to question, for a second, why she even wanted to flee it.

"Elle," Doctor Cornelius called, once they had all settled comfortably on the floor. "I’m sure you are wondering why we invited you here in the first place."

She breathed deeply, bracing herself for his next words.

"I have brought the prince here for a couple of years now, so that we can speak more freely. This is one of the few places around the castle where we cannot be overheard, and these are such conversations we do not want to be overheard."

Eleanor glanced at Caspian, but he looked at her earnestly. "The professor tells me stories of the Old Narnia," he said. "Tales my uncle does not allow."

She understood then. "Of… Aslan?" she asked.

Doctor Cornelius nodded. "Of the time, long ago, before the telmarines arrived in Narnia. You have heard stories, I believe."

"Yes," she replied. "I heard… the story of how Narnia was created. Of… how he sang the world into existence, and how he chose animals to talk, and trees to walk." She forced her mind to drift back to Professor Kirke’s dinner table, and she almost heard the echoes of their laughter. "I’ve heard that there were fauns, centaurs, dragons… nature spirits…"

Caspian and Doctor Cornelius smiled pleasantly.

"You have heard correctly," the professor said. "Despite what Miraz will have us all believe, Narnia used to be a place for all of these creatures. Until, centuries ago, the first King Caspian, the conqueror, seized the land from them and drove them into either banishment or extinction."

Eleanor saw Caspian grimace on her side. "Are they all dead now?" she asked somberly.

"They might be, though there is still hope they are hiding somewhere in the woods. After all, they would know that Lord Miraz does not want them here."

She frowned, trying to make sense of it. Edmund and the others had not mentioned anything about telmarines, nor about the extinction of narnians. If this was all true, and she had been transported to the same world they had once ruled, then their times must have been centuries ago.

"But there were kings," she said, "and queens. Who ruled the Old Narnia. Were there not?"

"There were. The first king and queen of Narnia, who were crowned by Aslan himself, had a number of children who ruled after them. The last kings and queens, of what we call the Golden Age, disappeared right before the telmarines arrived."

"Oh, tell Elle this story," Caspian urged. "Of the White Witch’s defeat."

Doctor Cornelius turned to her. "Would you like to hear it?"

She felt as if she had been asked that before. "Yes, please."

And so the professor told her of a dark age in Narnia’s past, when an evil witch had declared herself the queen of all land, and had doomed the country into an eternal winter. He told her of a prophecy, of the four children who came to fulfil it, and how they won the war against her. They had ruled for fifteen years, he said, until they one day disappeared, leaving no trace behind. Narnia was left in chaos, and that was when the telmarines invaded.

When he was done, they stared at Eleanor expectantly, but she couldn’t even begin to find her words. It was Edmund’s story they had just told. It was his name they had introduced, his and his siblings’. And so it was true, and everything made more sense than ever — she had stumbled into Narnia through Professor Kirke’s wardrobe, just as the four siblings had once done, but much more time had passed. They had ruled in the past, and she was imprisoned in their future.

Though, as she watched the night sky, she didn’t feel so confined anymore. The knowledge that she lived in a world where Edmund, too, had once existed comforted her like a warm blanket, and she nestled in this idea until she could almost feel his presence. She focused on the stars above her. Those were not the same stars she had fallen for Edmund under, yet they echoed his voice, carried his warmth, mimicked his smile. He had once lived under those same skies, and she would treasure them as if the wishes he might have made to the heavens still lingered between the clouds.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2303

Eleanor’s days began to be consumed by stories, and so were her nights. She would read to Lady Prunaprismia under the sunlight, and she heard the tales of Old Narnia under the stars. When she lay in bed, she would dream of Edmund, though even those fantasies had already begun to take place in Narnia — she would envision him in sumptuous garments, a sword to his side, and wearing a silver crown like the one the professor had described.

Now that she knew the true history behind the telmarines’ occupation of Narnia, she took more and more interest in their politics. She hadn’t questioned it earlier, but it seemed strange that Miraz and Prunaprismia kept very little contact with Caspian, who was their only nephew. But even the two had an odd relationship of their own; Eleanor noticed every morning was an enigma as to how close they would be. Sometimes they would be in each other’s arms, exchanging murmurs and loving glances, other times they would part for the day without a farewell. On those days, her lady would sulk and complain about her food, or she would torment Eleanor over some imperfection in her dress.

Eleanor knew she would be having one of those mornings when she arrived at the lady’s quarters to find her already up, dressing herself.

"Fallen out of bed today, have you?" Lady Prunaprismia uttered as she entered. Eleanor knew she was on time, as usual, but she bowed and muttered apologies, rushing to finish the wrappings of her clothes.

Prunaprismia discarded her breakfast after only one bite, then went back to bed groaning from cramps. Eleanor rushed to the kitchens for hot water for heating towels, and when she returned she found the lady bent on one of the sides, hovering over a pool of vomit.

"My lady," Eleanor cried, dropping the water kettle and running towards her. "Are you sick? I’ll call for the physician…"

The lady, however, was too deep in her own misery to have heard her. "Oh, this can’t be happening," she wailed, her eyes expelling water violently, her face glowing in crimson. "I can’t lose this one…"

Eleanor ran to the hall and ushered the closest guard to get Doctor Gaius. She then tried to convince Prunaprismia to lie back in bed, though the woman kept sobbing desperately.

"You’ll be fine, my lady," she kept repeating, knowing her empty words only echoed across the room.

"He won’t forgive me," she bawled. "This was our last chance…"

"It’s only morning sickness," Eleanor tried argumenting.

"I’m too far along the pregnancy for morning sickness," Prunaprismia retorted. "This is not right. Oh, this can’t be happening… Not now, please, not now. Oh, I was so close…"

Doctor Gaius finally arrived, and he took over tending to the suffering woman. Eleanor helped with providing towels and rags, and she mopped the floors clean. The physician, thankfully, was able to convince Prunaprismia that her sickness had been exactly that, and she was not to worry about her baby. She smiled, relieved, though her face was still marked with the trails of tears.

"Do you think it will be a boy?" she whispered, and Eleanor thought she didn’t sound like the Lord Protector’s wife at all — she sounded like a girl, shaken and anxious.

The physician simply patted her hand affirmingly. "You will have a very healthy baby," he said.

She had whined back, but Doctor Gaius gave her tea that would help her rest, and Eleanor kept company to the dozing woman for the rest of the day. She left only when Miraz came back at night, and she noticed Prunaprismia mentioned nothing of her affliction, greeting her husband with a perfectly ordinary smile instead.

She thought of asking Caspian in the next class they had together at the professor’s study, but she wouldn't even know where to start. Besides, she was only a maid, and she had no business inquiring about the royal family's private affairs.

Still, as days passed and curiosity only grew more aggravating, she gave in to it. It was another midnight they were spending on top of the Great Tower, and Doctor Cornelius was telling them the story of a king of Archenland and his two twin sons. At that point, Eleanor was still hearing those tales for the first time, but Caspian seemed to know them all by heart. He would often interject with some detail his tutor might have left out, or to express his own opinions on the matters.

"I think Aravis was one of the finest rulers from the Old Days," he said, his eyes set on the sky above. "It must have been very difficult for her to desert her own country, and yet she did what was right. I hope I can be like her when I am king."

At times like these, Eleanor was reminded that the boy in front of her was merely months away from his own ascension to the throne. And yet he looked hopelessly young, his soul too buoyant, his heart too tender.

"With Aslan’s guidance, we will find the courage in our hearts to do the right thing when it is required of us," Doctor Cornelius replied. Eleanor thought his look lingered on her for a second too long, but it was gone before she could interpret it.

"I wish my uncle had not been so frightened of the Old Narnia. But I suppose it will not be too late to search for narnians in the woods during my reign."

"Let us hope not," the professor sighed.

"Why do you think he is so frightened?" Eleanor asked.

Caspian shook his head, still entranced by the stars.

"Some people are fearful of what they don’t comprehend," Doctor Cornelius answered instead. "Or what they can’t control."

She thought back to the war that had just taken place in Europe, and all the atrocities that had taken place in it. The professor seemed to have a valid point. "Was he always like this?" she asked.

"Yes. When I was younger, I had a nurse who told me tales of the Old Narnia, which she had heard from her mother in her childhood. When he found out I was, in his words, being fed these ridiculous fables, he sent her away. I have not seen her since."

"I’m sorry," was all she could think of to respond. Caspian was only a year younger than her, orphaned and lonesome as well, but with the weight of a kingdom to inherit. "What about your parents?"

"I don’t remember too much of them. My father died when I was seven, and my mother did not long outlive him."

There was nothing left for Eleanor to say, so she remained quiet. They redirected their contemplation to the nature around them, until the old professor wiggled himself up, saying he was cold and tired. Caspian declared he would stay for a bit longer, and Eleanor decided to keep him company. For a while, they only stared through the night.

"Do you think they can hear us?" Caspian said quietly.

"The stars?"

He nodded. "The professor knows all of their names. He says the stars protect our past and foresee our future."

A breeze blew through them, and Eleanor’s hairs all rose. The shivers brought back the memory of Edmund, and she could almost feel the touch of his skin on hers — fiery, incandescent, scorching.

 "I like the idea that they’re listening," she admitted. "It makes us feel less alone."

He chuckled very softly. "I always thought so, too. I used to… talk to them when I was younger. They never talked back, of course, but… I felt like they still watched over me."

She smiled. "I think they do."

They only returned inside when they were on the verge of falling asleep. That night, Eleanor dreamed of her mother, and she glowed and tended to her, cradling her as she used to.

The following days were so exhausting Eleanor couldn’t join Caspian and Doctor Cornelius in their midnight excursions. As Lady Prunaprismia approached the final weeks of her pregnancy, she needed more and more assistance on her daily activities, though she had no additional episodes like the one Eleanor had witnessed. Eight days had passed since her conversation with Caspian when Eleanor was finally rested enough to stay up, but, when she reached the roof, she found Doctor Cornelius waiting by himself.

"Good evening," she said, "is Caspian not joining us tonight?"

"He was fatigued from his sword training today," he responded. "But I was hoping we could talk."

Eleanor frowned, unsure why the professor would want to confer with her privately, but she nodded.

He took a deep sigh before he began. "Miss Elle… You have been a very good friend to the prince, and I can see you care about him deeply. Am I correct?"

"Yes," she replied, perplexed, though it was true. He and the professor had been her only friends since arriving in Narnia, and time spent with them was the one thing that excited her in that world.

"I do, as well," he said, "but I am afraid the Lord Protector, his uncle, does not."

She agreed, but she waited for him to continue. She knew they were about to enter dangerous territories, truthful as they may be, and she was reminded this was a mediaeval setting, and treason was not generally well received.

Doctor Cornelius removed his glasses to rub the inner corner of his eyes. He looked even older without them, and very, very tired. "I remember the days of the late king’s ruling," he murmured. "Caspian IX, the prince’s father. The woods were not considered haunted then, and you could almost sense one or other spirit of nature. Almost. I believe he would have been a friend of Narnia, had his reign been long enough.

"But, as we know, he had quite the untimely demise. And, while none of us were there to understand the true circumstances of his passing, there are rumours… whispers exchanged in the servants’ quarters… which suggest Miraz was somewhat involved."

Eleanor remained expressionless. Doctor Cornelius looked at her expectantly, and she realised the idea did not surprise her at all. Had she already suspected it, deep down? Or had she testified enough of Miraz’s ruthlessness to so easily accept such a theory?

"Do you believe he murdered his own brother?" she muttered.

"I do."

"Does Caspian know? Or… wonder, at least?"

"The prince has too kind of a heart to assume such a terrible thing. Even if his uncle has never shown him any sign of love for him, or even affection."

Her chest ached for the prince. How could such a gentle spirit ever deserve a fate so cruel?

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

Doctor Cornelius was as serious as she had ever seen him, and she regretted asking such a question — whatever followed, she knew, would shift all of her prospects in Narnia, and the life she had become accustomed to.

"I fear for the prince’s safety," he said at last, "if the Lady Prunaprismia gives birth to a son."

Eleanor closed her eyes and breathed. She, too, had dreaded the exact same thing all along. She had never admitted it to herself, for admitting it would be giving her concern a name, a shape, a body. But it had become harder to delude herself as the date for the lady’s labour neared, and Prunaprismia showed growing anxiety on the gender of her baby, and Miraz offered more attention to his wife’s belly than her own face.

"Do you think Miraz will try to…" 

She could not complete the sentence. Doctor Cornelius agreed silently.

"So…"

"I have crafted a plan," he announced. "A desperate, rash plan, but I’m afraid it is all we are able to do at this point. I have stalled for too long, perhaps still trying to hold on to the idea that I might be wrong. Perhaps I just… wanted him to remain a boy for as long as he could. But it is no use, and we have run out of time."

We , the professor had said. "What plan?" she asked.

"We must sneak the prince out of the castle. He shall take shelter in the woods, where he could try and find vestiges of narnians who might still be in hiding, and he could try and awaken the spirits and trees."

"Those woods are dangerous," she countered. "And what if there are no more narnians? What if he finds nothing but quiet trees and wild beasts?"

"There is a second part to this plan. You see, I… I spent many years searching for evidence of the Old Narnia, and very rarely did I find anything. But there is one thing that I have found, which might be the key to our plan succeeding. Queen Susan’s horn."

Eleanor still found it unsettling to hear those names. Susan, the sibling who lived in America, in a world of cars and planes and television — here she was a mythological figure from the past, their long lost royalty. "How will her horn help us?"

"It is said, in a time of great need, the horn will bring help to whoever blew on it. There are rumours that it could even summon the Great Lion himself."

"Aslan?" She shook her head. It seemed like the professor’s plan was simply to send Caspian for the woods and hope for the best. She believed in the stories of Old Narnia, for she had arrived at this world thanks to some form of magic, yet since then she hadn’t seen anything that might indicate such power still existed. She couldn’t help but worry they would simply be sending Caspian to be eaten by wolves or bears, or to be hunted and then executed by Miraz’s soldiers.

"I said it was a desperate plan," he excused himself. "But I fear it’s the only one we have. If the prince stays at the castle, he will be assassinated."

She knew he was right, and still it didn’t make the plan seem any less insane.

"You must accompany him. I cannot go myself, for I am not as agile, and I might compromise the escape. But Caspian should not go alone."

He looked at her so hopelessly, so pleadingly, she didn’t find it in her heart to turn him down. Was her life doomed, either way? If she fled with Caspian, she would be at risk of being captured and executed by the telmarines; if she stayed, she would see him murdered, and she would be left to waste her days away under Miraz’s unforgiving rule.

She had been despairing over her own tragedy when she realised there was a third option, a better one, an ideal solution. Hadn’t this been her desire all along? With Caspian, she had greater chances of crossing the river and exploring the woods, finding the lamppost and locating the passage back to Professor Kirke’s wardrobe. She might, at last, go home — to England, to her friends, to her family. To Edmund.

Home. The word hovered inside her, warming her every cell, defrosting the fantasy she had almost given up on. She could go home. She could dream of London and King’s College again. She could hope for lovely days with Lucy and Edmund by her side, and she could long for the time she would hear Birdie’s laugh once more. She would return to her bedroom at Stamford, and she would eat Aunt Doris’ cooking again, and she would hug Uncle Rupert by and by.

"Alright," she finally said. "How do we do this?"

Eleanor and Doctor Cornelius stayed at the roof for another hour discussing the details for the escape. They decided it would happen in three days’ time, so they had a stretch to arrange everything. Eleanor would gather provisions from the kitchens, small portions each time so as to not raise suspicion, and the professor would brew concoctions to send the guards into a peaceful slumber. They would not alert Caspian beforehand, since they didn’t want to risk him deciding to challenge his uncle instead. They would sneak him out in the quiet of the night, and Eleanor would explain everything once they were safe and out of the castle.

When she lay in bed for her final night, she felt almost sentimental, for it was all about to change. Of course she wasn’t particularly fond of her maid’s life, though it was still eerie to think the routine she had grown used to would be forever gone the next day.

It felt like she had just reached unconsciousness when sudden knocks at her door jolted her awake. They were forceful, urgent. Her mind swarmed with anxiety. Had something happened to the professor? Had something happened to Caspian? She changed, as quickly as she could, and answered it.

But there was a strange soldier on the other side of the door, and he simply grabbed her arm and began dragging her across the hall. "The lady is calling for you," was all he said.

She was hurried to Lady Prunaprismia’s quarters, and she heard yelling before she had even reached the room.

Prunaprismia was on all fours on her bed, crouched and tugging at the sheets in agony. She screamed, her face red and bloated, and two midwives ran around her, pressing towels on her or murmuring words of encouragement. The physician, Doctor Gaius, was occupied with a set of tools, and Eleanor shrieked at the sight of long, silver scissors.

It was chaos, and Eleanor was shouted at with instructions. She followed them instinctively, though her mind raced through the crumbling of their plans. They had run out of time — Lady Prunaprismia would be giving birth that night, and by then it would be too late. She needed to get out of there, to get to Doctor Cornelius or Caspian, but everyone seemed to be ordering her around, and she couldn’t just walk away without raising suspicions.

When Doctor Gaius lifted Prunaprismia’s robes to check on her crowning, Eleanor finally found her excuse, though it was hardly intentional. Her stomach churned on itself, and she turned and hurled her dinner on the ground. In the next second, one of the midwives was hollering at her, and she overperformed her sickness until she was shooed away.

She still didn’t feel all of her legs as she darted through the castle’s corridors, despairing thoughts rushing through her mind. Miraz had not been in the room — had he already abducted Caspian? She pressed on as quickly as she could, her heart barely keeping up. She ran straight for the prince’s quarters, for it would have been a detour to stop by the professor’s study.

But there was a knocked up guard by the entrance, snoring with an open mouth, and no one answered when she called. She was able to breathe deeply as she realised the two must already have been on their way to the escape.

She took the servants’ shortcut to the armoury, and there were two more sleeping guards on its door. She rushed past them to find the room empty, though she made sure to grab the dagger she had once eyed and hold it tightly. She was on her way to the stables when she finally caught up with two murmuring voices, and she at last met Caspian and Doctor Cornelius.

"Oh, thank goodness," she cried. "How did you hear?"

The two seemed relieved to see her, though they did not stop moving. "It was a stroke of luck, I suppose," the professor answered. "I woke up to a terrible roaring sound. I went to roam the halls to check, and that was when I heard the turmoil which surrounded the lady’s quarters."

They reached the stables, which were unlocked and unguarded, and Caspian went straight for his horse. Eleanor went for the one next to it, and they cinched the saddles and pulled the animals towards the patio. They spied two men guarding the gates, and another two roaming the second floor balconies.

"Do you have any more of those sleeping draughts?" Eleanor asked.

"I’ve run out of them," the professor admitted. "I’ll cause a distraction."

He did not wait for them to respond, disappearing in the next second. Eleanor and Caspian simply looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed. She thought he looked shaken, and even wearing armour he looked more like a child than ever.

After what seemed like only a minute, there was a loud noise, and they turned to watch a window exploding on the opposite side of the gate. Every guard abandoned their post to run towards it. Flames had begun to spread over it, and Eleanor had no time to be shocked at Doctor Cornelius’ boldness. "Go, go, go," she whispered instead.

They guided the horses as quietly as they could across the patio, towards the gate. They then went to turn the wheel to open it, and Eleanor’s face dripped with sweat as she kept pushing on, forcing the wooden structure to move. She and Caspian kept watching for guards, but the professor’s diversion seemed to be effective, for there were still none in sight. They had just raised the gate tall enough for a horse to go through it when they heard a distant cry.

"Stop! What are you doing?"

There was a guard rushing in their direction, and then there was the sound of an alarm.

"Go!" She shouted to the prince.

"But…"

"Go!"

Caspian obeyed and mounted his horse. The guard was almost at them, and he had just drawn his sword.

For a split of a second, everything Eleanor had been longing for the past weeks passed right in front of her eyes. Aunt Doris singing, Birdie’s bouncing curls, the darkness of Edmund’s eyes — all she had been so desperate to return to. But the guard’s steps only grew closer, and Caspian’s eyes were terrified.

"Go," she urged once more, as she held onto the wheel.

He did so just in time. The horse and the prince sped through the gate, disappearing into the village’s street, and Eleanor released the wheel. The gate closed shut in a loud thud, and then the guard’s sword was at her throat.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2303

The cells were dark and damp, and light only came in through a pitifully small window. There was nothing but hay and a metal bucket inside of her confinement, but Eleanor thought she must consider herself grateful for the window, distant and narrow as it was, for it at least granted her with the passage of time. She could count the days by the glow of the sun or the moon. Meals came twice a day, though supper was usually a stale piece of bread or soup of vegetable scraps. After the seventh day, she was given a bucket of clean water and a towel to wash.

When apprehended by the gate guard, she had been taken directly to the general. He had barked at her face and clutched her shoulder tightly, but she had nothing helpful to tell him. She admitted to having plotted for Caspian’s escape, claiming she feared for his safety, but she truthfully did not have any idea where he would go. She didn’t know how much the professor had been able to tell him, or whether he had been given Susan’s horn. All she knew was that the prince was gone.

Doctor Cornelius was thrown in the adjacent cell, and they were at least able to talk during their incarceration. One night, under the cover of darkness, he assured her Caspian had fled with the horn, and he had been instructed to flee to the woods. They had no guarantee the prince had actually managed to reach them, though they were hopeful he had — after all, there was no news of his arrest. So, as she spent her days staring at the stone walls of her cell, she was comforted by the thought that at least Caspian had been able to escape.

She cried every night, remembering the happy memories from her life in England, or even the good times spent atop the Great Tower at midnight. She was miserable, though she tried using a sense of righteousness as a blanket. There was some comfort in knowing she had done the right thing.

As days wasted away, however, she wondered whether it would even matter. Would she be remembered? If Caspian succeeded in taking back his throne, would her sacrifice even be mentioned? Would history books talk of Elle, the maid, who had given up her freedom for the promise of the rightful prince? Or would Elle not even be a footnote in his story?

Nora. Nora, not Elle. She was Nora. It was about time she stopped deceiving herself with these foolish lies, of thinking this was only a part she was playing, for this part had led her to be imprisoned. It might as well cost her life — Nora’s life. 

On days when they were given enough water to drink, she and the professor would talk. Since her first day in Narnia, she had not opened up about her true past, thinking she would be locked up for hysteria or trialled for witchcraft. But the professor believed in magic, and she was already in a cell, so she told him all of her story: from her parents in London, to her aunt and uncle in Stamford, to the summer at Cornwall with Edmund. In return, he told her of his mother, who had been a black dwarf from the northern mountains, and of his youth spent searching for the Old Narnia. For the first time, Eleanor saw Doctor Cornelius not as the caricature of a wise professor, a character in this period tale she had been shoved inside. He was simply a man, trying to find a life’s purpose just like her, a fool for his passions like everyone else.

"You can call me Cornelius," he said one day. "I suppose the title of Doctor is not fitting for my current conditions. I have been stripped of my position as a royal tutor, after all."

"Only if you’d prefer it," she had replied. "But I must admit I am fond of calling you a professor. You are more deserving of the name than many others I have met. Besides, you have taught me so much."

She couldn’t see him through their shared wall, but she thought she heard a smile in his voice. "You are too kind, Elle."

Her lips quivered as she tried to smile. Nora , she had wanted to say.

Telling stories of England helped her revoke those memories as real, instead of far off dreams, so she practised it everyday. Sometimes, she would hear the professor’s soft snoring halfway through a tale, but she would continue anyway. She was telling herself those stories, because she would go back to that life. She would escape, somehow, and she would find her way back.

It was a quiet night when Eleanor was awoken by something warm covering her mouth, and she broached her eyes wide open in alarm. They were going to execute her.

But the hand was gentle, and when she turned she shuddered in relief.

"Caspian?" she whispered.

The prince winked at her. He seemed exactly the same as the night he had escaped, covered in armour, looking as healthy as always. Could this be a dream?

"Morning, Elle," he said back, cracking up a smirk. "I hope you’re rested enough for a bit of fun."

She was too stunned to reply as she watched him uncuff her chains. "What are you doing here?"

He opened her cell door. "We’re taking over the castle."

He then ran to the next cell, and she heard him exchanging a few words with the professor. She got up, bewildered as she took cautious steps. She crossed the door. She was free.

"Don’t underestimate Miraz as your father did," Doctor Cornelius’ voice suddenly echoed clearly. His and Caspian’s tone was back to low for only a few seconds before the prince stormed out of the room, leaving the two of them.

"What…" Eleanor began.

"I believe he’s going for his uncle."

"He said they’re taking over the castle. Does that mean…"

Doctor Cornelius looked distressed. "I don’t know."

They stood in silence for a while. Whatever siege was about to happen, it had still not begun; Caspian and whoever he was with must be infiltrating the castle in the quiet of night. There were no noises of battle, no alarms sounding. She thought of running after Caspian, perhaps to try and assist him, but it was more likely they would simply get on his way. She assumed they must have a plan of some sort.

"We should take cover somewhere," she finally proposed. "Whatever happens, we don’t want to be out roaming the castle."

The professor agreed, and he suggested they hide in his study. It would provide them with a clear view of the patio and the front gate, and they would have quick access to the servants’ shortcut if they needed to run for the stables. They set off there, finding only two knocked out guards outside of the cell tower.

They made it to the study with no further encounters, and they positioned themselves next to a stained window. The patio was still quietly peaceful, and the castle seemed to sleep in perfect serenity. Eleanor wondered if she should simply hasten to the stables and try to make a run for the woods, for the lamppost. She couldn’t be jailed again. This might as well be her best shot for it.

But then three figures appeared from the shadows, sprinting for the gate, and they began turning the wheel to open it.

"Caspian," she breathed. He was fine, he was okay. What had happened with Miraz?

The alarm suddenly blasted, and every hair on Eleanor’s arm raised — it was the same terrible noise that had denounced her, that had once doomed her. They heard the sounds of soldiers awakening, and only a few seconds later there were already groups of them spurting from the arches on every side, running for Caspian and his friends.

But another group emerged through the gate, and in the next second a battle was taking place. There were screams, and the shriek of metal clinking, and thuds as bodies began dropping to the floor. And that was when Eleanor realised — some of them weren’t human bodies.

There was a black bull running on two legs, and there was a man’s chest erupting from a horse’s trunk. There were animals attacking: dogs, wild cats, wolves, bears; and there were dwarves and satyrs pleated in full armour. They all charged at the Telmarine army.

"Narnians," Doctor Cornelius whispered beside her.

They had been right, and the narnians were not extinct. They were here, more numerous than her eyes could believe, and they were not hiding anymore. They appeared to be making their way through the patio, but more and more soldiers were emerging from the castle walls. Eleanor had never seen the full compound of the Telmarine lords’ battalions, but she was certain there were still a lot more to come.

"They won’t win this," she said after a while. The professor was frozen beside her, and he did not respond. "We need to run."

She had to practically drag the man towards the servants’ passages, but they were able to reach the stables. They ran into frantic men and women through the corridors, but no one bore them a second glance — everyone seemed to be busy running for their lives.

"Caspian!" Eleanor shouted, stopping the boy who had almost bumped at them. His sword was drawn and bloodied, but he seemed unscathed.

"Oh, you’re here," he cried in relief. "Come on, we need to get to the stables. This assault will not succeed."

The horses were agitated in their stalls, but they were able to mount one each. Caspian took the reins of a fourth horse, pulling it beside him, and they broke away.

They emerged in the middle of chaos. Arrows flew all around Eleanor, whistling through the wind, and swords and shields clashed in every direction. She muffled a scream when she saw one centaur galloping past them, but he went for a Telmarine soldier instead. Bodies had begun to scatter around the patio ground, most of them still flinching and contorting, to the point where they had to be careful with where they stepped.

"Go through the gates towards the eastern woods," Caspian shouted.

But Eleanor had just locked eyes with a man on the floor next to her. His legs were bent in the wrong angles, and dark liquid overflowed from him. Even with only torches and moonlight illuminating his face, she was able to notice he had blue eyes.

"Dante?" she mumbled.

He gawked straight at her, and Eleanor was able to catch the second his gaze went cold.

"Miss Elle!" Doctor Cornelius was calling, and she urged the horse to follow him out the gate.

She had to concentrate all of her energy towards not falling off of it. In her past life, she had only trained riding at Professor Kirke’s house, due to Edmund’s and Lucy’s insistence, and still she was as terrible as one could be. The animal seemed impossibly fast, her body jumped up and down behind his back, and the saddle didn’t feel very firm. So she held on, as stiff as she could, praying it would be enough.

They had crossed the village and reached the woods in the blink of an eye. The air felt gloomy and misty, but the horse followed along the group with unwavering confidence. She had no idea how much time had passed until they finally slowed down. The people — or rather, the creatures — around them began plunging down, sitting against tree trunks or even lying down on the forest ground. Doctor Cornelius, who had been riding beside her, dismounted his horse, so she did the same.

There were boulders big enough to pass as seats, so they unwinded there. Eleanor buried her head in between her thighs, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened. She heard sounds of hooves and paws pacing around her, but the impact of having seen the narnians for the first time had been replaced by the sight of Dante, life slipping away from him as he stared at her.

Dante, the soldier who wanted to conduct himself as a knight, who had saved her from that bear and who had advocated for her to get a maid’s position at the castle. The man with blue eyes and a kind face, the man who exchanged longing glances with a kitchen maid. He had not been Eleanor’s friend, but he had been the first face who had greeted her to Narnia. How old had he been? Did he have blue eyed siblings? Had his father felt proud when he joined the Telmarine army?

"Professor!"

Caspian was making his way towards them, preoccupied but seemingly uninjured. "Elle," he added, when he had joined them, crouching in front of them. "Are you okay?"

Eleanor and the professor nodded. She then noticed there was a girl, also wearing chainmail and leather, and she was marching towards them. She carried a bow in her hand, and a quiver hung across her torso.

"Elle?" she called.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. The girl had dark hair tied on her back, and she had piercing, sharp eyes. They widened as she reached their group, and Eleanor couldn’t help but think she looked somewhat familiar.

"Do I know you?" Eleanor replied.

The girl’s mouth moved slightly before she clenched it closed. Before she could answer, however, there were swooshing noises, the flapping of massive wings. Two gigantic birds landed on a nearby clearing, and Eleanor had to restrain herself from screaming at the sight of them. They were bigger than her, and they had four legs covered in fur, with sharp claws on each paw.

"What happened?" she heard one of them say, in a deep voice. This time, she clutched to Caspian’s shoulder.

A mouse about the size of a cat walked to the creature and began explaining what had gone wrong at the castle raid. Eleanor’s mouth fell open. Of course, she shouldn’t have been surprised — she had heard of all of those beings in the professor’s stories. And yet, that was all they had ever been: stories.

It took her a while to realise someone else was coming in their direction. He had just leaped from one of the winged animal’s backs, dressed in brown leather padding, and a sword swinged on his side. There was barely any light beneath the trees, though Eleanor could recognise him by his walk alone. After all, they had walked side by side countless times, making the way from St. George’s church to her aunt’s house.

Her heart had probably erupted inside her, but she forced the magma down her chest. "Edmund," she whispered.

He had not heard nor seen her. Instead, he went to meet the dark haired girl, and Eleanor finally understood who she was. She had never met her before, but how could she not have known? The girl looked so much like Lucy, her sister.

Edmund and Susan had begun exchanging haste words. Before Eleanor could realise it, she had gotten up, and doing so she directed their attention towards her.

His eyes grew large, and he looked at her as if she was one of the spirits who haunted the woods. It was not the reaction she had expected, though it was a response at least, and she risked a smile. She was not able to hold it for longer than a second. Edmund’s face was still coated with shock, but one of his legs tripped to her direction. Eleanor’s entire body felt weak, finally giving up for the craving she had longed for. She wanted to run to him, jump at his neck, breathe him in.

Susan’s arm bashed at his chest. "She’s not who you think she is."

He glanced at his sister for only half a second, before redirecting his gaze back to Eleanor. "What?"

Eleanor almost disassembled at the sound of his voice. It was so wonderfully familiar, so intoxicatingly warm. "Ed," she finally managed to call. His hair was longer than she had ever seen it, and it made him look boyish. "It’s me," she blurted, "Eleanor. Nora."

Edmund blinked, as if suddenly removed from a trance. "What did you say?"

"Nora," she pleaded. He had written her name so many times in letters, how could he not recall it? "Nora," she whispered again, almost begging for him to say it back.

Instead, he turned to Susan.

"It can’t be her, Ed," Susan said, talking as if Eleanor was not standing right in front of them. "It can’t be. She died. She… should be dead."

Eleanor’s face fell, and she could almost feel her essence scattering in the cold breeze, as if she was indeed becoming a ghost in that very second.

"Elle," another voice called. Caspian was suddenly beside her, standing somewhat protectively. "What is going on?"

"What did you call her?" Edmund retorted.

"Elle," Caspian repeated. "She’s my friend."

Edmund did not blink as he beheld her, but Eleanor could not hold his gaze anymore. He had the same beautiful eyes, but they now looked at her with uneasiness, and she felt improper. Did he really not know her? How could he not know her?

"Your friend?" Susan inquired. "Is she a telmarine?"

"She was a maid at the castle. But she’s on our side, of course. She helped me escape."

Edmund still stared at her. "Are you from here?" he asked.

Eleanor swallowed. "No," she said, feeling Caspian glaring at her. "I’m from your world."

"Our world?"

"I am from England. I met you and Lucy back there. You… you invited me to spend a summer at Professor Kirke’s house. You showed me the wardrobe on the third floor, and I walked inside and came out here."

They all looked at her as if she was mad.

"That’s not possible," Susan muttered.

"It’s true!" She felt her vision turn blurry.

Edmund and Susan exchanged another hopeless glance. For a while, it seemed none of them could think of anything to say. Caspian, too, was at loss for words.

"Then how come I don’t remember you?" Edmund finally asked.

Eleanor whimpered. He really did not know her. How could he be Edmund, the same Edmund she had known, and at the same time not be her Edmund at all? Had she fallen into an entirely different dimension where they had never met? Was he simply a shadow of the man she had known? Was there another version of herself out there — the one Edmund and Susan seemed to have known? One that should be dead?

But a deep voice cut their conversation short.

"We must keep moving." It was a centaur who had spoken, and he stood tall and mighty. "We rest at the How."

And so they all marched back in silence, enveloped by darkness, and Eleanor felt more desolate than ever.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2303

Eleanor woke up alone in a dark chamber, and for a second she thought she was back at the castle cell. But there was a torch casting dancing shadows on clay walls, and the room was not filled with the stench of human excrement, so it must not be it. She then remembered the events of the past night, flashing behind her eyes in excruciating detail, and she shuddered. Was that all a dream? She knew the odds were small, but recently the only explanation that seemed to fit within all those strange events that were taking place in her life was that they were all the dreams of someone with the wildest imagination there ever was.

She set off to explore the place. As she walked, she was barely able to recall the path they had taken the night before, when they had arrived there. They had called it Aslan’s How, and it was a mount of stone, with endless underground tunnels and dens. She had passed a number of makeshift rooms, from kitchens, to armouries, to forges; but now she could not seem to get out of that maze. Her heart began thudding loudly as her legs sped through the identical corridors, and she had been on the verge of a fit of terror when she finally heard voices.

She followed them to a wide and tall opening. There was an arch on the opposite side of the room, which must have been at least twenty feet tall, and a massive stone structure in front of it. She figured it must have been a stage of sorts, though it was cracked right in the middle, and its sides now angled rather strangely.

"Oh, hi," a girl’s voice sounded.

Eleanor then noticed the voices she had heard had come from two people, who sat on the opposite side of the broken structure. They rose and circled it to meet her.

Lucy was coming towards her. Lucy, whom she had once known, with her round eyes and snubby nose, but she looked remarkably different. She was shorter, her cheeks were rounder, and her frame was slimmer. Eleanor couldn’t believe her eyes — this Lucy was barely in her teens.

The boy next to her was taller, and Eleanor figured he must have been a year or two older than herself. He had blonde hair and an austere, angular face, though he seemed to be trying to look welcoming.

They stopped in front of her.

"Hi," Eleanor managed to reply.

The boy offered his hand. "Hello," he said. "I’m Peter."

She shook it, though at the last second she wondered whether she was supposed to bow. "Eleanor."

"I’m very pleased to meet you, Eleanor. How would you prefer I call you?"

She was sure he could see her uncertainty. The Lucy she had known had called her Nora, but she was not the same girl who was now standing in front of her. Nora, after all, was the girl from Stamford, and she was stuck in Narnia.

"Elle is fine," she at last said.

Peter smiled, which she found surprising. She hadn’t even glimpsed at him when they were marching back from the woods, for she had chosen to stall to the back of the group, so as to avoid Edmund and Susan. She realised she had honed so much information on him before the meeting — she had learned of his rising in the British Army, and she had heard the feats of High King Peter, the Magnificent. But when she looked at the boy in front of her, all she could see was Edmund’s brother.

"Susan said you didn’t know us," Lucy said. "At least, not from our time in Narnia."

"No," she admitted, "though I don’t understand…"

Before she could complete her sentence, something seemed to have caught the attention of Lucy and Peter, and Eleanor turned to find Edmund entering the room. Her chest burned when she saw him, although it left her feeling miserable. This Edmund had never been her friend.

"Oh," he said, looking directly at her. "I was looking for you."

"Hi," she said, not knowing what else to say.

He then noticed his siblings. "Were you talking?"

"We only introduced ourselves," Peter explained.

"Right. Well," he turned back to her. "Can I have a word with you?"

Eleanor muffled a nervous laugh. "Of course," she responded. What else could she say? Wasn’t he a king here?

"We’ll leave you to it," Peter said, putting a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. "Come on, Lu."

They left, and Eleanor and Edmund stared at each other in silence. She could barely hold his gaze — it seemed inquisitive, analytical, critical. It seemed almost disapproving.

"This is the Stone Table," he declared suddenly.

Eleanor looked at the structure behind her. "Oh," she replied, "I see. Right, with the… witch and Aslan and all that."

They nodded repeatedly, bobbing their heads like two idiots.

"Did you rest?" he asked.

"Yes. And you?"

"Not exactly. We had… an incident here earlier, but it’s settled."

"Oh." She scanned him for injuries, but there were none — none visible, at least.

"Look, I… I’m trying to understand how… what is going on. I thought I could begin telling my side, and then you can tell me yours, and hopefully we’ll be able to make something out of it by the end."

"Alright," she replied.

He took a deep breath. "Last night, when I saw you… You looked… Well, you look," he corrected himself, "like someone I used to know. She lived in Narnia during our reign here, which turns out was over a thousand years ago. So I know you can’t be her, unless of course you are a witch who was resurrected…"

"What?" She scowled. A witch? Should she add that to the list of things she’d been called since arriving in this world?

Edmund at least had the nerve to look flustered. "Sorry, I didn’t mean…"

"I’m not a witch," she proclaimed. She wouldn’t normally mind the term, but she knew it wasn’t a flattering name in Narnia.

"No," he muttered. "Of course not."

She shook her head. "I don’t understand how you’re even here. You said you ruled a thousand years ago. That was during the Golden Age, wasn’t it? You reigned for fifteen years, then you disappeared. How are you back? And how are you so… young?"

"Oh," he frowned, "I should have begun with that. Right. So… Oh, wow, I should go back to the very beginning. So, when I was fifteen, my siblings and I went to live with this professor in the countryside…"

"Professor Kirke," she interrupted. "To escape the bombings."

Edmund looked at her in astonishment, and she thought he was about to call her a witch once again. Instead, he continued, "Yes. Well… Lucy found this wardrobe, and it took us all here, to Narnia. I suppose you’re familiar with the story of the war against the White Witch?"

"Yes."

"We were crowned kings and queens, and, as you said, we lived here for fifteen years. One day, we went hunting for a stag, and we stumbled back through the wardrobe passage. We dropped back into Professor Kirke’s house, except no time had passed in England. We were back at our teenage bodies."

"But…" she mumbled. "You had aged. In Narnia. Hadn’t you?"

"I had. It was… quite the challenge to settle back to our previous life. We moved back to London, and we went back to school. We carried on as best we could. Until, a few days ago, we were transported back here. We were at an underground station when it happened, actually."

"So you didn’t come through the wardrobe?"

"No."

"There are other passages, then."

"I’m not sure. From what we concluded, we were summoned here by Caspian, who called us through Susan’s horn."

Her brain ached as she tried to make sense of his story. "Wait," she halted. "How old are you?"

He cocked his head. "I will turn seventeen in a few months. In England, that is."

Eleanor’s bones weakened, and she had to reach for the Stone Table for support. She understood what had happened now, though it still didn’t seem to make any sense, or sound any less insane. "So you haven’t met me yet," she said.

It was Edmund’s turn to be baffled. "What?"

"When I met you, you were… Oh, I suppose it’s my turn now. I should tell my side of the story."

He waited.

"Alright. So, I was born in London, but I moved to Stamford at seven, when my parents died in a car crash. I lived there with my aunt and uncle, and… Half a year ago, at least for me, I met you."

It all finally made sense, then: that first day, under the snow around St. George’s church, he had hugged her. He had called her Elle, and he had thought she was someone he’d known. 

"You were nineteen. In England, at least. We met, and we became friends, and you invited me to spend a summer at Professor Kirke’s house. You all talked of Narnia as if it was simply a story, and one day you took me to the wardrobe. I ended up here, and I was taken to the castle. That was almost three months ago. I’ve been living as a maid ever since."

She collapsed at the Stone Table, sitting at a step. Her face was hot, and she wanted to cry. She was so, so tired. She had been overworked and drained, she had been accused and wounded, and she was exhausted from living in this strange world. She just wanted to go home.

Edmund kept quiet for a while, and she didn’t bother to check why. This Edmund barely knew her anyway, so what was the point?

"You’re from the future," he said quietly.

Eleanor finally looked up. He seemed completely lost, and she thought he did look sixteen at that moment. "Or maybe you’re from the past," she muttered.

He breathed deeply. "Either way," he said, "you’re not the person that I knew."

Was that really all he cared about? That she was not the person he wanted her to be? Did he not care that she had been taken to this world, against her will, been forced to work as a servant, and had no prospect of ever returning home? Did he not care that she had been abducted from her friends and family, from her life and her dreams, from everything she had ever known?

She rose to her feet. "You’re not either. So quit looking at me so warily."

"I’m not looking…"

"Yes, you are! You’re looking at me like I’m wrong! Like I’m to blame, somehow. Look, your friend? She’s gone, and I’m so sorry for it. But it’s not my fault that I’m not her, alright? I never even asked to be brought here in the first place!"

"I’m not accusing you of anything! You don’t have to have a fit…"

"A fit ?"

"You’re acting like a child!"

Eleanor’s mouth fell open. A child? "I’m eighteen! And I’m older than you!"

"Well, not exactly, are you?" he retorted.

"Right, because you’re actually thirty."

"I have lived longer than you."

"Funny, one would think it would have made you wiser."

They stood to each other then, and Eleanor noticed his face was broiling as much as hers. But she was too deep into her own soreness to care, and in that second she realised she could blame it all on him, if she wanted to. After all, Edmund was the one who had introduced himself to her life, who had invited her to Professor Kirke’s house, who had taken her to the wardrobe. And she knew he wasn’t the same Edmund, but did it matter? It was close enough, and she needed someone to take it out on.

"Well, at least we’re settled," he stared, his voice hardened. "We don’t know each other."

She met his tone. "No, we don’t."

He stared at her for only a second more. "It has been… a pleasure making your acquaintance, Miss Eleanor."

The fallacy of his words soured her response. "Likewise… Your Majesty."

She thought she saw a vein in his neck twitch, but it might as well have been a forgery of the torches' shadows. He then bowed, ever so slightly, and walked away.

Eleanor grunted as soon as she was left alone. What was happening? She wanted to scream, or kick something. She wanted to escape from this nightmare, this terrible horror which had become her reality, but she knew she couldn’t break out as much as she couldn’t find the way out of those tunnels. And so she collapsed into the Stone Table, lying on its cold surface, and waited for something to take her away.

But time passed, and nothing changed. She had no idea whether it was day or night, whether it had been minutes or hours. Finally, as she had been about to convince herself to venture into the labyrinth once more, she heard footsteps again.

"Susan," she said, recognising the girl from the night before. She now wore an elegant gown, though she looked just as intimidating as if she had been covered in pleated armour.

"Elle," Susan replied. "I hope you don’t mind me calling you that."

Eleanor climbed down and straightened herself up. "Of course."

"I came to see if you were hungry."

"I am," she admitted. She was, in fact, famished.

Susan led her down the corridors until they came out at the makeshift kitchen she had seen upon arriving. There were multiple pots brewing on separate fires, and rich, savoury steam filled the room. Dwarves and small animals — a badger, an otter, and even a rabbit — strolled around, in a scene not that much different from the Telmarine castle’s kitchen. Eleanor salivated until she was given a dish with broth, and bread and hard cheese to accompany it. It was a feast compared to the scantiness of the portions from the castle’s prison, and she devoured it all in no time.

As she ate, Susan filled her in with the latest developments. She told her the details of how she and her siblings had returned to Narnia, and she explained how they had planned to seize the Telmarine castle. She talked quietly of the losses they had suffered, as well as revealed they were expecting a retaliation anytime soon.

"They’re coming here?" Eleanor asked, as she nibbled on the apple she had been given as dessert.

"Most likely. Peter and Caspian are plotting to avoid bloodshed. Peter plans on challenging Miraz to a single combat." Susan’s face was grim, and her eyes looked like they were not in the same room as her.

A bite of the fruit was stuck on Eleanor’s throat, but she forced the lump down. She recollected the armoury she had explored, with endless rows of the deadliest, most atrocious weapons. She saw a flash of Dante’s sword thrusting through a bear thrice her weight. She glimpsed back to his blue eyes staring dully at her.

"Do you think he’ll accept?" she asked quietly.

Susan shook her head. "It’s hard to tell. I thought I’d ask you, actually," she confessed. "You were in closer contact with him, weren’t you? Caspian mentioned you were his wife’s maid."

"I attended his lady," Eleanor said. "I don’t know much of his posture as a war leader."

Susan seemed resolute. "Of course."

Eleanor looked around to the few narnians around her. She had only seen the numbers which had led the attack on the castle the previous night, and it didn’t seem very promising at all. What would become of them if they lost? Would they be imprisoned once more, or would they all be executed? The general had spoken of extinction, hadn’t he?

She then spied Susan, who seemed to be just about her age, from the corners of her eyes. How could she be handling this wish so much calmness?

"It doesn’t ever get easier, you know," Susan said, as if reading her mind. "Facing a war."

Eleanor frowned. "But you fought in so many. You were there last night."

"The plan was to capture Miraz first, so he could not call for his forces. We were never meant to engage," she explained somberly. "Besides, I had voted against it."

"But if you were against it, why did you go?" After all, Susan was a queen herself, wasn’t she? Who could tell her what to do?

"It was decided. If I acted only according to my own will, our ruling would have been constant turmoil. We must follow what was agreed upon, even if we don’t personally like it."

It made sense, though Eleanor still thought Susan looked a bit miserable at the thought of it. She said nothing.

Susan led her to an improvised bathhouse, which had only a bucket of lukewarm water, clean rags, and a somewhat secluded area to wash in, with pebbles covering the dirt floor. They didn’t talk much through it, and they remained silent as Susan led her outside, giving a brief tour of the place. Eleanor tried hiding her bewilderment upon sighting a group of centaurs training with arrows, or the fauns that fought with spears, or a minotaur swinging an enormous axe. They all glared at her cautiously in return. Still, it felt good to be out in the open again, and she and Susan simply sat under the sun for a while.

At last, they noticed three figures making their way towards them. Peter walked in the middle, with Caspian and Edmund on either side. Eleanor felt the food inside her swirling in uncomfortable motions. She stood her ground as they approached, though she did not look anywhere near Edmund’s eyeline. They stood up, and Eleanor made a small bow to the two kings and the prince that she now faced.

"How are you feeling?" Caspian was the first to speak, looking concerned.

She managed to smile faintly, though she couldn’t stop herself from spying Edmund from the corners of her eyes. He also seemed to be trying to avoid her direction, but she still caught his gaze for a fraction of a second. "Much better now, thank you," she answered.

Peter took a step towards his sister. "How about we go and find Lucy? She was chatting with Reepicheep and Doctor Cornelius, last I saw her."

Susan nodded, and the two began the way back underground. Edmund seemed disoriented, but he soon followed, and Eleanor was at last able to peek at him again, now that he had his back turned from her. She still couldn’t quite believe the familiarity of his figure, his stance, his gait. How could he be the same Edmund she had known, only younger? This stranger, who bore Ed’s face, but was nothing like the composed, courtly man she had fallen for?

"So, you knew them," Caspian said, yanking her back to the present.

Eleanor’s head ached with the reminder of this puzzle which defied time and space. "Some of them," she corrected, "in a way. Did the professor tell you all of it?"

"He did. I hope you don’t mind. I sort of pressed him to."

"It’s alright. It’s better that you know now. Though I still hardly understand it myself."

"This kind of magic is simply beyond our grasping, I suppose."

"I suppose so."

"So you’re from their world as well?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded. "But I come from their future, if that makes sense."

He chuckled. "It doesn’t."

"I know," she half laughed, half sighed.

They watched their surroundings for a second. They were both in such an outlandish setting — compared to the stern and traditional court Caspian had been raised in, and to the modern technologies Eleanor was used to. They were two fish hijacked from water, and Eleanor thought they probably looked the part. Even the Pevensies, the only other humans, seemed to fit in just fine with the narnians.

"We’re still friends, right?" Caspian said quietly.

She nudged him on his shoulder. "Of course."

He smiled, a remnant of their chipper times debating in Doctor Cornelius’ study, but it faltered quickly. He went back to observing the narnians, still carrying on with their warfare activities.

Eleanor was suddenly hit with the self-indulgence of her own mind. She hadn’t stopped, not even for a moment, to think of what Caspian was going through. Caspian, who had just been forced to flee his home, who had learned his uncle had killed his father and was planning on murdering him for his throne. An aspiring king who still had to prove himself to a foreign community, which he hadn’t known existed until little over a week ago. A boy, only a year younger than her, who was about to inherit this broken kingdom.

"How are you?" she asked. It seemed too silly a question, but how else could she even start?

He winked. "I’m a prince. I was groomed to handle crisis."

She eyed him gingerly. "You lived your whole life in a castle."

"What, are you saying these accommodations are not of the same luxury?"

"I’m serious, Caspian. You know, I was once told," she began, but her voice failed as she realised it had been Edmund who had told her that. A different Edmund, in a different world, fighting a different war. She cleared her throat and continued, "I was once told it is better to externalise whatever you’re feeling. Even if I won’t be able to say anything helpful in return."

"You don’t have to worry. The professor already beat you to this talk."

She wasn’t sure she was entirely convinced, but she acquiesced. "Alright. But remember you can come to me if you ever need to chat."

Caspian reached for her arm. "Thank you, Elle."

She smiled.

"Is it okay if I call you that? I heard your actual name is Eleanor."

She shrugged. "Elle is more fitting to the Narnian environment."

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

"Alright then, Elle." He stood up and offered a hand. She accepted it, and he helped her up. "And, since we’re at it… You can call me Cas."

"Cas," she repeated, grinning. "I like that. Cas and Elle."

They walked back to the How together, and Eleanor didn’t feel so estranged anymore. It might still be a long way, but she decided, for better or for worse, that the two of them would soon call this land their home.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2303

The telmarines arrived at Aslan’s How four days after the unsuccessful attack on the castle. They came with the full might of their troops, with a cavalry so numerous they took up the entire width of the field across from the mount, and too many rows of infantry stood behind them. They wheeled massive trebuchets for the launch of projectiles bigger than Eleanor herself, and she thought they would be lucky if they survived the first minutes of the telmarine’s offensive.

But the narnians held on to their hope. They were still set on challenging Miraz in a single combat, and they planned on sending Lucy and Susan to the eastern woods in search of Aslan in the meantime. Eleanor had wanted to protest against such a risky scheme, but the girls seemed eager and faithful for their quest, and she had learned to sit quietly through every war council meeting. They were experienced kings and queens, after all, and she had only ever been a school girl and a maid. They knew better. Didn’t they?

She had been at the mount’s entrance, watching the endlessness of the Telmarine army, when the three emissaries emerged. Edmund had been appointed to lead the excursion, accompanied by the centaur Glenstorm and the giant Wimbleweather. The ground shook at each of the giant’s steps, and Eleanor herself clenched her fists. She reckoned he would help their cause if he could keep his mouth shut — he didn’t seem like the cleverest of beings, and he mostly groaned or snickered to anything that was said to him.

She then noticed Edmund’s silhouette coming up next, looking rather graceful next to the giant. But as he neared, she had to stiffen herself so as to not lose her balance. He was once more covered in chainmail and leather, but this time he was also coated with pauldrons and greaves, and his chest was sheathed by grand red velvet, a golden lion embroidered on its centre. In that moment, it was hard to believe she had ever seen him as a lowly soldier. He was King Edmund, known to be one of the greatest swordsmen Narnia had ever seen, who had led their armies into victory time and time again. This was who he had always been.

Peter and Caspian were standing a few feet further, but Edmund stopped when he saw her. She felt a sudden urge to kneel.

"Elle," he said. It sounded more like a knee-jerk response.

"Your Majesty," she replied.

They stared at each other. They had barely talked in the last few days, since their altercation at the Stone Table. Instead, they had exchanged awkward, fleeting glances across the council room, and only directed word to one another when absolutely necessary.

Too long passed, and none of them had been able to think of anything to say. Just as Edmund was about to continue, however, she called him back.

"Edmund?"

He turned at the same second. "Yes?"

Eleanor froze. What had she been thinking? She had nothing to say, just as she hadn’t had anything to say to him for the past few days. But seeing him in armour had completely thrown her off, and the vision of the Telmarine battalions he was about to head off to had too much of a grip on her. "Be careful," she at last said.

He seemed astonished by it. Had she really been acting so crudely towards him that he would think she did not care for him at all? He was not her friend, but he was still a boy she couldn’t help but worry for. Surely, he knew this.

"Thank you," he said, nodding. He then made his way to the front, where he exchanged a few words with Peter and Caspian, and finally left to cross the field.

The wait was excruciating, and Eleanor thought she might die before the battle even began. After Edmund disappeared behind enemy lines, all she could think of was Lord Miraz’s vicious eyes, unfaltering even in the presence of his wife, and the general’s mercilessness. But Edmund would be safe, wouldn’t he? After all, if she had met a future version of him, then it meant he needed to survive so he could go back to England and become the man she had known. But what if her coming to Narnia had been some sort of disruption, and his fate was now uncertain? Was she capable of changing his future — her past? Could she have doomed him, somehow?

Edmund, however, returned unharmed. Miraz had accepted their terms, and they were to have their combat.

As they arranged for the duel, Eleanor positioned herself in the back, atop the mount, among the archers. The safest spot for her would have been inside the How, but she knew it would have been torturous to simply hide away, without knowing the unravelling of the battle. Caspian had given her a knife and prepared a horse for her to flee on, in case the odds turned on them. She knew she couldn’t be captured by the telmarines once again — they would not show her the same clemency as they had last time — so her only choice would be to try and find the passage back to her world.

For all of her recent speculations on the workings of time, the battle that took place between the narnians and the telmarines was by far her most mystifying experience of it. Until then, Eleanor used to think of time as sacrosanct as the laws of physics. Time was constant and eternal. It moved forward, in invariable speed, and it only demanded she made the most of it. It wasn’t forgiving, and she would know that, but it was reliable and just.

But the duel between Peter and Miraz flashed before her eyes, and the telmarines were calling their banners in the next second. She had no understanding of what had happened, only that the former Lord Protector now lay lifeless on the battle ground. Before she could even ask Trumpkin, the dwarf who watched beside her, they were being attacked.

Eleanor felt as if she had spent the entire day dodging the immense rocks that kept striking the mount. The ground shook beneath her, and she could barely stand on her two legs. Dust had risen from the ever crackling foundation, darkening the air around her, extracting her from the battlefield only to drop her into this neverending endeavour. Soldiers in armour sometimes rode past her, but she might as well have been a shadow. She saw tree branches sprouting from soil and twisting into action. She saw bodies of all shapes and sizes falling into the ground, and all around her metal clashed into metal; it was so loud she heard nothing at all.

Then there were sirens ringing through the air, and everything seemed to quiet down. The dust was scattering into the breeze, the field was emptying. It looked as if the battle had ended, but how could it be? It had only lasted a moment.

Time tricked her no more, and she spun to grasp the aftermath of war. The fight had moved somewhere else, yet bodies still sprouted from the grass like scattered weeds. Flies already swarmed around, hungry for the smell of the dead, taking their chances even on those that still cried.

Eleanor ran for the woods. As she rushed through the trees — some of which hurried along with her — flashes of the havoc began patching themselves back together in her mind. She remembered the telmarines retreating, and the narnians chasing them out. She thought she had heard them mention a river.

She could hear company noises when a figure appeared in front of her. She halted, recognising the Telmarine armour. Blood, cinder, and sweat covered his face, but she knew him.

"Marco," she said. He had been one of the soldiers who had captured her that very first day, who had insisted on taking her to the general.

He remembered her as well. "You," he replied, his voice rasp and trembling. He limped towards her, his gaze frenzied. "You’re the wench who started it all, aren’t you?"

She trod backwards.

"You infiltrated our castle and set the prince loose. You brought the army that killed Dante."

"I didn’t…"

"You killed my friend."

Eleanor’s panic kicked in just in time, and she drew the knife Caspian had given her. But Marco tackled her, throwing his entire weight at her, and she was crushed under him. She screamed as he pinned her down. She still held the knife tightly, but he didn’t reach for it. Instead, he forced her wrist upwards, bringing her arm and the weapon towards her throat. She was only able to wriggle her other hand free, using it to stop the blade, clasping it around the sharp edges.

Pain seized her, and she tried yelling it out of her, but it would not withdraw. She felt the metal carving its way inside the flesh of her palm, a clean cut on the virginal skin of her hand. It was too much to endure. For a moment, she thought perhaps she should just let him slash her neck open, let it all be done with.

But his grip faltered, releasing her hand. He was snatched from behind her.

"Your leaders have yielded. Surrender," a voice commanded.

Fighting noises followed, until Eleanor recognised a sound of blade cutting through flesh. She heard a thump, and everything went back to quiet.

Her hand still burned, but she used her right elbow to hoist herself up. She sat, blinking the blurriness from her eyes to try and assess the wound.

The voice was at her side. "Let me see," it said softly.

Careful hands reached for hers. Her palm was coated deep red, still smooth and creamy. She saw the gorge from which the blood leaked. She diverted her look immediately.

Edmund was kneeling in front of her. He had taken her knife and was cutting a strip from his clothes. He wrapped a strip of velvet around her hand, knotting it tightly. Blood took no time suffusing the bandage, but the fabric was already a rich crimson.

He finally met her eye. His stare was grave, but she couldn’t read his expression. The darkness in his eyes looked different somehow — not like it contained the entire universe inside it, but as if it was its own hollowness. He looked ravenous.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head.

"We should go and find Lucy, then," he muttered. "She’ll give you a drop of her cordial."

Edmund helped her up, watching carefully as she began taking her first steps. Eleanor wasn’t sure where they were supposed to be headed, but she marched quickly away from Marco’s corpse, which she felt behind her. She couldn’t bear to look at it. She already saw Dante’s eyes in the blueness of cloudless skies.

They eventually reached the river, where the armies were unwinding. Eleanor saw Telmarine soldiers dropping their weapons in the water, under the watch of armed narnians.

She tried summoning some moisture on her throat. "Is it done?" she asked. "Did we win?"

Edmund nodded. "They surrendered."

"Is everyone…"

"They’re all safe."

Eleanor released a breath, and when she inspired again she felt as if the air was truly filling her lungs, for the first time in weeks. She still didn’t understand what it all meant, or what was going to happen from then on. But she would be safe. Perhaps she would even go home.

They walked along the water, looking for Lucy and her cordial. The pain in her left hand kept Eleanor grounded to reality, though it was still strange to see narnians and telmarines coexisting. As they stretched along the river bank, Edmund told her of the battle: how the Telmarine lords had conspired to kill Miraz, how they had blamed it on the narnians, how they had charged. He revealed they had only won because Aslan himself had awoken the trees and the river god.

"Elle!"

Caspian was running in her direction, and she sighed in relief. Edmund had said they were all safe, but the vision of her unharmed friend was still too joyous not to turn her laughing.

"Cas," she said, jumping to his arms. "You’re okay."

"I’m okay," he said, pulling away so he could look at her. He noticed the bandage and the trail of red in her left arm. "What…"

"I’m fine," she rushed in. "Edmund came to me just in time."

They turned to Edmund, who had been waiting stiffly by their side. His expression was still a mystery.

"Thank you," Caspian said.

His eyes seemed to darken even under the glistening sunlight. "Why are you thanking me?"

Caspian looked too flustered for words, so Eleanor intervened. "You’re right," she said. Edmund’s gaze turned to her, and she thought it looked almost softer. "I’m the one who should be thanking you. I should have… You saved my life. Thank you."

He only blinked a few times. "You don’t have to thank me."

He didn’t break eye contact, and Eleanor couldn’t help her own accelerated heart. He looked older in his armour, and his damp hair reminded her of the times they had gone swimming at the river next to Professor Kirke’s house. This Edmund could not be so different from the one she had known, could he? Could he care for her, too?

"Doctor Cornelius has set up a medical tent," Caspian said. "We should take you there."

Eleanor was bitter to break away from Edmund, but he seemed to have caught something of greater interest behind her.

"Perhaps not now," he said gravely. "I think Elle might find a prior commitment."

Eleanor felt him before she had even turned. Sunlight shimmered to almost tangibility in the air, and the breeze blew fresher and clean. The rustling of branches, the hushed stream of water, the whistling of the wind — it all seemed to come together in harmony, forming a melody she had heard before. A song she had once dreamed of, a dream she had chased throughout the woods near the lamppost.

The tales she had heard had been accurate in their descriptions, for he was larger and taller than any lion that might have lived in their world. His stance was imposing, his face stern. He met her eyes, and they were careful and shrewd, with the profoundness of someone who had lived a thousand lives. Eleanor dropped to her knees.

"Rise, child," Aslan told her.

She obeyed. It was difficult to look at him, though it was harder even to look away. She stood as tall as she could, and still she felt infinitely small.

"Come," his deep voice commanded. "It is time we talked. Let us walk."

Edmund and Caspian, which she had forgotten were behind her, bowed and left. The Great Lion began making their way by the water, towards the snow-capped mountains in the horizon. Telmarine soldiers retreated with fear as they passed, and Narnian creatures cried their pleas and performed the most elaborate curtsies. Eleanor followed him, perfectly silent, until they could no longer hear the aftermath of the battle.

"You are a long way from home," he finally spoke again.

"You know who I am?" she asked, and she thought her voice sounded frail and pathetic.

"You are Eleanor Harrison, daughter of Julian and Celine. You lived in the city of Stamford with your aunt and uncle." He turned to look at her. "You came through the wardrobe at Digory Kirke’s house."

Eleanor blinked, and nodded once. "Do you know how I ended up here?"

"There are several places and events which connect this world to yours. At times, they are drawn more closely together. It was during such a conjecture that you were able to enter."

So it was luck, she realised. She wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad. "But how did I go back in time?"

"Time", the lion replied, and at that moment he seemed more ancient than time itself. "It is a curious concept, one too relative for grasping. No, child, you did not go back in time, not in the way you think you did. All worlds are connected in a structureless thread, and all things that have happened and that are going to happen are written as one. All living beings experience their lifetime in a unique way, and one’s path is not limited to a single space in time."

Eleanor tried to make sense of it. Aslan had spoken clearly, and still it felt like a riddle. "So my life is already set?"

"Your life is your own to compose, whether you are in this world or the next. But remember," he warned, "lives cannot be rewritten. Time is not yours to tamper with. But it is yours to cherish."

His words were not of comfort, but he was not there to soothe her. He was not a counsellor, he was a creator of worlds. He spoke the truth, and she would have to wield it with her own hands for any guidance.

"The Edmund that is here in Narnia," she finally said, "and the Edmund that I met in England. Are they the same person? But in different moments of their life?"

"He is the same Edmund."

She breathed deeply, repeatedly. "And the Elle that he knew from his time here… Was she me?"

His tone resonated with tenderness. "Yes, dear one."

"But how will I get there? If it happened in this world, but a thousand years ago…"

"Do you wish to presume the manner in which the fabrics of this universe are weaved and entwined together?"

"No," she replied, lowering her eyes. "But how will I live without knowing what lies ahead for me? How will I carry on with such uncertainty looming over me?"

He waited until she had the courage to face him again. "Like all of us do," he said, turning and already striding back to the campsite.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2303

Caspian’s coronation would take place only four days later, and in the meantime they all settled back into the castle. They had spent the first night still by the river ford, where Aslan had lit a great fire for the fauns and the dryads to dance around, and soon enough it had become a party for all of the newly liberated narnians. Messengers were sent across the country the next morning, announcing their new king. Eleanor was surprised to see most of the people had also grown up hearing tales of Old Narnia, and they were ready to embrace the rightful heir and the long concealed folk of legends. When they reached the castle’s village, many ran out to meet those mythical creatures, and Eleanor saw children laughing as they nuzzled with the furs of the talking beasts, chased centaur tails, and tried to hug even the grumpiest dwarves.

The higher Telmarine lords and ladies were imprisoned, though it meant they were simply confined to their old living quarters. Aslan had announced he would offer them a new home, and those interested needed only to attend a meeting at noon on the day after the coronation.

Eleanor and the Pevensies were given comfortable rooms near Caspian’s. In the morning after the first night back at the castle, Eleanor woke up to a knock on the door, which she opened to find a girl the same age as her. The girl wore a recognisable maid’s apron around her simple dress, and she was carrying a sumptuous gown of silk and embroidered gemstones. She helped Eleanor dress, then left to fetch her a plate of fresh fruit, boiled eggs, and warm, fluffy bread. Eleanor ate it in her own bedroom, on a table next to the window, while observing the peaceful gardens. After she was done, she left to roam the castle.

She had no idea where to go, and she found her feet taking her to the familiar route of the professor’s study. The door was open, as always, but she knocked either way.

"Miss Elle," Doctor Cornelius came to greet her. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you. I’m glad to see you well."

It was odd to be back to their old life, for it was not at all like it used to. The study was the same, and the two of them looked the same, but nothing else would ever be. They were no longer outcasts, conspiring for a noble cause, but instead the victors of a revolution. How did life even carry on from there?

"I’m afraid I was on my way out," the professor said. "The prince has a very busy schedule today, and I must accompany him through it. You are, of course, welcome to stay for as long as you please."

Eleanor felt her spirit crush a little, but she exchanged smiles with him and went to a corner, snuggling with the familiar books. As she caught her own reflection on a window, she wondered what would become of her. She had withered during her time as a maid, but even that had at least been some sort of occupation, some kind of purpose. She could beg Aslan for him to take her back to England, but what would that entail? She knew she would someday travel to the Golden Age of Narnia, when she would meet Edmund once again, but should she try to rush it? If she left, would she ever come back? Would she have to say goodbye to Caspian forever?

But Edmund was here, even if he was still not a version of him that was particularly fond of her. She could not leave.

She jumped when she saw his image reflected on the glass as well.

"Christ," she cried, jumping in her seat and turning to face him.

"I’m Edmund, actually," he replied, walking in. He was dressed just as elegantly as her, though he of course wore it with perfect ease. The grimness of the battle seemed to have been washed away from his face, and his eyes glistened as sea foam under the sun. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you."

Eleanor chuckled, but only because his lightness was so unexpected. This Edmund had only ever been austere around her. "Don’t worry," she said, standing up and bowing. "Can I assist you in anything, Your Majesty?"

He halted, frowning. "You know, you… don’t have to call me that. Caspian is about to become king, and yet you call him Cas. You can… you can call me Ed, if you’d like. I remember you called me that on the first night."

She swallowed. "Right."

"Actually, I’ve been meaning to apologise for my behaviour. It was most unacceptable, especially on that first day when we discussed at the Stone Table. I’m not sure if you have heard of it, but earlier that day we had an incident in which… Well, there was an attempt to summon the White Witch."

Eleanor’s eyes widened. She had heard rumours and grumblings throughout Aslan’s How, but no one had said it so clearly, not to her. "Oh," she was all she could utter.

"I know it is no excuse, but I was still shaken from my emotions, and I let them get the best of me. I assure you it will not happen again."

"It’s alright," she rushed to say. "I was not so amicable as well."

"Could we start over?"

Eleanor felt a wave of familiarity. Hadn’t they already had this conversation, months ago, in a snow-covered street at Stamford? "Of course," she replied, as she had then.

Edmund offered his hand. "Edmund Pevensie. But please call me Ed."

She shook it. "Eleanor Harrison. But you can call me Elle."

Even though they were indoors, his touch left an icy burn on her. They dropped each other’s hand at the same second.

"It’s very nice to meet you, Elle," he said, smiling as if they shared a secret. "I hope we can be friends."

She couldn’t help but smile back. "I hope so, too." After all, weren’t they already, in some way?

They left to meet with his siblings, who were all helping prepare for the feast which would follow Caspian’s coronation. Caspian and Doctor Cornelius were able to join them for lunch, and the Pevensies told stories of their time ruling Narnia, sharing one advice or other to the prospective new king. They talked of their castle, Cair Paravel, which used to sit atop a cliff by the eastern sea, before it had been attacked.

"I used to love waking up to the sound of crashing waves," Susan was saying with a dreamy look. "Was it not wonderful?"

"Of course," Edmund replied, "if you didn’t mind the squawking of seagulls in the first hour of morning."

"Oh, come on, Ed, it was not that bad," pleaded Peter.

Edmund did not give in. "Perhaps not for you. You could sleep soundly even if giants were tap dancing around you."

Lucy leaned in closer to Eleanor. "Edmund took a few months to find out there were seagull nests right outside his room," she murmured with a playful smile.

Eleanor muffled a laugh.

"Still, it sounds wonderful," Caspian said, beaming kindly towards Susan. "I have always dreamed of the place. Perhaps one day, when our most pressing matters are resolved, I could see it rebuilt."

"Oh, please, please do!" Lucy cried, jumping in her seat. "Oh, we could help you! We can make drawings of it!"

As Caspian and the two kings kept busy for the next few days, Eleanor joined Lucy and Susan in the professor’s study, where they did as suggested. Susan was the most skilled at drawing, and she seemed to prefer to work quietly, while Lucy quipped around the room recounting memories from the castle. She would sometimes burst into singing old Narnian songs, and she would pull Eleanor up so she could teach their dances.

The day of Caspian’s coronation was brighter than any other she had seen in Narnia, and she wondered if Aslan had perhaps sung the sun into shining more fiercely. The hallways were warm and luminous, and the castle itself seemed to come alive for the celebration. From one of the windows, Eleanor saw the front gate had been opened, villagers and narnians already swarming the patio. She heard a fiddle playing somewhere — a song of hope.

The great hall did not seem all that grand with so many eager spectators loitering every available space. Eleanor watched from the front row, between Doctor Cornelius and the red dwarf Trumpkin, while the four Pevensies awaited near the throne. They were dressed in the most beautiful robes Eleanor had ever seen, and she could only wonder how otherworldly they must seem to all of the narnians.

Aslan walked Caspian to the front. Eleanor met his eyes briefly, her lips quivering. How could this be the same boy who had spent countless nights daydreaming of magic under the stars? A boy who used to talk to them, hoping they would answer?

He glowed with his new crown. Eleanor thought the gold matched his smile.

"Once a king in Narnia, always a king in Narnia," Aslan’s voice echoed through them all by the end of it. "May your wisdom grace us until the stars rain down from the heavens."

Applause and cries for longevity erupted all around, Caspian’s name being shouted, roared, and chirped. He was a king already loved by his people — a prince who had been exiled, a boy with a gentle heart and a brave soul. He had brought the telmarines and the narnians together. He was a promise of peace.

"My people," he called, once the hall had quieted. "Today is a day of festivities. It is the day we become one, where we lay down our differences and our disagreements so we can prosper as a nation. I bid you to look at your neighbours in this room and see each other as brothers and sisters, as friends and kin. From now on, we are one people. Our hearts must beat as one.

"Yet we cannot ignore the losses we have suffered, and our loved ones must not be forgotten. While our grief is still recent, we must not allow it to be turn into despair. Let us celebrate in memory of the lives that were forfeit for our unity. Let friendship blossom despite our sorrows, let love grow from the tenderness we still keep.

"And, as your king, I promise Narnia will always be a safe haven for those who need it. I vow to search the lands and the seas for those who had fled into hiding. I vow to defend our country against those who wish us ill. My shield and sword belong to Narnia, and so it shall be, until my last breath."

The acclaim was even more passionate this time. All the while, King Caspian stood in unshakable grace, and Eleanor thought it would be the type of moment people would sing about for centuries later.

The feast took place in the village square, which was large enough to accommodate both its inhabitants and those who had come from the woods. Food and wine seemed to sprout from thin air, and the fauns had soon already taken out their flutes to play. Nymphs and naiads began a dance around a water well, and in no time men were rushing to join them. Eleanor sat with the Pevensies, chattering and laughing as day turned into night, and she would occasionally spot Caspian among his people. He always had the biggest grin on his face.

"Your Majesty," she said, at one point when they found each other among the crowd. She had hugged him, not knowing what else to say; congratulations seemed like an understatement.

"Oh, come on, Elle," he replied. "I thought we had gone through this already."

"Please, I wanted to use your new title at least once… Cas," she added, smiling. "You appear like a true king already."

He smiled back, though it soon faltered. "It already feels different. Not that I particularly feel different, but… people look at me differently. Promise me you will treat me the same."

"Will you promise never to hang me?" she replied tauntingly.

"Only if you promise never to plot to have me overthrown."

They laughed, and Eleanor offered her hand. "It is a deal."

Caspian lingered for a second longer. "I am glad to have you," he muttered. "I really am. I think you might be the only person who can still see me as me. Just Cas."

She held on. "I am glad to have you, too," she said, and at that moment she could feel it in her heart. She cared for him, just as much as she cared for the family and friends she had left behind in England. Wasn’t it funny, how quietly love creeped into your life?

They were not able to talk further that night, for the new king was disputed among his people as if he was the last barrel of wine, so Eleanor remained with the Pevensies. Music carried on as the air turned colder, but their faces glowed red from twirling and skipping in circles. They all danced in group, Lucy the most excited of all. She even had Trumpkin join her at one point, though his dancing consisted mostly of stepping in place. He kept a grouchy frown through all of it, but Eleanor thought she saw the faintest whisper of a smile whenever he thought no one was looking.

But even Lucy tired after a couple of hours, and they had to sit back and rest. The tune had slowed down, and the square had cleared of at least half of its initial attendance. An elderly couple had begun waltzing in the middle; a nymph and an enamoured soldier soon followed.

"I am getting drowsy," Susan announced, standing up. "I will go back to the castle."

"Let me escort you," Peter said.

"No, please. Enjoy the rest of the evening. Reepicheep can accompany me."

One of the mice, who had been sitting idly by, nodded. "Right this way, Your Majesty!" he squeaked, and the two left.

"One last dance, Lu?" Peter asked, and Lucy jolted up in glee. Peter let Lucy climb on top of his feet, and the two spun around awkwardly, laughing.

Eleanor had been watching with a sweet smile when she noticed Edmund had risen, too. He offered her a hand. "Will you grant me the honour?"

She could not find the words, so she simply took his hand. They went towards the other spinning couples. Edmund placed a hand on her waist, and her body stiffened in response. His other hand held hers, and so they began swaying.

They tripped on their first turn.

"Sorry," the two of them said.

Edmund looked flustered. "I haven’t danced in a while," he confessed in a chuckle.

Eleanor smiled. "Me neither." The last time she had slow danced, in fact, had been with him, at her old house’s living room, during their Christmas dinner. "Last time I did, I was advised to simply act as if I were the best dancer in the world. The key, apparently, is confidence."

"And if you make a fool of yourself?"

"That is when you must act the most confident."

He laughed, and it seemed to crush her heart. She hadn’t heard such a melody since those summer days at Professor Kirke’s house, and she had missed it more than she had realised.

They did not talk until the end of the song, when they then separated to applaud the musicians. Peter and Lucy were on their way back to the castle, saying their goodbyes. They followed, though a few steps behind, making the walk in silence, separated by a few torturous inches.

"How is your hand?" Edmund at last asked.

Eleanor showed it to him. They stopped so he could examine it carefully in the moonlight. She hadn’t found Lucy in time, on the day of the battle, so her cut had been healing only gradually. The flesh was no longer open, though the line was still reddish and warm. She knew it would soon become a scar.

He traced along it with his fingertip, brushing as lightly as a feather.

"Thank you, again," she muttered. "If you hadn’t found me, I would have been dead."

He still scanned the wound. "I wasn’t so delicate in saying it that day," he said quietly, "but you don’t have to thank me for saving your life. I would do it in the blink of an eye."

Her eyes widened. When Edmund met them, his was as still as the moon, peaceful in its truthfulness.

"I know you are not the same person I have once known," he said. "But I do care about you. I don’t think I would be capable of not caring."

She felt the familiarity of her speeding heart as she looked at him, and she recognised the feeling. It was hope. Hope, once again, luring her with the promise that he might fall for her, just as she had for him. A foolish fantasy Nora had once dreamed.

Eleanor tried shaking the thought off. What use was indulging herself with such a delusion? He had still to grow to become the Edmund she had fallen for. He would live through all of this, and he would meet her once more, and still he would not want anything other than friendship. So why should she fawn over every kind word he spoke? Why should she set a trap for her own heart?

The answer, of course, was as clear as ever. It was simply because she could not help it.

"I am," she whispered. "I am the same person. I will become her one day, as you will become the person I met in my past."

They were alone in the street, Lucy and Peter long gone. In the quiet, Eleanor could almost hear faint snoring leaking from the stone buildings. Music still played at the square, but it might as well have been as far from them as England.

Edmund still looked aghast. "So we have met," he murmured. "Did Aslan tell you this?"

She nodded.

"But then…" He blinked repeatedly. "Oh, I should not ask you. Whatever you and Aslan spoke of, it should remain between only you."

"I didn’t understand much of it anyway," she confessed, breaking into a smile. "But he said time cannot be rewritten. So whatever has happened in our past will not change. Your past will one day become my future. And my past will become yours."

He stared at her, and she knew he was seeing the version of her he had known. She looked through him as well. Gazing at him this closely, this intently, she could scarcely believe she hadn’t immediately understood he was years younger than the Edmund she had met at Stamford. Time hadn’t yet claimed the softness of his cheeks, and the war hadn’t sunken his eyes or imprinted its darkness underneath them.

"I see," he finally said. "So I suppose it’s best if we don’t… spoil each other too much. They say it is a curse to know of our fate."

"Right. Right, you’re right." She tried putting on a brave face. "I suppose we will catch up eventually, won’t we?"

It took a second, but Edmund laughed. "I suppose we will."

They didn’t speak again as they strolled back to the castle. Edmund looked deep in thought all of the way, most likely musing over the implications of their shuffled encounters, just as she had after the conversation with Aslan. He walked her to her room, which reminded her of the times he had walked her back from Mr. Taylor’s shop at Stamford. How could that Edmund have known all of this, and not said a word? Was that their fate, to have every conversation crippled by what they could not say?

"Ed?" she called, before she went inside the room.

He raised his eyebrows in response.

"Susan said I should be dead." The words escaped from her mouth before she could think them through. They had just agreed not to discuss the future, yet the thought had been rotting in the back of her mind since the night of the unsuccessful castle raid, slowly feeding off of her sanity. "She said I died."

Edmund did not look surprised. Had he been thinking it too?

"Yes," he said. "Elle, she simply meant… we met you in Narnia a thousand years ago. Everyone we knew from that time has been long gone now."

She sighed in relief. "Oh. Oh, I see. Thank you. I just had to ask this. I promise I won’t ask any more."

He smiled kindly. "Let’s not worry about the future for now. It has been a long day."

She chuckled. "I’ll see you tomorrow?" Are we friends again?

Edmund nodded. "Goodnight, Elle," he said.

"Goodnight, Ed," she replied.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2303

Eleanor fell asleep soon after, tired from the dancing, the wine, and the hopeless pursuits of understanding time. When she opened her eyes the next morning, she realised it was the first time she was awakening exactly where she expected to be. For the first time, it didn’t feel like a game of guessing where she was — Narnia or England, the castle’s cell or the underground tunnels of Aslan’s How. She wondered if this meant she had now embraced this as her life. She liked the thought of it.

Eleanor met Edmund and Lucy for breakfast, and he smiled when she came in. He was Ed once more.

The thrill of the coronation was still present in everyone, and the village was brimming with life as they paraded through the main street. Caspian and Doctor Cornelius joined them, leading the line until they reached a glade nearing the eastern woods. There was a wooden structure, which resembled a doorframe, on the opposite end. Aslan, Peter and Susan stood next to it.

Susan came to meet them, joining hands with Lucy, and Caspian took her place on Aslan’s left side. They grouped next to them, waiting, while narnians and telmarines arrived. Eleanor spotted Lady Prunaprismia, accompanied by her father, the Lord Scythley. She carried a baby in her arms, and Eleanor felt her throat dry. She had scarcely thought of Prunaprismia since the day she escaped the castle. The lady, whom she had once tended to and comforted, had now become a mother and a widow, only in the span of days. Eleanor didn’t even know the name of her son.

Aslan then began speaking, and everyone listened. He explained that the telmarines had also come from Eleanor and the Pevensies’ world, where their antecessors had once been pirates, who had stumbled upon a passage in an island cave. He told them the wooden door would take them back to that world, where anyone who wished could start a new life.

Eleanor’s entire body began shaking. If the door could take them back to their world, then she could return to her old life. Wasn’t this what she had longed for, ever since arriving in Narnia? Hadn’t she dreamt of Aunt Doris’ singing, of Uncle Rupert’s smile, of Birdie’s laughter?

Should she raise her hand and ask? Could it be, after all this time, as simple as walking through that plain wooden door? Was her wish only a few steps away?

But Prunaprismia and her father had already come forward, and Eleanor blinked in disbelief as she watched them vanish into nothing. The same hysteria had spread through the remaining attendees, and soon they were shouting and demanding explanations. Reepicheep, the mouse knight, had come forward to volunteer himself to be next to go through the door.

"We’ll go," Peter suddenly said, leaving Aslan’s side and approaching his siblings. "Come on. Our time’s up."

"What?" Lucy and Edmund protested.

"It is time for us to leave," Susan said, taking her brother’s side. "We are not needed here anymore."

Peter and Susan looked perfectly calm and resolute. Eleanor noticed Aslan, behind them, had the same expression.

"Was that what Aslan was talking to you and Susan this morning?" Lucy asked.

"Yes — that and other things. I can’t tell it to you all. There were things he wanted to say to Su and me because we’re not coming back to Narnia."

"Never?"

"Oh, you two are. At least, I think he means you to."

"But why? Did they do something wrong?"

Aslan then spoke. "Quite the opposite, dear one. But all things have their time. Your brother and sister have learned what they can from this world. Now it’s time for them to live in their own."

"It’s alright, Lu," Peter said. "It’s not how I thought it would be, but it’s alright. One day you’ll see, too. Now, come on."

They began moving, and Eleanor panicked. What about me ? She wanted to scream. She felt stupid, thinking Edmund and his siblings would remain in Narnia for another fifteen years, believing they would have all that time together. He was leaving, and she had no idea when he would return. Would it be another thousand years? She could not be left behind. She would ask to leave as well.

Unwillingly, or perhaps with all of her will, she took a step forward. They all turned to her, and she kept her stance as she faced Aslan’s gaze. He waited.

Before she could say anything, however, Caspian’s eyes caught her sight. They were pleading, frantic, hopeless. Despite his new crown, he was still the lonely boy who loved old stories and talked to the stars at night. An orphan, just like her. How could she leave him? She remembered how brokenhearted she had been when Gracie had first deserted her and Birdie for one of the boys for school. How could she do the same to Caspian?

Besides, for days now, there had been a new feeling settling inside her. Perhaps it had arrived after the reconciliation with Edmund; perhaps it had been on the night she and Caspian had talked on the rooftop. Or perhaps it had happened one day at a time, growing steadily as she grew used to the morning sunlight which seeped from the castle’s windows, as she became used to the quietness and the clean air and the general loveliness of the country. Either way, it was already done, and by then she considered Narnia her home.

The choice had long been made. She would not forsake Caspian, and she was not yet ready to leave Narnia. She would stay, even if it meant enduring time away from Edmund.

"When will they return?" She finally spoke, her voice unsteady. "Will we see them again?"

She felt Edmund’s gaze at her, but she couldn’t meet it. She waited for Aslan to reply, even though she already expected him to reprimand her for wanting to presume the future.

"You will see them again," the lion said. "The time when Narnia will find itself in need of our king and queen might come sooner than expected."

Eleanor nodded, stepping back into place. It was more confirmation than she had been hoping for, and it softened the ache in her chest. She would stay, with Caspian, until the day Edmund came back. And, if she wished to, she could always return to England, couldn’t she? There was this door, and there was the wardrobe passage near the lamppost. The year of 1945 could wait.

The Pevensies began saying their goodbyes, and Eleanor was glad she was only one among the others whose sorrows had erupted from watery eyes. A bulgy bear sobbed uncontrollably, shaking the ground where they stood, and even Trumpkin’s head hung low. Lucy came to her first, and Eleanor hugged her tightly.

"I’ll miss you, Elle," she cried.

Eleanor tried to smile in comfort. "You’ll be back in no time."

Peter came next, and he rested a hand on her shoulder. "It was a pleasure to get to know you a little better," he said. "I hope we’ll meet again."

"I hope so as well," she replied. She watched him as he went on to say his farewells to Doctor Cornelius, trying to picture their next encounter. Would it be High King Peter, in the Golden Age of Narnia, or Captain Pevensie of the British Army?

"Elle," Susan was coming her way, smiling kindly. "I pray we will meet in England."

Eleanor agreed. "I would love that." She thought back to Edmund saying Susan and their parents were supposed to visit for Christmas — in 1945. Eleanor still held on to the belief she would be there, too.

Susan then came forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Make the most of your time here," she whispered, before moving on.

Edmund was then finally upon her. He looked stern, his eyes dark even in the sunlight. 

"It’s funny," he murmured, stopping in front of her, "I always grieved not being able to say goodbye the last time I left Narnia. But somehow this feels even harder."

She understood the feeling. Farewells were foreign to her since she could remember — she hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to her parents, nor to Edmund when his troops had relocated from Stamford in January. Having him stand in front of her, so close and so real, knowing she was about to lose him for most likely years, was debilitating. What could she say or do that would possibly feel like enough?

"At least you know you will come back," she replied. She had meant to sound optimistic, but melancholy leaked from her voice either way.

He smiled faintly. "I look forward to that day."

She smiled back. "So do I."

They halted, unsure. They had never embraced before — the closest they had ever gotten had been dancing together. So Edmund reached for her hand, bowing until his lips touched its back. She did half a curtsy in return.

"Until next time," he said.

"Until then," she replied.

And so the four Pevensies formed a line, with Peter in the front and Edmund in the back, and Eleanor watched as they walked through the door and disappeared.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2303

The world of Narnia was peaceful as a children’s dream, and every morning daylight greeted Eleanor with the warmest of touches, and the breeze sang tunes of jolly in her ears. Aslan had disappeared the same day the Pevensies had left, yet a feeling of old magic lingered, seeming to have awoken from the land. It sweetened the water of the rivers, coated leaves in vivid colours, blew the perfume of hyacinth into the air. When nights began to arrive sooner, and trees came undressed into sharp bareness, the memory of war and revolution had already faded into ballads and bedtime stories. They were always followed by cries for the new king’s health.

Eleanor filled her time with as many activities as she could, hoping it would hasten its passage, and it obliged well enough. She practised horse riding during the mornings, accompanied at times by Caspian, when they would explore the country and visit some of its remote inhabitants. One family of talking squirrels they met were so overjoyed by the king’s visit they insisted Eleanor and Caspian stayed for lunch, but they only offered a basket full of nuts for the meal. The two returned to the castle with their stomachs empty, hurrying to the kitchen for seconds. They did, however, later toast the nuts with honey and oil, which they then enjoyed for the rest of the week.

On sunny afternoons, Eleanor would go to the river to practise swimming. Some of the naiads soon became her friends, and they cheered whenever she could hold her breath underwater for a new record. Daulis, a giggling naiad with raven-black locks, would always braid Eleanor’s hair into the most intricate plaited crowns, which Eleanor could not replicate even after imploring Daulis to teach her.

When nights were clear, and the stars came out in unmistakable patterns, she would join Caspian and Doctor Cornelius in the woods. The centaur Glenstorm had taken over on instructing them on the infinite pilgrimage of constellations, and he taught them how to interpret their dances for knowledge of the past and future. They listened, they watched, and they dreamed. When Eleanor gazed into their brightness, she thought of Edmund.

It was a different feeling now, a quiet kind of melancholy. She didn’t miss him the way she used to — longing for an escape. She had grown fond of her new life in Narnia, and she was glad she had chosen it. Yet the feeling was always there, tucked between her limbs, and it became stronger whenever she saw some trace of him. Weeks after the coronation, Doctor Cornelius took Eleanor and Caspian to the ruins of Cair Paravel, which was now an island on the eastern shore. There were still seagulls squawking to the wind, and she found a golden piece which looked like a chess pawn. She held onto it, clutching the cold metal, trying to imagine Edmund’s hands around it.

"Oh, it looks so much like Susan’s drawings!" Caspian cheered, as he went around the island comparing the rubble and the sketches. "And the sea has not separated us too much from land! It will be easy enough to build a bridge, and soon we could have the capital reassigned!"

"Patience, now, my dear king," Doctor Cornelius replied, ever so prudent. "We are still within the first months of your reign. There is much to be done around the kingdom."

"You’re right, of course, professor," Caspian said, chuckling light-heartedly. "I will talk to the master of treasury as soon as we achieve peace with our neighbouring countries. Lord Nettleship believes the Calormen will respond to our proposition still this winter."

The professor did not seem so convinced. "We shall see."

But even the upcoming border disputes were set aside when the day of Caspian’s eighteenth birthday came. By then the air had turned too brisk for a celebration at the village square, so the castle’s halls were decorated with candles and pinecones for the party. Once again, the rooms were filled with music and dancing, with excited chattering echoing through every corridor. Caspian entertained his people with his usual buoyant charm, while Eleanor spent most of the evening sitting with the professor.

"Miss Elle?" he called.

Eleanor blinked, realising she had been distracted. She frequently found herself asking others to repeat themselves, for she was so often daydreaming. "I’m sorry," she said. "I didn’t hear what you said."

Doctor Cornelius smiled kindly. "I simply asked if you were enjoying yourself. Though I suppose I already have my answer."

"It’s a lovely night," she asserted, which was indeed true.

"It is. But nights are never as lovely as the ones we spend with those who matter, are they?"

She glared at him. How could he have known exactly what she had been thinking?

"I cannot read the stars as Glenstorm does," he said, "but I can recognise the look of love in one’s eyes."

Her eyes widened. "Love?" she chuckled, incapable of any better response.

"Love, Elle. Are you not in love?"

There were only two possible answers — yes or no — and yet she could not find the words to speak. How could the professor have said it with such ease? How could he talk of such a thing without even choking?

"Do you think I am in love?" she muttered, idiotically, stupidly.

"With King Edmund," Doctor Cornelius replied, as if he was helping her with the answer in one of his classes.

A lump had formed in her throat, and it seemed to block all air from reaching her lungs. Her oxygen-deprived brain throbbed with the professor’s questionings, the same questions she had unknowingly been asking herself for months.

Did she love Edmund? Could it be that she loved him? Could it really be love, the love she had read in romance books from centuries prior, the love that was strong enough to start wars, and wipe away entire cities, and destroy civilizations to oblivion? Could it be the same kind of love that had drawn her parents together, a lifetime ago in a world she was not sure even existed anymore, so compelling it had made both of them renounce their own families? The kind of love that had given life to her, that perhaps still lived on in her limbs, in her arteries, in the plasma that filled her cells?

When they were fifteen, Gracie had been the first to declare she loved Billy Lynch, who was the handsomest boy in their neighbourhood. Eleanor had asked her how she could be so sure it was l-o-v-e — back then, a concept so abstract to her senses she had no choice but to rely on its spelling for some substance — and Gracie had simply said it was because she had never felt so strongly for anyone else. She would know when she felt it, Gracie had said, and Eleanor had spent years wondering what exactly "it" was. She thought at first "it" would be an entirely different feeling, a sensation so foreign and exotic it would throw her off at first, and she would have to learn how to navigate it like a toddler taking their first steps. But now she was beginning to suspect "it" was simply feeling everything at once: excitement, anger, gaiety, turmoil, embarrassment, comfort, frustration, hopefulness, melancholy. Edmund, both versions of him she had met, had made her feel all of those things, and couldn’t that be some definition of love? He had made her feel, and feeling was as good as living, and it might as well be as good as loving.

But how could she ever admit to it? How could she ever find the strength to utter such feelings?

"Do not be fretful, dear," the professor said. "It is not something to fear."

"Isn’t it, though?" she whispered. "Are we not supposed to be paralysed with fear?"

"No. You, especially, have nothing to be frightened of."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He waited until she met his eyes to speak. "You are not blind, Elle. You have seen it, too."

She shook her head. "Where?"

The professor did not answer, and she had to refrain from groaning with frustration. She knew what he meant, of course, but she wanted someone else to say it to her. She wanted someone to shake her and tell her they thought Edmund could love her too, that she was not alone in this, and she was not insane for lingering at every single kindness he had ever sent in her direction. She wanted someone to tell her they believed in this dream, and perhaps it was not a dream at all. But the same memory surfaced to crush all of her foolish hopes: the time she and Edmund had breathed the same air at Aunt Doris’ kitchen, on a Christmas night so long ago. He had not kissed her then, so why should she think he would ever want to?

"Are you alright?"

Eleanor jumped when she realised Caspian had approached them, and he now rested a hand on her shoulder. His face was blushing from dancing, and he sounded breathless.

She blinked, drawing herself back to the present. "Yes," she said, hoping she sounded at least a bit convincing. "I think I am a little tired, that’s all. I might retire soon."

Caspian’s face fell. "It’s still early. Come on, you must accompany me on at least one dance. I insist."

Eleanor sighed, but she stood and joined him towards the centre of the room. The music, at least, was calm, and they simply swayed from side to side.

"You know, I didn’t expect you to become a tyrant so quickly," she said, managing some lightness in her tone.

"I was not commanding you to dance as your king," he protested. "I was asking as a friend. It is my birthday, after all."

She chuckled, and they carried on twirling.

"You look beautiful tonight, Elle," he said quietly.

He was serious, and so she forced herself to look away. "Thank you," she muttered.

They kept silent after it. Eleanor thought the song might never end, and she scavenged her mind for anything to say.

"How do you feel being eighteen?" she blurted. She tried to make her voice sound casual, but the abruptness from the subject change was as evident as possible.

Thankfully, Caspian obliged with grace. "It does not feel much different from seventeen," he said, smiling. "But you would know, wouldn’t you? Are we not the same age now?"

Eleanor had been about to agree when she stopped herself. "I’m not sure," she admitted. After all, time in Narnia passed differently from England, but she had been there for enough months. She counted the number of weeks that had passed, even if it was not an entirely accurate calculation, and realised they would have been in December, if they were to follow the 1945 calendar. "Actually," she said, "I think I might have turned nineteen already."

He looked confused. "You have?"

She made a face. "It would seem so."

His mouth opened into a wide grin. "Then we should celebrate!"

His enthusiasm was as contagious as always, and she laughed. "I suppose we could. But tonight we are celebrating you, Cas."

He nodded. "I will not forget," he promised.

Caspian kept his word faithfully, and he came to find her the next night. He took her to the top of the Great Tower, as they had so many other times, where Doctor Cornelius was waiting with an assortment of food and drinks. They feasted and chattered hours away, laughing as they told each other old stories. When the professor excused himself, Eleanor and Caspian stayed to watch the sky. They lied on the floor, side by side, in quiet contemplation.

"You should make a birthday wish," he murmured after a while.

She smiled. "That is a good idea. Have you made one already?"

"No. How about we do it together?"

"Alright."

She stared at the stars, and they showed her Edmund’s face in return. She did not craft a wish at all, she simply thought of him.

Eleanor then felt something reaching for her hand, and in the next second Caspian’s fingers were intertwined with hers. She could not see his face, nor did he acknowledge it. They kept their faces directed towards the darkness, and Eleanor could only hear the forceful beating of her heart as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

She sat up in an attempt to disguise the untangling of their hands. She began straightening up her clothes, pretending to be absorbed in the task.

"What did you wish for?" she asked, barely meeting his eyes.

Caspian took a second to respond, also sitting up and tugging at his shirt. "I don’t think we’re supposed to tell," he said.

She smiled faintly. "You’re probably right," she muttered. "We should get back. It’s turned cold."

He nodded, and the two descended back to the stairs. Caspian escorted her to her room, where she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to summon sleep to her. It was hopeless, and soon she got back up. She made her way to the professor’s room instead.

"Elle," Doctor Cornelius greeted her at the door, looking half asleep. "Is something wrong?"

"No." She frowned. "Sorry to disturb you, professor. It’s so late. I should come back some other time."

"We are already here," he laughed. "Is there something you wish to talk about?"

Eleanor swallowed. Her mind kept recollecting the way Caspian had reached for her hand in the roof, and it had sprung her into reimagining every one of their interactions through his perspective. It was silly to presume anything, of course, but she couldn’t help it.

"Last night," she began, "when you said you had seen the look of… love. You didn’t tell me where else you had seen it."

He showed no surprise, and sighed very deeply before replying. "I can only make assumptions, my dearest," he said.

Her pulse was throbbing. "What do you assume?" she insisted.

He held her gaze. Eleanor blinked, realising for the first time the professor had grey eyes. She had never looked so intently at him.

"His Majesty, King Edmund, seemed very devoted towards you," he said. "Confused as he may have been with his own feelings."

And there they were, the words she had most longed to hear. She was not alone in her longing, and perhaps it was not so hopeless of a pursuit after all. Though it hardly mattered now, she thought. What use were the professor’s words when Edmund was a world apart?

But Doctor Cornelius was not finished. "His Majesty, our King Caspian, also seems quite fond of you," he admitted.

Her chest sank. "Caspian?" she simply whispered back.

He eyed her sadly. "Have you not noticed?"

She had not. Could she have been so blind as to not notice what her closest friend was feeling? Had she been so deeply buried in her own heart?

"But… he…" she stumbled. "Well, I suppose he is eighteen now. But he should be looking for a queen, shouldn’t he? Aren’t kings supposed to be making alliances through marriage?"

"I believe we might be able to put such practices behind us. In the Golden Age, our four kings and queens never married, not even for political alliance. In times of peace, we may be so bold as to aspire for true love."

The words travelled through her, reaching every corner inside her and leaving a funny feeling behind. She felt wrong. 

Part of it was guilt, she realised. She loved Caspian, she would sacrifice her life for him, but she could not reciprocate the sentiment.

"True love," she repeated. The words seemed to flutter in the air around her, as if it was an incantation that had left her lips.

Doctor Cornelius could read her well. "You need not feel remorse for your feelings, Elle," he said. "We can only do so little when being held hostage to our own hearts."

She was thankful for his counsels, of course, though they were effectless on the dread that grew inside her. She was no expert, but she thought she had seen it — the look of love — in Caspian’s eyes, when they glistened right at her, and she hated the dullness in her gaze staring back into him. What would she do if he tried confronting her about it?

"It is late," the professor finally said. "Rest now, dear. Let sleep carry away your burdens."

She doubted it, though she followed his advice either way. But that night, when she reached the realms of her dreams, Edmund was the only one waiting to greet her, as he always did.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2304

When spring came, and with it the acceptance of Calormen’s defiance of the new king, Caspian set off south in a diplomatic expedition. He did not return for over a month, during which Trumpkin governed in his name, with the counsel of Doctor Cornelius. But even when he came back, with little improvement on the country’s relationship with the faraway empire, Caspian soon had to travel north to deal with the rebellious giants in the Ettinsmoor mountains.

In his absence, Eleanor continued visiting the woods, swimming with naiads at the river, and watching the stars at night with the centaurs. Yet with each visit her presence felt larger and more intrusive, as if she was disturbing them on their daily activities, which had been set since the dawn of Narnia itself.

"You are welcome to accompany me in our meetings," Doctor Cornelius had offered, when she conferred to him about it, but those were as tedious as they were long. She soon dropped them altogether.

She almost missed her routine as a maid, exhausting as it was, for at least it didn’t leave her to sulk by herself. But she had not forgotten the slap Mistress Valencia had given her, even if the old woman had left through Aslan’s door, or every time someone had shouted at her face for not completing a task the exact way she was expected to. Still, she needed an occupation of sorts. Days refused to end, and weeks refused to pass, and every season felt permanent. And, the more time refused to move, the more she resented the choice she had made. Had it been silly to stay in Narnia simply to keep company to Caspian? After all, he was a king, and his royal duties were his primary companions. He had no need for her.

The makeshift door at the glade had disappeared the day after the Pevensies had left through it, so Eleanor’s only option became the wardrobe passage by the lamppost. If she could find and cross it, she could go back to Professor Kirke’s house in 1945, where Edmund would be waiting for her, and then she would be able to chase her university dreams in London. But Edmund and Lucy were still set to return to Narnia in the near future, and how could she leave Caspian and Doctor Cornelius, knowing she might never see them again?

The next time Caspian returned to the castle, Eleanor asked him to take her on his next trip. She was resolute even in meeting the northern giants or facing the desert to Calormen, despite being terrified of it, but luckily he was about to journey to Archenland to meet with its king and queen.

It was a short trip, and Eleanor was now well experienced in riding the back of a horse. She and Caspian rode side by side, finally able to catch up on the last few months. He told daring tales from his expeditions, which included escaping the ambush of Calormen slave traders and guiding themselves through the desert by watching the stars. In return, she tried making her bleakness more entertaining, telling stories of the beautiful Narnian countryside he had missed. If he noticed any trace of melancholy in her voice, he did not mention it, and they continued the travelling in high spirits.

The castle of Anvard, in contrast to the greyishness of the one the telmarines had constructed in Narnia, stood gracefully amongst Archenland’s prominent hills, matching the mountains with its tall, red stone towers. It was surrounded by a great green lawn and burgundy autumnal woods.

"Your Majesty," King Rune came to greet them at the gates. He was a short man, with white hair and beard, and a liberal smile.

"Your Majesty," Caspian echoed, bowing gracefully. The two shook hands, and the youth of the Narnian king was as clear as ever in the broad daylight.

The queen awaited a few steps behind, accompanied by her two children. There were sparse white hair entwined with her golden locks, and her face crinkled with bliss of decades past.

"My wife, Queen Malva," the king gestured, and she followed. "My daughter, the Princess Prunella, and my son, Prince Ravi."

The prince and princess were almost identical to each other, both with blonde hair and hazel eyes. They looked older than Caspian, Eleanor noticed, but only by a few years. They all exchanged polite courtesies, filled with endless adulation — Caspian complimented the country and the fortress, while King Rune greeted him on his recent victories and wished him a great and lasting ruling.

"Oh, do forgive my manners," Caspian said, seemingly acknowledging Eleanor for the first time. "This is my companion, Lady Elle."

She glanced quickly at him in surprise, but then smiled and bowed. "Your Majesties," she said. "Your Royal Highnesses."

He went on to introduce the rest of the Narnian party, which included two centaurs, half a dozen dwarves, two Telmarine lords, a satyr, and a few woodland creatures who had joined along the way. The princess seemed particularly interested in one of the badgers, for he wore fitted reading glasses, and strolled about with his small hands held behind his back. Despite looking puzzled by the narnians himself, King Rune greeted them all enthusiastically, then proceeded to invite them inside.

They were taken through the city, which was similar enough to the villages in Narnia, and around the castle gardens. The queen took care of them personally, and they were filled all around with roses of all colours.

" Lady Elle?" Eleanor murmured to Caspian, at one point of the tour when they found themselves far enough from the others.

He smirked. "Sounds nice, don’t you think?"

"I could get used to it," she admitted amusedly. "But you do realise you’ve just lied to the king of Archenland?"

"I don’t think I have, actually. I distinctly remember signing the scripts with Doctor Cornelius before we left. Lord Cornelius, now, in fact."

Her smile faltered as she realised the truth in his words. "Are you serious?" she asked.

"I am. We are short of lords and ladies. So many were exiled when Miraz took over the kingdom, and most of the remaining others left through the door to your world. Besides, I would have been dead if it weren’t for yours and the professor’s help. I have not forgotten it."

She was still too stunned to do more than a simple nod, and she kept quiet through the rest of the day. They were shown the vast halls, the grand armouries, and even the most luxurious library Eleanor had ever seen. At last, they were each granted regal quarters, where they retired to rest for a while. When they rejoined for dinner, which was a feast to compare with the one at Caspian’s own coronation, Eleanor thought perhaps the life of a lady in court would not be so bad of an occupation, after all.

Princess Prunella sat by her side at the table, and she pestered Eleanor with questions about Narnia, which she had always dreamed about.

"I, too, grew up hearing stories of the talking beasts and walking trees," the princess confessed. "The beasts I have met now, but the trees I will still fantasise about."

"While I do not speak for our king, I believe that you are more than welcome to visit," Eleanor said. "Perhaps it is too late this year, for the leaves have already begun to fall, but they look their best during the spring in any way. And you’ll find nymphs are the most joyous dancing partners."

The princess giggled, a sound so jubilant Eleanor could not help but echo it herself. The two went on to spend most of those days in the company of one another, while Caspian accompanied the king and the prince on hunting trips. Eleanor found it too effortless to feel at ease around Prunella, and she suspected it was because it had been a while since she had been with someone so similar to herself. The princess’ laughter, which came so frequently, reminded her of Birdie.

After the first week, Eleanor realised the princess always seemed to peer at Caspian from the corner of her eyes, and her cheeks blushed in vivid colour whenever he addressed her. The king and queen, too, would often direct praise towards their daughter when talking to him.

"Lady Elle," the princess called one day, upon entering the library to find Eleanor hunched over a heavy history book. "The sun is so nice today! Let us go to the gardens!"

Eleanor obliged, bookmarking the page she was at. She knew she ought to spend more time with the royal family, but the library was too impressive to be ignored, and it contained more information than she could ever have access to in Narnia. So few copies had survived Miraz’s repressive reign, when books of Old Narnia had been destroyed. It was refreshing to consult new material, and it felt good to be learning once more. She loved, especially, to find Edmund’s name placed alongside heroic battle stories.

They sat at a table by a rooftop terrace, sipping tea as they watched twilight fall around the city. The king and the prince were in a meeting with their council, and the queen had stayed with Caspian. The Narnian king has still not run out of stories of his recent adventures, and they all listened in delight.

"The king is such an admirable man," Prunella confessed to Eleanor later that evening. "You are most favoured to be his consort."

Eleanor halted, frowning. "Consort?" she repeated.

The princess stared at her. "Are you not to become his queen?"

She nearly choked in her shock. "Queen?" she was finally able to repeat. "No! No, I am not to be… We are not to be married."

Prunella, too, looked absolutely mortified. "Oh, forgive me, I… I was under the impression… He had called you his companion, and I thought…"

"No," Eleanor insisted. "I have come here to accompany him as a friend. That is all."

"Of course. I should not have assumed."

She softened her voice. "The king is not yet committed," she said, and a smile crept to the princess’ face before she could contain herself. "And he is a good man. I’m sure he will be a very loving husband one day."

Prunella’s elation had taken over her entire face now, and she looked close to start skipping around. Later that night, as she lied in bed, Eleanor kept recalling the princess’ expression upon learning of Caspian’s availability for marriage. She kept thinking of what Doctor Cornelius had told her, and she wondered if it could have been the look of love she had seen. But how could it be? She was not yet sure it was love she felt for Edmund — legendary, mythical love —, and she had known him for over a year now. Prunella, on the other hand, had just met Caspian, and they had barely spent time together, just the two of them. Love was not measured in time, she knew, but could it sprout after only a few days?

As more time passed, Eleanor began hiding behind the library’s towering bookshelves, hoping to give Prunella the chance of meeting Caspian for longer. It worked well enough, and soon Caspian and Prunella would be seen lost in conversation during joint meals. Eleanor would find herself keeping company to Prince Ravi instead, though fortunately he turned out to be as agreeable as a prince should be.

"My sister looks very happy," he commented one evening as they dined. Eleanor followed his gaze towards the conversing couple, and Caspian’s eyes met hers briefly. They smiled.

"She does," she agreed. "She is such a spirited soul."

"Indeed. I used to envy her gaiety, in fact, though I can’t help but feel grateful at times for my own scepticism."

Eleanor turned to him. "What do you mean?"

Prince Ravi looked intently at her, sincerity apparent in his eyes. "What do you think is preferable, my lady? To give yourself completely, freely, to whomever you wish, even if the feeling might not be reciprocal? Or to never find the courage to do so, in fear of looking foolish, and remain in a sanctuary of loneliness?"

His words had been as sharp as they had been sensible, and Eleanor found herself in loss for her own. But she already knew the answer to the prince’s question. Hadn’t she already decided, long ago, she would be Edmund’s, even if he would never be hers?

"I don’t think we have a say on it," she finally replied. "It chooses us more than we choose it."

He almost smiled. "I believe you are right. We are doomed to whatever our souls are made of."

She chuckled faintly. "It seems Your Highness has thought extensively about it."

"I have," he confessed. "I could say the same about you, my lady."

Eleanor sighed. "I have been doomed, I suppose," she said. What a word to call love .

Prince Ravi looked sympathetic. "So have I. I hope I am not being too forward in saying this, but I can only assume this person of yours must have been quite remarkable."

She allowed herself to indulge in the memory of Edmund. She invoked his smile, his dark eyes, and the memory of his hand touching hers. "He was," she said. "He still is."

The prince smiled then. "So was mine. But I was too frightened of dooming myself, and I did not act on time. And now this person I hoped would be mine has found their own doom."

Eleanor wanted to ask, but she couldn’t bring herself to pry on the prince’s tragedies. Instead, they ate the rest of their meal quietly, though it did not feel uncomfortable. When they were done, Prince Ravi offered to escort her back to her room, and they walked in silence through the castle’s long corridors.

"I hope my sister finds happiness," he finally said, when they reached her door. "But I fear it will not be with the Narnian king, as my father hopes."

Eleanor did not respond. She wanted to say they need not abandon hope just yet, but she could not make such a promise herself. Caspian had not done anything else that could suggest he had feelings for her, despite what Doctor Cornelius thought. The old professor could have been wrong in his assumptions, and Eleanor knew it, but she found it hard to concede to. Because if Doctor Cornelius had been wrong about Caspian’s feelings, then he might as well have been wrong about Edmund’s.

They remained at Anvard for the weeks that followed, until the air had turned too brisk to ignore. Winter would soon arrive with all of its forces, and they would have to ride back before snow fell and impeded their travelling.

It was the day before their journey when it was decided Princess Prunella would accompany them back, so as to spend winter and the upcoming spring in Narnia. The king of Archenland assembled a party of his most trusted officers to escort his daughter, and they parted after a sequence of emotional farewells. Prunella was most excited upon passing the border between their neighbouring countries, and she revelled in each sighting of Old Narnia.

The princess settled into the castle with ease, and Eleanor loved having her as company. They would watch snow falling from the castle’s windows, read aloud to each other over cups of tea, and knit together by the hearth. Soon, they were constantly seen walking around with their arms locked, chattering amongst themselves. Whenever Caspian appeared, however, Eleanor would always try and find an excuse to leave the two.

"I should go and look for the professor," she said, one afternoon, when they met at the castle’s gate, after the two girls had been shopping around the village.

"Oh, I’ve been meaning to talk to him as well," Caspian said, moving to her side. "I’ll see you for supper, Your Highness."

Prunella smiled, though she looked disappointed, and left with one of her father’s guards. Eleanor and Caspian then began making the way to the professor’s study. They kept silent as they walked, and Eleanor made a point of pretending to be particularly busy with the untangling of her scarf.

"How are you doing, Elle?" Caspian at last asked.

"Very well. And you?"

He seemed to be staring at her, but she kept her eyes locked ahead. "Fine," he said. "You do seem well, I think. The princess’ company appears to have elevated your spirits."

"She is the sweetest," Eleanor said quickly. "Don’t you think?"

"Yes, of course," he replied, though half-heartedly.

"And she seems very fond of you, Cas. I dare say you have found a most exceptional match."

Caspian stopped. Eleanor, as well, was forced to halt and turn to him.

He was frowning. "Match?"

Eleanor forced a chuckle. "Yes," she said. "Is that not why you have brought her here to Narnia?"

He looked at her as if she had spoken an entirely different language. Neither of them moved, locked in this gawking contest, standing their own ground.

"No," he said quietly, at last. "That is not why I have brought her here."

Eleanor waited, unfaltering.

"I have invited the princess so she could keep you company," he confessed. "The professor had told me of your sorrows, and I saw how cheerful you turned in Archenland. I thought having her here with you would assuage this winter for you. Besides, the princess was very excited upon seeing our country. It only made sense."

She felt something growing in her, burning her cheeks and blurring her vision, and she realised it was shame. Yet it was easier to convert it into anger, and she joined her eyebrows in annoyance. "Please, Cas. Have you really not noticed? Prunella is in love with you. Her father hopes you will join your kingdoms. Why else do you think he would send his only daughter away?"

He really did look like he was considering such a possibility for the first time, and she sighed. A king should have been more perceptive, should he not?

"I did not know," he finally muttered.

She took a deep breath. "Well, you know now," she said, trying to contain her sharpness.

He nodded, still somewhat mystified, and they parted ways. Eleanor went back to her room, frustrated by Caspian’s obliviousness. As the hours passed, however, it became harder and harder to stay mad at him, for perhaps he too had been too buried in his own heart to have noticed. She thought perhaps Prince Ravi had been right, and they were all doomed by love.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2305-2306

Caspian went back to Archenland as soon as winter was gone, leading Princess Prunella’s party with him. The princess had cried when saying goodbye to Eleanor, along with insisting she would visit Anvard in the summer. She made promises of trailing in sunflower fields and swimming in clear lakes, where water came from snow from the mountains. Eleanor agreed to every plan, though she was not sure whether she would keep them at all. Almost two years had now passed since she had arrived in Narnia, and she didn’t know how long she would remain there. She hoped it would not be long, for she couldn’t wait to be reunited with Edmund.

It was late spring when Caspian returned. Eleanor heard from Doctor Cornelius that Caspian and King Rune had conferred on the proposal of marriage, which Caspian had now formally rejected. The king of Archenland was apparently deeply saddened by it, though the alliance between the two countries remained untouched.

Eleanor and Caspian had not talked much after their discussion on Princess Prunella, but even their animosity eventually caved. When Caspian returned from Archenland, having spent another month there, they had missed each other so dearly they made up upon sight. They went back to riding in the countryside together, debating in the professor’s study, and watching the stars with the centaurs.

"Those look brighter than usual," Caspian said one night, pointing upwards.

"The twin stars," Glenstorm answered in his deep voice. "Cyra and Lyra. They are the mistresses of journey and exploration."

"They do seem brighter," Eleanor muttered.

"They glow stronger when they are awaiting something. It seems they are calling to you, my king."

Caspian seemed entranced by their light. "It would seem so," he finally murmured.

Perhaps because of this, as well as the peace Narnia had at last achieved, Caspian began directing his gaze towards the east. He would spend his time staring at maps and sketches, and he assembled a crew to help reconstruct a seaport. He had not forgotten the promise he had made on the day of his coronation, to search for those who had gone hiding during Miraz’s reign, and he seemed to believe there were Telmarine lords who had fled towards the sea.

By the time summer came, Caspian was spending most of his time on the coast, busy with his new projects. Eleanor decided to set off to Archenland, in hopes to keep her word to Prunella, since the day of her departure from Narnia had not yet arrived. The princess and the rest of the royal family greeted her enthusiastically, and she stayed for three whole months. When winter came, she returned to Narnia, though their king was scarcely around the castle. In his absence, she would accompany Doctor Cornelius in his meetings, write down what she learned from the centaurs, or simply drink hot tea by the fireplace as she knitted short scarves for dwarves and tiny winter hats for Reepicheep and his mice friends.

Caspian remained away for most of spring, secretive on the ongoing of his eastern ambitions, until heat returned with its full force. Eleanor was considering another visit to Anvard when he arrived, with the biggest grin on his face, requesting she accompany him immediately to the coast.

She rode with him to the island of Cair Paravel. As soon as it came to sight, however, Eleanor found it to be barely recognisable since her last visit. The ruins of the Golden Age still remained, though makeshift pavilions had risen amongst it, brimming with working men and creatures. It was almost as big as a village, and it was certainly as loud as one. The sound of tools and engines drowned out those of the ocean, roaring forcibly with the promise of progress.

But, most importantly, there was an entire harbour constructed along the shoreline. An imposing ship was already docked, glistening with novelty under the sunlight. Its bowsprit was shaped like a dragon’s head, intricate emerald scales carved with precision, and a spiral tail came out in the rear end. Eleanor had never seen a proper ship before, and she thought this one looked too big to possibly float on water. She could not keep her mouth from falling open.

"Cas," she cried and laughed at the same time. "This is unbelievable!"

On her side, Caspian beamed with satisfaction. "Do you like it?"

"Like it? Are you joking? This is incredible! This is… this is unreal! It’s so, so beautiful! How did you build it so quickly? I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this a secret for so long!"

He shrugged with false modesty. "Your reaction is making it quite worth it."

She still stared at him in awe. "You built an entire ship — the most magnificent ship I have ever seen, I dare say! And in what, a little under a year?"

"It was a team effort," he replied. "Besides, the project was mostly inspired by sketches of a lord from my father’s reign, and we had a few of the parts brought in from Galma."

"Still," she insisted. "Will you show it to me?"

He nodded enthusiastically, and the two descended to take a closer look at the ship. Caspian showed her every detail, telling her the stories behind them, and toured around the improvised community. He told her of his plans to set off in only a few weeks.

"Will you come with me?" he asked. They had walked around the island, stopping and sitting at a deserted beach, far away from the building noises. It was already late in the afternoon, though the breeze was still warm enough for comfort.

"Of course. But where will we go?"

"East," he replied simply.

She eyed him cautiously. She had studied maps from both Doctor Cornelius’ and Anvard’s libraries, and none of them showed much at sea. There was Galma and Terebinthia, there were the Seven Isles to the north, and there were the Lone Islands to the south. But that was where every projection ended. "East?"

Caspian did not falter. "There must be more than what the maps show us, don’t you think?"

Her insides felt funny at the thought. She remembered, from a lifetime long ago, studying the age of European exploration at school. She remembered looking at a globe and wondering how anyone had ever felt brave enough to sail it, with no guarantee of ever reaching land once more. She thought she would never have the courage for it.

But Caspian was calling her for an adventure, and an adventure meant they might find themselves in need of otherworldly assistance. It meant higher chances of Edmund and Lucy returning.

"Actually, this journey is meant for me to search for seven of the lost lords from my father’s reign. I did vouch to seek those who had been exiled when I was crowned king. The time has come now. It was a dryad who told me, this previous summer. She said this expedition would take a year and a day."

Eleanor nodded. The quest seemed noble enough, and more extraordinary than she could hope for. She breathed in relief, feeling more certain than ever that her reunion with Edmund would come soon. Aslan himself had promised it would not be too long.

"There is something else," Caspian said, forcing her to retire from her fantasies. "An ulterior motive of mine for wanting to sail east."

She turned to him.

"Legends say that we might reach the entrance to Aslan’s Country at our most eastern edge. It is the place where Aslan’s father, the Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea, creator of the Deep Magic, lives. They say it is where our loved ones go, as well, when they pass."

Eleanor’s mind went straight to her mother and father, though she quickly had to accept the fact they would probably not be there, since they were not from this world. But she saw, from looking in his eyes, that Caspian thought of his own parents.

She reached for his arm. "So we will sail east."

They sat at the beach quietly for a while, watching the horizon line in the distance. Eleanor gawked at the edge where the two shades of blue separated, perhaps hoping to catch proof of Aslan’s Country. She stared until the sky turned to pink, and hers and Caspian’s faces were coated in a faint orange glow.

"Elle," he called quietly.

"Hm?"

"Are you happy here?"

She turned to meet his eye, and his gaze looked too sincere for a careless answer. So she forced herself to search for the feelings she mostly kept tucked inside her, hidden away from light so she wouldn’t have to face them. She fixated on the pain in her chest. She had grown so used to it by then; it was almost as comforting as greeting an old friend.

"I am happy," she replied at last. "Most of my days are filled with joy. The land is so lovely, the creatures are amiable, and I am lavished with comfort."

He seemed to be studying her. She stared back, noticing small details in his face. He was still the young king he had always been, dripping buoyancy and charm, but with a new beard and ever growing confidence. His expression was stern as he listened.

"But I feel incomplete at times," she continued, when he did not respond. "As if only part of me is living in Narnia."

He nodded gently. "Do you miss England?"

The word evoked a mixture of sensations. For a moment, she heard the loud engines of cars, she inhaled the grey smoke of burning coal, and she was blinded by the brightness of electric bulbs. She heard the static of Aunt Doris’ radio, she swallowed the metallic aftertaste of canned goods. But that was about all she could summon, and everything else disappeared in blurry fragments. The truth, terrible as it may sound, was she simply did not remember much of England at all. Memories of her previous life paled as those of Narnia grew vibrant with every passing day. She could scarcely recollect the sound of her uncle’s voice. She couldn’t decide whether Birdie used to be taller or shorter than herself. It took her days to remember the name of her teacher at secondary school — Mr. O'Conry, whom she had once loathed so fiercely. On one occasion, she even wrote down the name ‘Nora’ on a piece of parchment paper, and it looked as foreign to her as a character from a book. She had become Elle now, the Lady Elle of Narnia, and her past was a dream that could do nothing but slip from her fingers.

"I think I do," was all she could admit. She missed it, as one missed a dream upon waking up.

"Would you ever like to go back, one day?" he asked.

She wondered it herself. Could she ever go back to being Nora? 

"That is beside the point," she said, shaking her head. "I’m not sure this is a choice I get to make. The Pevensies had to return to their world, Peter and Susan never to come back. Aslan said they have learned what they could from here, and they must now live in their own. I think he might still send me back one day. I feel like I am living here on counted days."

Time was hers to cherish, Aslan had said. But why did it feel like the opposite, then? Why did it feel like it was not hers at all, and it simply moved viciously in a speed to which she could never catch up?

"But if you could," Caspian murmured, "would you stay?"

"In Narnia? Forever?"

He looked at her, serious. "With me."

He did not waver. Instead, he reached for her hand, and Eleanor felt the same rush of panic she had felt that starry night atop of the Great Tower, years ago, when they had celebrated her birthday, when he had tried holding her hand as they made birthday wishes to the heavens.

"Cas…"

"Elle," he was quicker, more secure. "You must know. I have given you time, and I have waited, but you must know how I feel."

It was the moment she had most dreaded for the past three years. She saw it in his eyes — he was ready to carve open his chest, yank his heart out, beg for her to tend to it.

"Cas," she whimpered, pleadingly. "I love you. So much."

He reacted as if her words had been a calculated knife. "Why," he uttered gravely, "are the words I have most longed to hear cutting me so deceivingly?"

She could do nothing but look at him hopelessly.

"You love me," he said. "Yet I am in love with you."

He still held her hand, and she squeezed his, praying it would somehow strengthen the sentiment in her words. "I’m so sorry," she whispered. 

"Is it Edmund?"

The name spread like a forest fire inside her, flaring up her old scorched burns. She closed her eyes; she could taste mint, chocolate, and cinnamon biscuits. She could imagine the hand she held was Edmund’s, gripping firmly as he twirled her around, the sound of sweet music floating around them.

Edmund , she thought bitterly. By then, he was more a fantasy than anything else. 

Caspian seemed to read her well enough. "How? How, Elle? He is not here." He cupped her hand with both of his, clutching it closely to his chest. "I am here. And I am asking you."

The sun had already set then, and the waves crawled closer to where they sat with each crash. Pink and lavender still hovered over them, but the wind had turned brisk. Dusk would not wait for them.

"Elle," Caspian called. "I would make you my queen. I will have Cair Paravel rebuilt, and we could rule for a hundred years. We would be happy."

She tried picturing it, at least for his consideration. She could imagine herself living in Narnia for the rest of her days, spending her years dancing, swimming, riding, stargazing, studying. Yet she could not see it with Caspian at her side. She could only long for Edmund. 

Edmund, Edmund, Edmund. It would always be him, wouldn’t it? Was there any point trying to fight it?

"I love you, Elle," Caspian said.

No, you do not love me, she wanted to scream. You might like my company, and you might admire my looks, and you might even hold me safe in the softest corners of your heart. But you do not love me, and it enrages me that you will throw such a word around so casually. You do not know what it is like to burden the weight of someone else’s entire existence in the frail webs of your mind, so ready to forget all of their wonderful details. You do not know what it is like to love the flames as they burn you to ashes, because pain is preferable to the hollowness of life without them. You do not know what it is like to feel helpless within the borders of your own feelings. Of overflowing with sentiment and having nowhere to pour it in. Of longing for someone who has been separated from you by fate, time, and the fabric which threads this universe. You have never known love like I have, so you might as well not have loved at all.

But she knew better than to say any of it. She knew this pain was hers to bear alone, and it was unfair to want it for anyone else. And if Caspian could believe love was this simple, this easy, wasn’t that a wonderful thing? If his heart was still pure and whole, who was she to try and splinter it?

In that moment, she finally felt certain. So it was love she felt for Edmund. It must be. After all, how else could she justify breaking Caspian’s gentle, unscathed heart?

"I love you, Cas," she whispered. "I do, truly. You’re my best friend. But do not ask me to marry you. I have given too much of myself to Edmund to ever be able to give any part of me to anyone else. And I love you too much to have you as my husband and only give you the scraps of my heart."

He looked away. His grip released her hand, slowly, and she could feel his palms cooling. Perhaps it was night setting around them, or perhaps it was the consequence of her words, truthful as they might be. He let go of her entirely, though it was so gradually it took her minutes to notice it. He was still sitting right next to her, but by then he felt more distant than he had ever been.

Caspian finally spoke again. "Has he ever told you he loved you?" 

Eleanor felt the hollowness inside her. "No," she confessed, as noiselessly as she could.

"And yet you would rather wait for him."

She swallowed. "Yes," she said. What was the use in lying? "Even if I will never have him."

She waited for him to laugh, or scoff, or roll his eyes, but he did none of that. Instead, he nodded once, seemingly resolute.

"I understand the sentiment," he said at last. "I suppose I might find myself destined to the same fate."

He left then, standing up and walking back to the makeshift village. As soon as he disappeared from sight, Eleanor finally burst into tears. She sobbed helplessly, hating herself. She despised herself for what she had done to Caspian, her closest friend, who had been her most faithful companion through all of the past years. Most of all, she felt sick for realising she was mainly worried about her own future in Narnia, ashamed she was more upset for losing her friend than for having broken his heart. Prince Ravi was indeed correct in his scepticism, and to love was to be doomed. Her love for Edmund, which she had so innocently chosen, so naively chased, had brought unhappiness not only to herself, but now to Caspian as well. It was a double-edged sword, cutting ruthlessly as she dared to wield it. It was a weapon disguised as a gift, a curse of a thousand soldiers emerging in the heart of Troy to slaughter its sleeping warriors. It would be her own downfall.

Darkness settled around her, and she could no longer see the line that separated the sea from the sky.

"Aslan?" she called uncertainly to the night.

She sharpened her sight and waited for a response, but all she could hear was the crashing of waves and the sounds of camp at a distance.

"Aslan," she tried again, hoping her voice rang more clearly in the dark. She had never tried calling for him, and she knew it was a silly attempt. He was a creator of worlds, he would not be summoned on command. Still, she couldn’t help but try. She closed her eyes and prayed, not asking for anything in particular. She prayed and prayed, but no answer came.

So she looked up to the stars instead.

"Please," she whispered simply. "Please."

The stars kept on shining, as always, and they watched as Eleanor made her way back to the village.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2306

It did not take longer than a few hours for the coast of Narnia to disappear behind an infinite blue sea, and by the time the sun had reached the western horizon line, Eleanor could barely recollect the shape of the country’s shoreline. She had lodged herself by the deck’s side since boarding the ship, which was named the Dawn Treader, watching the hundreds of narnians who had come to see the young king off in his journey. On the previous day, there had been a bonfire taller than herself, and they all danced around it until the moon was already on its way back to the sea. They sailed away at first light of day, so as to aspire for good luck.

So far, it seemed to be working in their favour. The winds were kind, and the Dawn Treader advanced quickly to their first destination. Eleanor had to spend her first week on deck, watching the ocean, for it was the one thing that eased her seasickness. She had never been in the open sea before, despite having been born on an island herself, and it affected her more greatly than she had anticipated. It was only after a few days that she was able to walk around the ship comfortably, and it took her even longer to return to eating her usual amount of food.

Caspian liked to help around with everything, and he was almost unavoidable on board. He could be seen at every possible position, from scrubbing the deck’s floors, to handling the sails, to steering the ship itself. Since she and Caspian had barely exchanged words since the disastrous beach conversation, Eleanor began recluding herself to her cabin, where she would distract herself with reading and writing.

Their first stop was at Galma, where its loud but good-spirited king greeted them with a tournament in Caspian’s name. The Narnian king was victorious, to no one’s surprise, and King Nicodemus of Galma already had a great feast set and ready in his palace. Eleanor chose to sit with the Dawn Treader’s crew, at a table across the room, though she could still spy the king’s daughter giggling in conversation with Caspian. He seemed entertained enough, and Eleanor hoped the princess’ laughter could mend the wounds in his heart. She ate in silence, bitterly, imagining Edmund was at her side.

She had taken to scanning the waters in search for him, spending her time tethered to the ship’s sides, as if he would simply surface from the ocean’s bottom. She would watch the skies and inspect the clouds, hoping to find him hiding behind them. When the stars came out, she would whisper her pleas to them.

But it was of no use, and her first month aboard the Dawn Treader ended in boredom and sorrow. She felt silly, holding on to this childish obsession to Edmund as a clutch, as a stubborn little girl who would not let go of a toy her parents would not buy. There was no point to her tantrum, and yet she held onto it with every strength she could summon. She could not scream or cry this love out of her if she wanted to.

They were halfway through their fifth week of journeying, making the way south from Galma to Terebinthia, when the pirates attacked. Eleanor had been in her cabin when the first cannon hit the Dawn Treader, shaking its entire structure. She ran to the window to spot the raider ship racing towards them. She sat in a corner, waiting for the shaking to stop.

She could not tell how long it had lasted for. As she heard battle cries, her heart began racing, and she drenched herself in sweat. She would not die here, for she knew she would eventually go to the Golden Age of Narnia, and Aslan had said time cannot be rewritten. Yet she could still be harmed, in so many ways other than death. She could barely focus on the scar that had remained on the palm of her left hand, from when Marco had tried to kill her in the woods. It was the only true pain she had ever felt, and it was only one cut. What would a wound ten times bigger feel like?

At last, it all seemed to quiet down. She then heard the crew cheering above her, and she finally breathed in relief, regaining a steady rhythm. She kept in her cabin, however, too embarrassed to even consider meeting the rest. She was a coward, unhelpful and useless. She had hidden here, as she had hidden during the battle against the Telmarine army. She was the age Susan had been, and Susan had participated then. What was her excuse?

There was a sudden knock on the door.

"Come in," she said.

The door opened, and Caspian appeared behind it. His eyes grew in relief when he saw her, though he must have noticed the lingering evidence of her previous panic, for he rushed in.

"Are you alright?" he asked, kneeling by her side.

"I’m alright," she replied, nodding quickly. "But I should be the one asking you this. Is everyone safe? What happened?"

His expression seemed almost empty as he recounted the events. "Pirates," he began. "They came at us with projectiles and arrows, though they could not get close enough to try and board the ship. We had minimal damage, thank the Lion. The Dawn Treader is proving itself to be most enduring."

Eleanor smiled faintly. "You have done a good job with it."

He met her eyes briefly, and their torment could no longer be ignored. This was the first time they were speaking properly in almost two months, and the familiarity of their unforgotten intimacy was too strong not to bring their walls down.

"Cas," she whispered. "I miss you."

He looked away. "I miss you, too," he replied, in a tone that sounded like admitting defeat.

"Can we be friends again?"

She knew she was asking too much, once again. She was selfish for trying to ease her pain by begging for Caspian to amplify his. But he eventually moved his head ever so slightly in agreement. He even tried for a smile.

"We will always be friends, Elle."

He then got up, excusing himself to return to his crew. Before he could leave, Eleanor called him once more.

"Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Will you teach me to fight?" As the words left her mouth, they seemed even more pathetic. "I would like to know how to defend myself, in case another type of attack comes our way," she admitted.

He agreed, though his gaze seemed to be purposefully avoiding her direction. "Of course," he muttered. "I will have Lord Drinian train you."

His response had been obliging, yet its politeness was too terrible to endure. He would help her, but he would not do it himself. They would always be friends, but he would not spend time with her. Still, it seemed like more courtesy than she did actually deserve.

Caspian kept his word, and Lord Drinian came to fetch her on the morning of the next day. The captain was a silent and intimidating man, though Eleanor had grown used to his demeanour at the meetings she had once attended with Doctor Cornelius, back at the castle in Narnia. He gave her a flat wooden stick to wield, which she felt ridiculous holding, and soon they began an almost choreographed dance between them. Lord Drinian was quite a competent swordfighter, she had witnessed it at the king’s tournament in Galma. He pressed on her with no visible effort, and she only stumbled in improvisation.

As the weeks passed, Eleanor felt she was making so little progress she wondered whether she would learn anything by the end of the yearlong journey. Some of the crew had begun to attend their practises, and they would all give their own advice: Reepicheep would squeal tips for fighting a bigger opponent; Cruikshanks, a red dwarf, would constantly tell her to kick the captain in his groins; and Nausus, a faun, would clap whenever she was able to defend herself from one of Drinian’s charges. Caspian was one of the few who would only come to watch in silence, though he would at times smile approvingly, if only for a moment. They were not back to their old friendship, but they were at least back on friendly terms, and she was grateful for it.

They reached Terebinthia on the first day of the seventh week of their voyage. Eleanor had been longing for solid ground, for lying on grass and feeling the stability of the earth beneath her, for watching the waves safely from the beach without tasting their restlessness herself. Yet a small boat came rushing to meet them as soon as they approached the island, and messengers told them an epidemic had spread all over the city. So they had to turn and sail away, aiming for the Seven Isles instead.

They were able to dock at the main island of Brenn, which was the first of their destinations to be under Narnian ruling, and they were welcomed with days of ongoing feasting. Wine flowed endlessly for three whole nights, laughter echoed through every city street, music sang them to sleep. Everyone lined up to give favours to their young king, having him try their local dishes, show him around historical sights, and teach him to play their instruments. Caspian, of course, was a natural at cherishing all of it. Eleanor thought the narnians were incredibly lucky for having a ruler who not only had been groomed for the job for his entire life, but also excelled in it by his own essence. He was a king who loved his people, his country, his land, and they all loved him back.

So what was the point of her? She had stayed in Narnia for him, she had chosen it herself. But she was entirely useless to the country, and she had no prospects of ever being content in it now that her friendship with Caspian had fallen apart. Almost two months had passed in their journey at the Dawn Treader already, still with no sign of Edmund and Lucy ever returning. She decided then, if they made the trip to Aslan’s Country, she could try and talk to the Great Lion, ask him to take her back to England. At least she could count on meeting Edmund in the year of 1945, and she could go back to her old life.

They sailed from Brenn towards the Lone Islands at the end of the ninth week aboard. The crew of the Dawn Treader now grew restless as they sailed through the last leg of known waters of the expedition: Cruikshanks had begun rumbling by himself whenever darker clouds appeared in the sky, though no storm reached them, and Reepicheep could only be found by the bowsprit, humming as he watched over the horizon.

It was on a clear day when the mouse shrieked suddenly from his spot, rousing all of the crew into alarm. Eleanor had been revising with Drinian the ship’s log book, which she had been appointed responsible for, when they heard the scream.

"Look, look!" Reepicheep shouted. "Over there! Castaways!"

She barely had time to react when someone jumped overboard, and a loud splash followed. Lord Drinian rushed immediately in its direction.

"My king!" he cried.

The rest of the crew had begun cramming all around the captain, ropes already being thrown to the side of the ship. Eleanor felt a familiar dread beginning to take over her body, as she imagined another pirate attack, but everyone else seemed calm enough. She pushed through the crowd so she too could spy whatever Caspian had jumped after.

There were four bodies splashing on the water. Eleanor recognised Caspian first, as she had grown too accustomed to his silhouette in the past years. Yet it was only in the next second she spotted another male figure with dark hair. Though they were too far away for her to grasp any details, she knew immediately who it belonged to.

Lucy was heaved aboard first. She trembled in her soaking clothes, still trying to slow her breathing. When she saw Eleanor, however, her face brightened up in her customary glee, and the two ran to embrace. The water was cold as it bled through Eleanor’s dress, but she held the girl as tightly as she could.

"Oh, Elle," Lucy cheeped. "It’s so good to see you again!"

Eleanor’s eyes were as close to dripping with water as her clothes. "You have no idea how happy I am," she replied.

They separated. She wanted to bawl at the sight of Lucy’s smile — so familiar, so comforting. She had longed for it for years.

"Reepicheep!"

Lucy ran to greet the mouse, kneeling to talk to him. The girl went on to greet the rest of the crew, some of which she was acquainted with, some of which she was not. Eleanor had been watching when she noticed a second person was being hoisted to the ship.

Edmund’s eyes met hers as soon as he climbed on deck, and they too ran towards each other. She slammed at his chest, and his arms pulled her closer. He held her long enough for the briskness of the ocean water to dissipate entirely, being replaced by his body’s warmth instead, even through two layers of damp clothing.

They pulled away. His face was as handsome as ever, and she could not stare away from his eyes. They mirrored each other’s grin as they took in every detail.

"Hi," he said at last, laughing.

"Hi," she laughed back.

They had an audience, she could sense them. But she had been dreaming of Edmund for three years, and he was now standing in front of her, as real as the sun above them. So she kept on beaming at him, studying every freckle on his nose, or the way water drops hung from his eyelashes.

"Oh, I have soaked your clothes," he muttered anxiously.

"It’s alright," she chuckled.

"It’s such a lovely dress."

"It’ll dry."

Edmund still looked a bit flustered, but a smile came back to his lips. "I’m so happy to be here," he said, looking around.

"I’m so glad you are back," she confessed, though it seemed too shallow of an expression of her true sentiment.

He nodded. "I’m very glad to see you again."

A third person climbed aboard, but it was not Caspian, as Eleanor had expected. The boy fell to the ground, so she could not see his face. He had blonde hair and looked in his early teens, still due to his growth spurt.

"Eustace?" she called, surprised, when he finally looked up.

"Where am I?" he squawked back. "Take me back. Take me back!"

Edmund, at her side, was frowning. "Do you know him?"

"I… met him," she said, "at Professor Kirke’s house."

She bent near Eustace, who was sobbing helplessly, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He flinched, staring at her for the first time, but did not draw away.

"Are you hurt?" she asked quietly.

"N… no," he bawled. "I just… I don’t like it here! Whatever this is, I want it to stop! I want to go back to my house!"

"I’m afraid that’s not possible right now. I’m sorry, Eustace."

"How do you know my name? And where am I?"

Eleanor thought the boy did not look like he could handle being told of how time connected their worlds, at least not at that moment, so she simply said, "I’m Elle. And you are in Narnia."

Caspian finally boarded the ship, and he went on to greet Lucy and Edmund. He introduced the crew to them, calling the king and queen by their full titles, after which all bowed. In the meantime, Eleanor kept patting Eustace lightly and murmuring he was safe, but the boy only kept on crying.

Spiced wine was brought to warm them, and after the goblets were all finished they proceeded to the cabins. Caspian took Edmund and Eustace to his, while Lucy followed Eleanor to hers. After she had changed into dry clothes, Lucy positioned herself by the window, looking towards the ocean.

"You’ve grown," Eleanor noted with a smile. In fact, the Lucy in front of her looked closer to the one she had met in 1945 than the one she had previously met in Narnia. She was taller, though still an inch or two below Eleanor, and her features had grown slimmer. "How long has it been for you?"

"Two years," Lucy replied. "And in Narnia?"

"Three."

"Oh," she sighed. "So it has not been too long for either of us."

Eleanor chuckled. "It felt longer, at least for me. But before we go on, I must ask you: how on earth did you end up in the middle of the ocean?"

Lucy seemed confused. "Did you not call us this time?"

"No. Susan’s horn is back in Narnia with Trumpkin, in case any trouble reaches them."

"Oh, dear Trumpkin! What a shame we will not meet again," Lucy cried. "Well, I suppose we will find out soon enough what was it that called us back."

Eleanor agreed, though she only hoped it would not be for another war.

"And how has it been here?" Lucy asked.

Eleanor went on to tell her how the first years of Caspian’s reign had gone. She told of the diplomatic missions to Calormen and Ettinsmoor, about the alliance with Archenland and how beautiful their castle was, and even how Caspian had not forgotten his plan to one day rebuild Cair Paravel. She told tales of riding in the countryside, swimming with naiads, stargazing with centaurs, walking the rose gardens in Anvard with Princess Prunella. She painted a beautiful picture of an idyllic time at Narnia, a version in which she had not been constantly haunted by her doomed love for Edmund.

"It’s so beautiful here," Lucy murmured, when Eleanor was done with her stories.

Eleanor followed her gaze into the glistening sea. "It is," she agreed.

She then noticed how Lucy’s expression had changed, and how she looked almost wistful now.

"Lu?" she called. "Is everything alright?"

Lucy nodded, though her eyes still seemed distant. "Yes, yes. It’s simply… I’ve been waiting to come back here for so long. And now that I’m here, it…" She breathed deeply, shaking her head. "It feels like an hourglass has turned, and I have only so long left before the last grain of sand falls."

Eleanor remained silent, not knowing what else to say. Instead, she reached for the girl’s arm, rubbing it, hoping it would bring some comfort.

"Last time we were here ended so quickly," Lucy murmured. "And I am close to the age Susan was when it was declared she could never come back."

"I am twenty-one now," Eleanor said. "And I am still here. Perhaps it is not so much about the age we are, but about what we have learned." The words left her even though she didn’t believe in them herself. Still, they seemed to console Lucy.

"Perhaps so," she replied. "I’ve just missed Narnia so terribly, I suppose. But what about you? Do you ever miss England?"

"I do," Eleanor admitted. "I miss my friends and family, and silly things like television and radio. But I don’t remember it all that well, if I’m being honest."

"I understand. We all barely remembered our own parents when we lived here in the Golden Age. And I have always been terrified, too, of forgetting about Narnia back there. Peter and Susan are far away now, so Ed and I try and talk about Narnia whenever we can, much to Eustace’s discontent. It’s so frightening, isn’t it, how we can forget about a place where we had lived for so many years?"

"It is." Eleanor caught a glimpse of her reflection on the window. "Almost as if we are forgetting parts of ourselves as well."

They stood in silence, watching the waves that hit the ship’s hull. Eleanor’s mind was close to drowning in her troubling thoughts when she remembered Edmund was there, only a cabin away from her, and he had smiled and said he was glad to see her. His face was more vivid than ever in her memory, and it warmed her all around.

"Come, Lu," she said, taking the girl’s hand. "It is not a time for sorrows. Let us celebrate that you are back. There is so much to see! So much to explore! Adventure lies ahead of us, and we must seize it."

She was glad to see optimism return to Lucy’s face, transforming it back into its usual gaiety. They then interlocked arms as they set off around the Dawn Treader, though a trace of the same fear lingered in both their minds.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2306

They met at the captain’s cabin, which was spacious enough to fit them all around an ornate wooden table. A map was sprawled open on top of it, and Edmund, Caspian and Drinian examined it as they talked. They appeared to have already told Edmund of most of their journey so far, as well as how Caspian’s reign had been, but they repeated it all for Lucy’s sake. Meanwhile, Eleanor waited silently, daring to glance at Edmund every so often. He did catch her a few times, but he would twitch his lips quickly in a discreet smile, and she would do the same.

Edmund was dressed in Caspian’s clothes, which were more fit for a sailor than a king, though he looked as imposing as always. As they conversed, he would make remarks from either political or military standpoints, which she found so interesting to hear — how could she ever have forgotten he had been one of the finest rulers the country had ever had? He and Lucy would also sometimes dwell off in their nostalgia, telling stories from the Golden Age, remembering things that had never been written in any of the books Eleanor had read.

Caspian told them of his plan to search for the seven lost Telmarine lords, and afterwards they were supposed to show Edmund and Lucy around the ship. Lucy, however, insisted they go check on Eustace first, who was sick in bed, and so they set off for Caspian’s cabin.

"I am curious," Edmund said, positioning himself beside Eleanor as they walked, "to know who else you met at Professor Kirke’s house. If I’m honest, I can’t believe Eustace would ever like to go there. If I am even more honest, I can’t believe I would ever go anywhere with him."

"I suppose you will have better days ahead of you," she responded, trying not to give too much away. She only remembered Edmund speaking kindly of his cousin Eustace, back when they had first met, though she also remembered him saying they did not get along at first. "You have just moved in with your aunt in Cambridge, haven’t you?"

"That’s right," he said, and he seemed pleasantly surprised.

"When I met Eustace, he had a friend accompanying him — Jill. She was from his school, I think."

Edmund frowned. "Have you ever heard of someone called Jill?" he asked Lucy.

"No," she replied. They had just reached the door to Caspian’s cabin, and she had already taken out her cordial, which Caspian had withdrawn from the castle’s treasury to bring along in the journey.

Edmund chuckled. "I’m surprised he has any friends at all."

He looked humorously to his sister, but she seemed preoccupied with their nauseated cousin. They all gathered around Eustace, and Eleanor leaned closer to watch as Lucy dripped the potion into his mouth. Colour came back into his face at the same instant, like a rainbow after a storm, though his temperament, it seemed, would not be so easily improved.  

“Beastly stuff, that is,” were the first words he spouted as he sat up, wiping his mouth in a rude gesture.

Lucy chuckled lightly as she put the flask away, although Edmund did not seem so amused.

“And to think Peter instructed us to save Lucy’s cordial only for great extremities back in our day,” he muttered.

Eustace then joined them for the ship’s tour, reluctantly, and mumbled through all of it. He demanded a radio, so he could try and contact the British Consul, and was appalled when Caspian did not know the word. He did not accept that he had been transported to a different world; in fact, he kept promising he would “lodge a disposition” against them all as soon as they reached port. Eleanor couldn’t help but feel sorry for the boy, for she too had been in as much denial as he when she had first arrived in Narnia. It had only been due to life threatening conditions that she was forced to accept such an unbelievable fact.

Eustace retired as soon as he had finished with his supper, and Eleanor thought she had recognised the words "ghastly" and "madness" in his grumbling, though he spoke too lowly for her to be sure. She and the others joined at the deck, under the light of a thousand stars, listening to the soft murmurs of the ocean.

"Charming young man, your cousin," Caspian commented, a smile creeping to his lips, as soon as Eustace had left.

"Oh, he is just warming up," Edmund replied.

"The stars are so bright here," Lucy said, dreamily. "It feels as if we do not have as many back in Cambridge."

"Is that so?" Caspian asked.

"Our cities are too blazing with light," Lucy explained. "It makes it harder to find the stars."

"Oh, of course. Elle had told me about your electricity."

A quietness fell on them. Eleanor and Caspian looked in opposite directions, uncomfortable at the mention of their still disturbed friendship; Edmund too looked deep in thought; and Lucy remained in her wonderment at the night sky. Soon they were able to talk freely once again, exchanging stories of their past separate years, until eventually they all tired. Eleanor would have liked to spend the entire night there, rejoicing in every minute of Edmund’s company, yet she too went to bed instead. She knew she would have so many more hours with him.

The next day, the first of the Lone Islands appeared under the sunlight. Edmund explained the island of Felimath was almost uninhabited in their old days, and it still looked mostly barren. But Lucy was excited at the idea of walking the soft clover fields, and Caspian too wanted to stroll around, so they disembarked the Dawn Treader to set off to explore the land. Even Eustace joined them, claiming he was eager to leave the “damned boat.”

"Whatever happened to your hand?" Eleanor asked as they began their walk, noticing the boy had a bandage wrapped around it.

"You may ask the rodent about it," he spouted back, glaring viciously at Reepicheep. "Thinks he’s so above us all. Can’t even take a joke, the bloody creature."

Eleanor frowned as she looked at Reepicheep, the noble mouse knight who rode on Lucy’s shoulder, conversing pleasantly with her and Caspian.

Edmund, who walked next to her, leaned closer to whisper, "Eustace grabbed Reepicheep by the tail early this morning. Tried swirling him around, but Reep took his little sword and jabbed at him."

Her eyes widened. She looked back in astonishment to Eustace, who had taken to sulking along behind them.

Edmund seemed entertained by her expression. "I still cannot believe you knew him, yet you are bewildered by this," he laughed. "To me, this seems perfectly on point with Eustace’s usual temper."

She chuckled lightly. "It is odd to meet such a different version of someone you once knew. But we would know the feeling, wouldn’t we?"

He scoffed amusingly. "We would indeed. Though, I must admit, it certainly is nice to be reunited with you and know exactly what to expect."

Eleanor felt blistering on her face. "It is nice," she agreed.

"You seem to have settled very well in Narnia."

"I tried my best," she said.

"Are you and Caspian still close?"

Edmund’s tone had been light, so she tried matching it. "He is my closest friend," she stated. It was true, even if they were not on their best terms at the moment. Just as she said it, Caspian turned his head back to glance at them. Eleanor hoped Edmund had not noticed how uneasy the two of them looked at such an exchange.

She wanted to talk to Caspian, ask him how he was feeling. She had been worried he might act crudely towards Edmund, for he knew she was hopelessly in love with him. She worried even that Caspian might tell him of her feelings, and she would be left embarrassed for the unrequitedness of it. But he had been as graceful as ever, treating Edmund with the same fondness as always, benevolently keeping Eleanor’s secret.

They had just started descending upon a hill when they spotted a group of men in the distance. There were seven of them, outnumbering the Narnian party of five people and one mouse, and they were all armed and rough-looking.

"Don’t tell them who we are," Caspian said suddenly. "They might not have heard of Narnia in a long time, and it is better if they don’t know they are meeting a king with no army."

Eleanor held her breath as the group of men approached them curiously. She wished she had brought a sword along with her, even if she would have been easily outmatched, for it at least would have been something comforting to hold on to.

"A good morning to you," one of the strangers, a towering man with black hair and beard, called out.

"A good morning to you," Caspian replied, as the two groups encountered each other. "Is there still a Governor of the Lone Islands?"

"To be sure there is," the man replied, "Governor Gumpas. His Sufficiency is at Narrowhaven. But let us all have a drink first."

They were each given a cup as they settled restlessly with their new companions. They had barely raised the cups to their mouths when they were suddenly seized, grabbed from behind and overthrown. The struggle lasted for only a few seconds, and soon they were all tied down.

"Slavers," Caspian muttered furiously.

The bearded man smiled, exposing his crooked, yellowish teeth. "Now, the easier you take it, the pleasanter all round, you see? I don’t do this for fun. I’ve got my living to make, same as anyone else."

Eleanor looked around, but the hills around them concealed the sea. Would the crew of the Dawn Treader notice their absence and send a rescue party in time?

"Where will you take us?" asked Lucy.

"Over to Narrowhaven. There is a market tomorrow."

"Is there a British Consul there?" inquired Eustace, but the slavers ignored him.

They were taken to shore, at a small village where a long boat was moored. A dirty, bedraggled looking ship awaited at the ocean to a distance.

Just as they had been about to be taken there, a man came out of the village and started talking to the bearded man, who was apparently known as Pug. The two began negotiating for the purchase of Caspian. Before Eleanor could realise it, Caspian was already being untied.

"No, please don’t separate us," cried Lucy, to no use.

They all watched helplessly as Caspian began taking off with his purchaser. His eyes seemed to be trying to portray reassurance, though they hardly succeeded at it. His gaze met Eleanor’s the most intently. "Don’t worry," he was able to say. "It’ll work out."

But the next second he was gone, and they were all hauled up inside the pirate ship. They sat on the straw-covered floor of a very dark room, among other Galmian and Terebinthian prisoners. Eustace complained the whole way, blaming Caspian for not having taken more crew members with them, criticising them for not better knowing the land, reprehending the way they had sat to drink with the kidnappers. Thankfully, even the other prisoners became so annoyed by Eustace he was eventually hushed and told to be quiet. He went on to sit by himself in a corner, and Eleanor thought she heard very soft sniffing.

"Well," Edmund finally said. "This is not very ideal. Not at all how I imagined spending my first day back in Narnia."

Despite everything, Eleanor let out a chuckle. It was better than despairing, she thought. "At least, in the case we do end up getting rescued, we will have quite an interesting story to tell," she responded.

Even in the darkness, she could still spot Edmund’s grin, though Lucy began weeping instead.

"Come on, Lu, it will be alright," Edmund said, sitting closer to his sister and putting an arm around her. "Caspian will likely be able to contact the Dawn Treader, and they will come and find us tomorrow at the market."

Eleanor too sat next to Lucy and began rubbing her arm. As they tried calming the girl down, Edmund asked Reepicheep to explore their surroundings, as to hope for a possible escape route. The mouse returned a few minutes later with unfortunate news: there was only one door out, and it was guarded by four armed men. There were even more pirates roaming the ship, so it would be foolish of them to try anything then, especially as dusk drew in. They decided they would wait to act on the next morning, at the slave market, in case help did not come.

Lucy eventually fell asleep on Eleanor’s shoulder, and all around them everyone else began doing the same. Eleanor herself began feeling drowsy, but she was too stiff to ever be able to doze off. It had, after all, been so long since the last time she had faced such dangers. The week she had spent imprisoned at the Telmarine castle, in the time before Caspian had been king, seemed like someone else’s memories.

Edmund was one of the few still awake. He came and sat on her other side.

"Why don’t you rest for a bit," he whispered softly. "I’ll stay up and keep watch."

In the quietness of night, Eleanor could only hear her own heart. "I can’t seem to fall asleep," she whispered back.

"That makes sense," he chuckled. Then, very slowly, she felt something reaching for her hand. Edmund’s fingers were cold, tracing the way down her palm until they intertwined with her own. Eleanor felt as if her hand was holding flaring charcoal, and she gripped it as tightly as she could.

She felt his thumb tracing the inside of her palm, drawing along the scar she had gotten at the battle against the telmarines. He stroked it lightly, tenderly. She thought she was lucky to have the shadows hiding her blush.

"Does it still hurt?" Edmund asked quietly.

She shook her head, before realising he couldn’t see it. "No," she answered. "Most times I don’t even remember it’s there."

"I was too slow in reaching you that day," he murmured.

"You found me just in time," she argued. "You saved my life."

He did not reply. Though she couldn’t know the expression on his face, she suspected he had not been convinced. Still, he kept brushing along her scar, and the movement was so rhythmic and lovely she was almost drifting into sleep.

“That day, when you found me in the woods after the battle,” she forced herself to speak, though very slowly. “Had you come looking for me?”

Edmund kept silent for a bit, as he went on tracing her scar. “I did,” he finally responded.

She smiled. She thought she could feel his pulse as accelerated as hers, but she was so tired and drowsy it could as well have already been a dream she was having. She still managed to mutter the words “Thank you” before she drifted into unconsciousness.

They were awoken at first light with shouting and banging, and Eleanor and Edmund’s hands were hastily forced to detach as they were all scurried into a line. They were taken back to shore in small groups, for they had to travel by the long boat. The sun was already very high in the sky when they reached the market.

Crowds sprouted inside the building, and soon the auction began. It was as horrid as Eleanor could have imagined: each prisoner was presented on a platform, identified as numbered lots and described as livestock. Buyers gawked at them with cruel, analysing eyes. In the worst cases, they were forced to strip down one or two pieces of clothing, so as to prove strength or vitality. In all others, they were humiliated in too many ways to even describe.

Eleanor had been helping Edmund and Reepicheep in assuring Lucy that help would come soon, but she questioned her words every time the line moved, and they were one turn closer to being auctioned themselves. Her chest began aching as she thought she might never return to the Dawn Treader, or her room back in the castle at Narnia, or to the countryside during the spring. Her eyes watered as she contemplated the possibility of never seeing her friends again. She could barely begin to fathom what would happen if she was sold to a strange man.

But then, finally, there were galloping noises nearing them. Caspian stormed in riding a horse, followed by a group of armed men. Eleanor recognised Drinian and the man who had purchased Caspian the day before among them, and she breathed in relief.

"On your knees, every one of you, for the king of Narnia," commanded he.

After that, everything was sorted quite quickly. Pug and the remaining pirates were taken in for judgement, and every prisoner, whether they had been already sold or not, was freed and released. Caspian came to check on them all, making sure they were unharmed, then he explained what had happened. It turned out the man who had bought him was actually Lord Bern, one of the seven lost lords they were looking for, who had recognised Caspian’s looks from his late father. In turn, Caspian had dismissed the lenient Governor Gumpas and named Bern to fill in the position, going as far as granting Bern the title of Duke as well.

They were taken to the Narrowhaven castle to bathe and rest. Even Eustace was given a room of his own, for there were so many to spare. That night, they had a great feast to celebrate the overriding of the slave market and the ascension of Duke Bern as the new governor. Eleanor watched Edmund for the entire evening, still lingering at the memory of their hands intertwined aboard the pirate ship, but he was continually busy throughout the night. There were a few sea captains present, so Edmund and Caspian had taken to talking to each of them, inquiring about any knowledge or rumours as to what would await them when they sailed east.

"Tomorrow will be the beginning of our real adventures!" Reepicheep had declared before retiring for the night. Eleanor had smiled and nodded back at him, though she silently thought this day had already been more than adventurous.

The wine only accentuated the exhaustion in her body, so she too decided to return to her room not much after. She had just reached the first flight of stairs when she heard her name being called in the echoing corridor.

Edmund was running towards her.

"Elle," he said once more, when he reached her. "Are you going to bed already?"

"Yes," she said. "Haven’t had the best night’s sleep, you see."

Edmund smiled. "May I accompany you to your room?"

She beamed as she nodded. "Yes, thank you."

They walked for a while in silence. It was frustrating not being able to think of anything to say, after having spent the last three years waiting to have him back. She had overflown her head with questions for so long, yet none came to mind when he was next to her. All she could think about was how he had reached for her hand the night before, how he had held her in the darkness.

"Are you alright?" Edmund finally asked. "After today’s events, I mean. I thought even Eustace seemed a bit shaken, even if he is so good at covering it up with his bickering."

"I am much better now," she said, and it was true. "And you?"

"Just as well."

They were quiet for a few more steps. They stopped by a window, from which Eleanor was able to find the Dawn Treader floating in the harbour, a few twinkling lights glowing in the ocean. They could see the ongoing party at the courtyard, and music reached them with a muffled distortion.

"It is funny, being back here," Edmund commented beside her, also observing the view. But his gaze, even if he was not blinking, seemed distant and deep. "I fear I might wake up at any moment and find out none of this was real."

"I understand the sentiment," she replied. "It took me weeks to truly accept this was not all a dream, when I first arrived in Narnia. But even if it was a dream, it would be such a lovely one, I might not mind it at all."

He turned to her. "I dream about you often," he said quietly. "Back in England, and here as well. If I hadn’t my siblings to talk to, I might have ended up believing I had made you up in my mind long ago."

There was something blocking the passage in Eleanor’s throat, and she couldn’t seem to be able to breathe or speak. Her entire body must have frozen, even the neurons in her brain, as Edmund’s words echoed through the stone walls of the castle. She stared at him, covered in moonlight. He was too beautiful, too loving; perhaps this was her own dream she was having.

"I have to ask," he continued. "And if you say you do not feel the same, I shall never speak of it again, and I will be at your disposal for friendship should you still want it. But I have to ask. I have to try."

He breached the space between them until they were only inches away. His hand cupped the side of her face.

“I do not know how fair it is to say any of this to you. But I have loved you for too long, and I cannot keep this sentiment inside me any longer. I fell in love with you a thousand years ago, when I was a king and was older than what I am now. I fell for you again, when we met that night of the castle raid, even when we quarrelled, even when we thought we did not know each other at all. I am still falling. How could I not? It is only your heart I wish for, only your affection I crave.

“I understand, Elle, if you will take my words as those of a madman. I mostly feel as such. And I know it would be foolish to ever presume you could reciprocate such feelings, for you have not yet lived what I have, so how could you fall for me, too? But love turns us all into fools, so I must ask. Please, Elle, tell me how you feel. Even if you must drive a knife through my heart — it will remain yours.”

She searched in the darkness of his eyes, and in its light she saw herself reflected back. She felt the very essence of her body change in that moment, as if the matter in her cells had transformed, as if his words had turned her heart to gold, her blood into ichor.

“You have it,” she whispered back. “My entire heart. It has been yours since the day our paths first crossed, whenever that was."

Edmund was so still Eleanor wondered, for a second, whether her words had reached him at all.

"I love you," she said, and at that moment it was hard to understand how she had ever doubted it. How could it not have been love all along?

He finally blinked. "You love me," he repeated.

She smiled. She could feel something spreading through her limbs, her bones, her veins. It felt as if she was being turned into starlight. "With all of me."

He smiled back, though the corners of his mouth still quivered. The hand that cupped her face moved towards the back of her head, pulling her closer, until their lips touched. The kiss might have lasted a second, and it might have lasted a lifetime. Eleanor knew she would never truly understand time or how the threads of the universe connected, but she thought then it might as well have all been written for this moment.

When they pulled away, Eleanor looked into Edmund’s eyes. "Is this real?" she whispered.

The tips of their noses still touched, and she felt the brush of his eyelashes when he blinked. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Are we truly in love? Or are we only fooling ourselves, when we are in love with two entirely different people?"

His voice was as grave as ever when he replied. "I loved the Elle I first met," he said. "And I love you exactly as you are right now. So I know I will love you as Nora. I will love every version of you that will ever exist. I would have loved you had we met as kids, if we had played and grown up together, and I would have loved you had we met only at the end of our lives, when we were already wrinkled and scarred and weary. It is your soul that I love. That does not change."

And so it was. She understood it, then: it did not matter whether she was Lady Elle or Nora Harrison, whether he was Private Pevensie or King Edmund. They were two souls in love. The truth, sometimes, could be as simple as that.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2306

What could ever compare to the feeling of a soul fulfilled? What could be stronger than two hearts beating as one; what would ever match the joy of loving someone with your entire self, and knowing you are loved in return? Had she been asked before, Eleanor would claim such happiness was not possible, and she would have said no one could live in such unwavering bliss. Yet the sentiment grew stronger with every phrase exchanged with Edmund, every locking of looks, every entwining of hands, every kiss, every touch.

How quickly night could become day. She could scarcely believe she had ever called love doom, she could not fathom ever seeing her feelings for Edmund as anything other than light. She understood, now, that she and Edmund had been tethered to one another all along, by a thread made of the currents which moved the seas, the flames that scorched the sun, the light that turned seeds into forests.

It was all so easy, so effortless. They could talk without judgement, they could stay silent in perfect comfort. Their hands fit as if they had been designed to hold one another, and they did more often than not. They had not tried to hide their affection, not on purpose, but they found intimacy was much better relished in privacy. And so their professions had been whispered in quiet halls and empty rooms, and their touches had been concealed beneath tablecloths or the darkness of night.

"Everyday I am learning a new definition of love with you," she told him once. "Throughout the day I learn new things about you, about me, and about life, and at night I go to bed believing I did not know the first thing about love when I woke up that day.

"I used to be so terrified of naming it — love. After all, it is the subject of so many songs, books, and plays. How could I ever be so bold as to declare I held such powerful feelings myself? How could I claim it, when you were a world away?

"Yet now I see it was undoubtedly love. It always was love. My love for you grows and transforms with every passing day, yet it does not make the love I had yesterday less true. Do you stop calling it an oak tree if it is still sprouting? It may be still at an early stage, and it will still grow and transform for every year of its life, but it will always be an oak tree. It was an oak tree from the moment the seed was planted into the ground. So I believe I have loved you since the very first day."

Edmund had smiled, sweetly and tenderly. "So I have loved you from the very first day, as well. Even if my first day was not the same as yours."

They had both laughed at the absurdity of it. The disorder of their encounters, which Eleanor had once begrudged, she now viewed as a marvel of its own. Even through all of it, they had both fallen in love with each other.

The weeks which followed the Duke’s feast, however, were also filled with work. The Dawn Treader was brought ashore to be emptied and repaired, and then it was victualled and watered for the journey ahead of them. Those who were not helping with such responsibilities were then tasked to roam the markets of Narrowhaven in search for new supplies and fresh clothes. Eleanor bought new sea boots for herself, and Edmund one day brought her a most elegant winter cloak.

Their romance became public on the eve of their departure. Duke Bern had organised celebrations all around the island to commemorate the king of Narnia’s sendoff, which lasted the entire night. They had gathered near the harbour to watch a group of musicians perform, circling around them and clapping. For the final song, a woman not much older than her came forth and sang a sweet, slow tune of love and longing. As they listened, side by side among the masses, Eleanor felt a tingle of Edmund’s hand reaching for hers, and they gently pressed them together. When the music ended, she turned to smile at him. Her eyes noticed Caspian’s aghast face instead. He stood behind them and gazed directly at their intertwined hands.

Applause erupted all around them as soon as their eyes met, and there was nothing Eleanor could have said. It was all too clear then.

She did not see Caspian again until the next day, when they at last embarked the Dawn Treader, though he did not look in her direction once. She, too, made herself scarce, settling back to the cabin she shared with Lucy for most of the day. When night came, and the two girls lay in bed under the faint cover of moonlight, it was Lucy who spoke of it.

"Elle?" she murmured. "Are you asleep?"

Eleanor turned to face her. "No. What is it, Lu?"

"I’m so sorry for prying, but I simply cannot hold it any longer," she whispered. "What do you think of Edmund?"

"Edmund?" she repeated. She could not say his name without bringing a smile to her face.

"I think he fancies you," Lucy said. “He is always watching you these days, and back in England he would bring up your name as often as he could.”

Eleanor giggled softly. "I love him," she confided.

Lucy’s eyes widened. "You do?"

She nodded. "And he loves me. He told me so, a couple of weeks ago."

It only took a second for Lucy to open an enormous grin, and she squealed and pulled Eleanor close, embracing her. "Oh, Elle," she cried, "I am so happy! Oh, I cannot believe this! We are sisters now!"

They rolled and laughed in bed for at least an hour longer, as Eleanor told her of how they had come to declare themselves to each other. From the next day on, she and Edmund only grew ever more comfortable baring their closeness around the ship and its crew. He had taken over for Drinian on teaching her to fight with a sword, and he was gentler and more helpful than the captain had ever been. He showed her a number of tricks on disarming your opponent, he corrected her posture and grip, and he taught duelling as if it was an elegant dance for their own entertainment.

At night, they would sit on the deck until late and watch the stars.

"I can already see constellations I had never known," he said on their fifth night. He sat behind her, and she rested on his chest, feeling the steadiness of his breathing. "I can’t believe we never came further than the Lone Islands back in our time."

"I suppose it was meant to happen like this," she replied. "Caspian said it was a dryad who told him of this journey. Reepicheep, too, was called by a lullaby sung to him at his cradle."

"Caspian does seem shaken these days, since we left Narrowhaven. He rarely speaks more than a few words when I try asking him questions. But it only makes sense, doesn’t it? These are uncharted waters we are sailing, after all."

Eleanor swallowed dryly. She had not spoken to Caspian since their departure from the Lone Islands, and she had not the courage to ask how it had been for Edmund to be sharing the cabin with him. "Yes, that would make sense."

"I am glad this is happening now, though." He took her left hand and stroked along the scar on her palm, as he had gotten used to doing now. "If I am to explore the unknown seas and sail to the very edge of this world, you are the one I would want beside me."

He kissed the back of her head softly. As they nestled together, Eleanor felt so comfortable she almost drifted to sleep, wearing his arms as a blanket. She did not even notice how brisk the air around them had turned.

A storm fell on them the next day, and it followed the ship for two entire weeks. It was only through half of it that they realised it was in fact a hurricane, though it hardly mattered then. The crew was at duty at all times, taking turns at the oars or at the tiller, and even Eustace was made to help — with much complaint on his side, of course. Eleanor felt always at the brisk of exhaustion, and she could barely remember a time when she had not been everlastingly soaked. When she reached the point of no longer being able to tell a day from a year, the skies seemed to at last clear.

But now they had a broken mast and ever diminishing food and water rations to worry about, and the horizon was set on remaining an incessant straight line. Sometimes Eleanor would join Reepicheep on the front bulwarks to keep watch for any sight of land. Luckily, the mouse had nothing if not hope, and his spirits were as high as ever as he hummed along and told tales of his past adventures.

Finally, a rocky silhouette appeared in the distance. For the next days, it grew bigger and bigger until they found themselves docking at a barren, volcanic island. Though it looked mostly uninhabited, Caspian decided they would wait to go ashore in the morning.

The next day was rushed on as they worked on repairing the ship and stocking goods and supplies. But Eleanor could not carry a bad mood when she was back on solid land, and she cheered even further when they had fresh game roasted for dinner and a cask of wine from Archenland to wash it down. They made camp at the beach as the Dawn Treader floated peacefully in the dark waters behind them.

"I remember you once told me the best tasting thing you had ever had was unseasoned roast chicken and wine you had stolen from an Italian farmer," she said to Edmund, as they ate around the campfire.

Edmund smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Did I?"

"I thought you were a lunatic then," she laughed. "But I am beginning to understand now. This tastes as good as Christmas dinner."

He looked at her curiously. "Is this your first time having a meal that was hunted?"

"I suppose all meat has been hunted," she said, frowning. "But this is my first time eating at a campsite."

"Well, then," he said, getting up. "I will get you second helpings."

He returned with refilled cups and plates, and Eleanor ate happily. She could not remember the last time she had felt her stomach so full. She thought it must have been back at the castle at Narrowhaven.

It all quieted down as they finished eating, though the crew sat around the campfire chatting excitedly. Eleanor noticed Edmund seemed pensive beside her, but she did not worry too much, for he held her hand through all of it.

"You said I stole wine from an Italian farmer," he finally spoke again.

She turned to him. "That’s right."

"I have never been to Italy."

His tone had not been crude, only perturbed. Eleanor looked at him, waiting for him to carry on. For a moment, she could only hear the waves and the laughter of half-drunken sailors.

"I have not told Lucy yet," he confessed, "but I registered early. I had formerly promised her I would try for a coal mine instead of the army. I was supposed to be leaving in a week from the day we were brought here to Narnia, in fact."

Edmund turned to stare at the fire, so Eleanor did the same for a while. As she concentrated on the dancing flames in front of her, she thought back to a conversation she had once had with an older Edmund, during the summer spent at Professor Kirke’s house. He had told her then he did not think the army was something to inspire pride.

"Why did you choose the army?" she finally asked.

He shook his head. "It sounds silly now that I am here. But I was feeling worthless, I suppose. I am not a king back in England, I barely have a say on what I do or who I should live with."

Eleanor cupped the side of his face. "You could never be worthless," she muttered. The thought alone infuriated her — how could he, when he was the one person her heart beated for?

He smiled faintly, grabbing her hand and kissing its back. "Thank you, my love." He sighed deeply. "Still, I yearned for purpose, meaning. Susan was in America with my parents, and Peter was already a year into fighting the war. And I knew the next time I returned to Narnia, it would be my last."

They stared at each other, noticing the shadow that had been following them all along. Above all of their lovely days spent together gloomed a dark cloud that could not be blown away. Time was cruel, and it would soon separate them once more.

She tried smiling reassuringly. "Do not worry. When this is all done, you will go back to our world and you will go to war. When you return to England, you will find me. And I will find my way back there, so we can have the rest of our days together."

She decided it then. When their adventure came to an end, and with it the time for Lucy and Edmund to return to England forever, she would ask Aslan to be sent back with them. She would at last return to 1945, to her past life. It ached her heart to not be able to return to Narnia to say her farewells to Doctor Cornelius or Princess Prunella, but she knew her time in this world was ending. She was not needed here anymore.

It seemed to acquiesce the dread in Edmund’s heart. "It is a deal," he said, matching her nervous smile.

"It is a deal," she repeated. "Our souls belong together now, Ed. That is how they should remain."

He pulled her closer, brushing along the strands of her hair. "My dearest Elle," he murmured tenderly. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

As they embraced, Eleanor’s eyes searched instinctively for Caspian, fearing he could be watching. Thankfully, she found him in cheerful conversation with Lucy and Reepicheep, on the opposite side of the campfire, apparently oblivious to her and Edmund.

"You should tell her," Eleanor finally said, pulling away. "Lucy. I believe she will understand better than you think she will. She is also frightened of having to say goodbye to Narnia."

Edmund seemed surprised, though he nodded. At last, he chuckled. "Well, I suppose it is the least that I owe her," he said. "If I am leaving her to live alone with Aunt Alberta and…"

The grin disappeared from his face as it turned white. Eleanor understood it before he even said it.

"Eustace," he uttered, looking around in growing panic. "Where is he?"

They jumped up, racing around their camp and calling for the boy, knowing it was useless. Eleanor did not remember seeing Eustace during all of dinner, and she began suspecting she might not have seen him during the day at all. Soon, they had assembled a search party for him and were off blowing horns and shouting into the night. No one replied.

Eleanor and Lucy had stayed behind with some of the men, while Edmund and Caspian led the excursion. When they returned, with bleak looks on both their faces, Eleanor felt her limbs weaken. Lucy was sound asleep on her lap, and it was the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

“What happened?”

She looked at Edmund expectantly, but he could not seem to produce a single word. His eyes were big, yet his gaze was empty, dark, lost.

Caspian answered instead. “We found the carcass of a dragon.”

Her throat dried in the same second, and it was with difficulty that she could get a response out. "A dragon?" she repeated. She should not be so astounded, for she remembered dragons being mentioned as one of the creatures who inhabited Narnia, back at the dinner table at Professor Kirke’s house. She even thought it might have been Eustace himself who had mentioned it.

Relief eased the beating at her chest when she realised it. She had met Eustace in the future, so he would be fine. More than fine, in fact, for he had been nothing like the brat she had met aboard the Dawn Treader.

"He is safe," Eleanor told them. "Ed, he’ll be fine. Remember I said I met him at Professor Kirke’s house? Time cannot be rewritten. Aslan told me so himself."

Colour came back to Edmund’s face. Before he could say anything, though, there was a whooshing of powerful winds above them, as a massive dark figure flew by. Everyone crouched immediately, and Eleanor jumped in place, waking Lucy up.

"What happened?" Lucy said, alarmed. "Did we find Eustace?"

"No, but he must be hiding somewhere," Edmund replied. "A dragon just flew by, and I believe it is between us and our ship."

Caspian ordered the men to assemble into one mass, arms at ready. Edmund drew out his sword but gave it to Eleanor instead, preferring to pick up a long spear for himself. This was the first time she had ever held an actual sword, having so far only trained with wooden models, and it felt heavier and sharper than anything she had ever handled.

"Stay behind me," Edmund told her.

They moved slowly through the darkness. Though it made no noise, Eleanor could sense the dragon nearing through the night, as if its denseness could be felt in the brisk air. She gripped the sword tightly, knowing all of her duelling training would be entirely useless against a winged, fire breathing creature.

Their plan had been to encircle the dragon, but it was already waiting for them when they reached it. It was entirely covered in golden scales, and its claws were curved and pointed. Eleanor had once seen a fighter aircraft in a museum, when she had been a kid in London, and back then she could barely fathom how such an immense structure could possibly take off the ground. Yet the dragon was even bigger, almost thirty feet in length, and its entire body must have been made of hard muscle.

But it trembled before them, waddling backwards. His posture was not threatening, and even his eyes seemed to be supplicant.

"Oh, dear," Lucy cried, breaking off and taking a few steps towards it. "It’s frightened of us."

"What’s that coming out of its eyes?" Reepicheep asked.

"I think they’re tears," Eleanor said. At that moment, she understood how it could be feeling, watching a group of men coming at it with deadly weapons, after it had done no wrong.

"Stay alert," Drinian commanded, when he noticed Eleanor had been lowering her sword. "That is what crocodiles do, to put you off guard."

"I think it understands us," Edmund said. "Look! It just shook its head! And now it is nodding."

It was clear the dragon had been listening along, making sense of their entire discussion. They began asking it questions, which he would answer by either shaking or nodding its head. Caspian noticed he wore a bracelet with the sign of House Octasian, one of the seven lost lords, but the dragon denied having eaten the man, or being him itself. He did, however, violently agree when asked if he was someone enchanted.

The same realisation dawned on them all.

"You’re not," Lucy stuttered, "you’re not Eustace by any chance, are you?"

The dragon — or better, Eustace — wagged its tail and began sobbing, shaking tears as big as apples towards them. After it, there was not much they could do. Lucy tried consoling him, to little effect, and no one could figure out how exactly such a thing had happened. Eventually, they all tired and decided to go to sleep, hoping the morning would bring them clarity. But Eustace was still a dragon when they woke up, big and scaly and silent.

They went back to fixing the ship for the next few days. It advanced wonderfully with Eustace’s help, for he would fly around the island and bring them trees and supplies for a new mast, and he would hunt and bring them provisions. On one occasion, Eleanor even rode on his back, accompanied by Lucy and Edmund, and it was one of the most delightful experiences she had ever had. The breeze as they soared through the clouds was cool and refreshing, the views were breathtaking and grander than any she had seen from any great tower, and the speed was exhilarating. She could not refrain from smiling as she held onto Edmund. I have lived for so many years now , she thought. Yet this is the most alive I have ever felt.

They worried, of course, of how they would possibly fit a dragon aboard the Dawn Treader. But, before they could even finish their repairs, Eustace wandered into camp one morning on two legs, back to his childish height, walking his human feet once more. They all cheered and ran to greet him, urging the boy to tell them his story. Eustace let Lucy hug him, which he must have never done before, and Eleanor noticed he even embraced her back.

Edmund had strolled quietly along behind him, having come from some corner of the beach. After Eustace was done recounting how exactly he had become a dragon, and what he had done and felt through all of it, Eleanor went to meet Edmund.

"Where did you come from?" she asked him.

"Eustace came to me very early this morning, before everyone woke up. We talked for a bit."

Eleanor bit her lip to stop herself from inquiring any further. Whatever Edmund and Eustace had talked about, it was hardly any of her business.

"He seems much better already," she commented, watching him in conversation with the rest of the crew. She even thought she saw him smiling at one point.

"He is," Edmund agreed, smiling. "Narnia tends to have this effect on us. I would know it better than anyone."

Eleanor simply reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. "How did he transform back? Do you know?"

"It was Aslan."

"Aslan?" she echoed. The Great Lion had not been seen for years now, at least not in Narnia. He had not appeared at any of the times she had prayed for him. "Has he been ushering us on this adventure?"

"He is always, Elle," Edmund replied. "Even if it doesn’t seem like it. We must never lose faith of it."

The sky had now turned into a cloudless blue, and the sun climbed higher and higher towards its centre.

"Come, now," Edmund said, offering an arm. "Let us go talk to Eustace. If we are to become great friends, I should get started with getting to know him better."

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2306

The Dawn Treader sailed away from Dragon Island, as it was so named, a few days later, refurbished and repainted to a likeness of its original glory. A fair wind took them to a different island only a few days later, though it was mostly barren and ended up being called Burnt Island. As they sailed on, the atmosphere aboard was remarkably chipper than before, for they had now successfully discovered new lands, and Eustace would often join them for games of chess or simply to chat. Edmund invited him to pair up with Eleanor in their sword training, but even his new attitude did not change his identification as a pacifist. He did, however, aid the crew in pushing away a sea serpent who at one point had looped itself around the ship to try and break it.

Caspian, on the other hand, seemed to be distancing further and further as the days passed. He only spoke to Eleanor when absolutely necessary, and still his gaze always seemed to be anywhere but meeting hers. He was perfectly courteous, but she would have much rather preferred if he had been coarse or unpleasant; it would have at least distracted her from the guilt she fostered.

Edmund, too, had finally caught up with the strangeness between the two former friends. It was on one night when they were mostly alone on deck that he asked her, as they sat together watching the ocean.

"Did something happen between you and Caspian?" he asked. "Forgive me for intruding, I simply wonder. You two used to act a lot differently the last time I was in Narnia."

He waited patiently as she tried finding the words. She had not spoken of it to anyone, and it felt like Edmund was the last person she should confide in with it, yet somehow also the first. But how would he even react with the knowledge of Caspian’s unrequited love?

"It was a couple of weeks before we parted from Cair Paravel’s port," she said at last. "I had already wondered about it for some time, though I had mostly tried to ignore it, in hopes it was not true."

Edmund gawked at her patiently.

She breathed deeply. "He confessed his feelings for me. He asked for me to stay in Narnia with him forever, rule beside him. But I couldn’t accept it. By then, I was already well aware of how my love for you would not fade, not even if a hundred years passed. So I broke his heart."

Tears had crept silently to her eyes, and she wiped them away. Edmund looked deep in thought, still and silent. There was no recognisable trace or hint of an emotion in his face.

"I’m sorry, Elle," he murmured.

She frowned. "You’re sorry?"

"It is never pleasant to hurt someone we love. I suppose it must have been quite hard for you."

"I don’t think I’m the one anyone should be sorry for. It was I who wielded the knife. And I am the one now rewarded with love and affection. How is that fair?"

Edmund simply sighed. "Matters of the heart are never fair."

On this they agreed. He embraced her from the side, pressing them closer. The resurfaced pain could no longer be disregarded, though it was a little more bearable with Edmund’s arm around her.

"I must confess," he said quietly, "I suspected it since the first night I saw the two of you together. When we had just returned from the unsuccessful raid at the Telmarine castle, when we did not recognise each other. He was very protective of you from the very beginning, and I will admit I did not like it. It was not just jealousy, though it played some part in it. I think what upset me the most was seeing how close you two were then, when we were not."

"We caught up with it eventually," she replied, hinting at a smile.

He chuckled lightly. "We did. It is only a pity you two had to come apart."

Eleanor nodded, turning back to the darkness ahead of them.

"Do you miss him?" Edmund asked.

"Very much," she whispered.

"Why don’t you talk to him?"

"I already told him how I missed him and wished we could be friends again. But I am not entitled to his friendship. I will certainly not demand it, especially if it will cause him pain."

Edmund only agreed silently, his arm still holding her. As she looked up to the starry sky, Eleanor thought back to all the nights she had spent with Caspian discussing constellations and dreaming together. He must be as enthralled by all the new stars above as she was, yet they could not talk about it. She feared they might never do so again.

But she would not force proximity on him, so they carried on as distant as ever. Eleanor had gotten so used to life aboard the Dawn Treader she could scarcely believe she had been so sick for the first few weeks of the journey. She found it strange to think she had once been so lonely, now that she had Edmund and Lucy for company at all times. She couldn’t remember what it used to be like to have Caspian as her closest friend.

The next island they reached seemed as deserted as the previous one, though its hills were topped with greenery and large trees. Two rivers divided the small land, and they decided to follow one of its courses as they set off to explore the place. It was the same group from that first day at Narrowhaven: Eleanor, Edmund, Lucy, Caspian, Eustace and Reepicheep, the only difference being the mouse now sitting on Eustace’s shoulder instead of Lucy’s. They made small talk as they trailed, pointing out to something in the distance or commenting on the scenery.

They sat down to rest by the source of the second river. To Eleanor’s left, Edmund had just crouched down when he suddenly jumped back up.

"What in…" he grumbled. "Why, it’s… It’s a sword."

Everyone had turned to look at the spot he had almost sat on, and sure enough there was a sword hidden among the heathers.

"It must have been from one of the lost lords," Caspian observed, after they found remnants of clothes and armoury.

They decided to search their surroundings for any clue as to what might have happened to the lord, or at least to figure out which one it was. They came to a little opening in a circle of cliffs, where the stream came into a pool of perfectly clear water.

"Look!" Lucy shouted, pointing at the bottom of the pool.

There was a life-sized figure of a man, glistening in the sunlight. It seemed to be made entirely of gold.

"That is remarkable," Eleanor noted. She had never seen a statue so beautiful. She could barely begin to fathom why someone would discard it in the water of a deserted island.

Edmund already had his spear in his hand, and Caspian held him as he bent to try and reach the statue with the tip. As soon as it had touched the water, however, Edmund gasped and let go of it.

"What’s wrong?" they all said at the same time.

"Get back!" Edmund commanded, in a tone so austere everyone obeyed immediately. "The water is enchanted. Look. My spear has turned to gold."

It was true: the weapon now lay at the bottom of the pool, shimmering just as much as the statue.

"So the man…" began Eustace, not daring to finish his sentence.

"By the Lion," muttered Reepicheep.

Lucy choked. "What a horrid end."

Caspian’s eyes were studious. "I wonder," he muttered, kneeling next to the water. He grabbed a spray of heather from the soil and dipped it carefully. In the next second, there was a perfect model of the flower in its place, looking as heavy and malleable as the purest gold there could be.

The same putrid thought must have reeked through all of their minds at the same time. For a second, Eleanor saw herself sitting in a bath filled with gems and riches. She imagined a palace made entirely of gold, from its painted ceilings to every ornate column. She would never again touch cutlery made of anything other than the gilded metal, she would wear dresses made from golden strands, she would have a treasury bigger than the Dawn Treader.

But it was Caspian who spoke first.

"The king who owned this island," he said slowly, "would soon be the richest of all the kings of the world. I claim this land forever as a Narnian possession. It shall be called Goldwater Island. And I bind you all to secrecy. No one must know of this. Not even Drinian — on pain of death, do you hear?"

The grimness of his words struck them all into perfect stillness. Even specks of dust seemed to hang in eerie suspension in the air around them, as if waiting in anticipation. Eleanor blinked, recognising the sunlight dripping from between the canopies, yet unable to feel its warmth.

"You forget," Edmund countered coldly. "I am not your subject. I am a king, crowned a thousand years before you were even born. I will not stand as you threaten the ones I love."

Caspian rose to face him, with a glaring fit for battle. "You do not rule Narnia anymore," he said. "You come into the ship that I have built, in search of the lost lords from my father’s reign, and you dare talk to me like this?"

"You would not have been king if it hadn’t been for our help in the war."

Eleanor had never seen such a look on Caspian’s eyes. It was not heated or fuming, though it was more threatening than she would have ever thought him capable of.

"I should have left you back at Narrowhaven." He looked past Edmund to meet Eleanor’s eyes. "Did you know I considered it?"

The words hit her as he intended. Her body turned so stiff, so heavy, she even glanced down to check she had not touched the enchanted water by accident. But it was only the ache she felt. "You would have left us behind?" she asked. "Why?"

"You know why, Elle. He was the only reason you ever came along on this journey, wasn’t it? I think you might have only stayed in Narnia all these years because you were waiting for him to come back."

The air vanished from around her, and it was with the last of her breath that she confessed, "I stayed for you."

Caspian seemed stunned for a second, but he then shook his head. "How do you expect me to believe it? I had never seen you so happy as you are now in all the years you have lived here. Not when I gave you space, not when I took you along on my travels, not even when I arranged you company."

"Do not throw the fault of your own actions on her," Edmund retorted. "No one has the claim to anyone’s heart, no matter how much they do."

Caspian’s posture went rigid as he turned back to Edmund.

"You must think you are so much better than me," Caspian spouted.

"Is that not what you think? Is it not my castle that you dream of rebuilding? It is not the age when I ruled that you try and replicate? Is it not my beloved that you would have as your queen?"

"Careful." Caspian’s hand had reached the hilt of his sword. "You are speaking to a king."

Edmund did the same. "And so are you."

It was only in the blink of an eye that both swords were drawn and came swinging in the air. As soon as the first clinging of metal resonated, however, Lucy screamed, and they all turned to look. In the woods behind them, so quickly they would have missed it had they blinked, they saw a huge shape of an animal. It moved slowly through the trees, disappearing in the next second, but its golden mane was unmistakable.

They could not tell where he had gone, but there was no doubt it had been Aslan. And so they all seemed to come to their senses at the same time, looking around with confused faces.

The woods were now stained with the violence of their past words, every hurtful sentiment still hovering in the air. Edmund and Caspian still had their swords drawn, looking rather shameful. No one dared meet anyone’s eyes.

"We… We should return to the ship," said Caspian, his voice grave.

They all nodded quietly.

"This is a place with a curse on it," said Reepicheep. Eleanor jumped at the sound of him, having forgotten he and Eustace had been there all along with them, witnessing everything that had been said. "If I might have the honour of naming this island, Your Majesties, I would call it Deathwater."

His suggestion faced no rebuke, and so they walked back to shore. Eleanor tried concentrating on the sound of dried leaves crumpling under her feet, or the humming of birds in the distance. But her mind kept repeating the words that had been said only moments earlier, the darkness inside them uttered out loud. No one spoke when they returned to the ship, and the Dawn Treader sailed away at once.

She could not sleep that night, despite how persistently she rolled around in bed with her eyes shut. She did not know how many hours had passed before she finally gave up, but the sky was already turning a pale pink when she emerged on deck. There was only one other person there, manning the ship’s tiller.

Caspian watched as she walked towards him, the same blank expression on both their faces.

She stopped a few feet away. "Couldn’t sleep?"

He chuckled faintly. "Didn’t even try."

She smiled, but only for a second. They then looked around them, unsure where or how to even begin.

"How have you been, Cas?" she muttered.

He sighed deeply. "I am so sorry, Elle. I have been… so bitter. So tangled in my own pain, so lost in it I did not even realise I was only trapping myself even further."

He looked at her with desolate eyes. How could she do anything but absolve him right then, when she had longed for their past friendship for months now?

"I’m sorry for not reaching out sooner," she said. "I was trying to give you space, I didn’t want to force closeness on you if it would make you uncomfortable. But I should have seen it. You are my friend, first and foremost, and you were in pain."

Caspian shook his head. "My pain could never excuse the things that I have said. The place was cursed, I believe it, yet it did not plant any new thought in my mind. It only sprouted from what was already there."

He reached for her, but stopped at the last second.

"I have always known this would be a hopeless pursuit, you know," he said quietly. "From the moment I first saw you and Edmund together. It had always been there, as clear as daylight. What you two have… I wanted it. I hoped I would have it with you. I thought the years would propagate the tenderness in your heart, but it turns out no amount of time could ever bring life to a barren land. I could have spent eternity by your side, and still your soul would only yearn for his."

"You’ll find it one day, Cas." She put her hand on his arm. "And, when you do, you’ll see how everything else before it had only been a shadow of the real thing."

"Do you think so?"

"I do. You have such a gentle heart."

He smiled. "Did you know Doctor Cornelius told me the same thing?"

She smiled, too. "Did he?"

"He warned me your heart had already been given to someone else. I ignored it, of course, as one would tend to do when they are blinded by their own. I suppose I still wanted to see for myself."

"I would have done the same thing," she admitted.

They then embraced, just as the sun rose from behind the ocean line. They were coated by golden light, warm and pleasant, so different from the glistening water from the enchanted pool.

"I swear the sun seems to be getting bigger and bigger each morning," Caspian muttered when they separated.

"Do you?" she asked. "Oh, that’s great to her. I thought I was losing it myself."

He laughed, and from that moment on they were able to talk again without courtesies or formalities. Eleanor kept company with him until the rest of the crew began to surface for their chores. It did not take long for Edmund to appear, looking as poorly rested as them.

"Why don’t you try and sleep for a bit, Elle?" Caspian suggested, as soon as they spotted him. "I would like to talk to King Edmund."

She nodded, watching Edmund draw nearer.

"Are you alright?" Edmund asked her, as soon as he reached them.

Eleanor smiled. "I am. But I am going back to bed now, before I collapse right here and then. Goodnight, my love."

Lucy was still asleep when Eleanor came back to their cabin, and she drifted to unconsciousness almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. When she emerged back to deck, several hours later, Edmund and Caspian seemed to be on perfectly good terms. She did not ask them what they had talked about, or if they had discussed or reached an agreement, but the two only grew closer after it. After a few days, they barely remembered the feelings they had spoken on Deathwater Island, and Eleanor felt as if they had left all of them stranded there, exiled to never return, soon to be forgotten altogether.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2306-2307

The sun kept on swelling as they sailed east. The days stretched more and more, the breeze grew warmer, the water glistened as an endlessly faceted diamond. As she watched dawn come sooner each morning, Eleanor began to fear they would find nothing but scorching flames and blazing lights once they had reached the borders of this world, and they would perish on the birthplace of the star.

But the winds took them to strange, remote shores instead. On one island, they faced invisible enemies and a magician named Coriakin, which turned out to be an amiable host to them all. The invisible folk, in turn, were called Dufflepuds and were as harmless as they were silly, perpetually agreeing with one another for whatever that had been said. Only Lucy seemed a bit shaken when they parted in the Dawn Treader, for she had been the one who had explored Coriakin’s manor and broken the invisibility spell. Later that night, she confessed to Eleanor that she had experimented on more than one spell from the magician’s book, until Aslan himself came and spoke to her.

"Had you called for him?" Eleanor asked.

Lucy shook her head. "No," she whispered. "But he knows me better than I know myself."

It had barely been an explanation, but Lucy had smiled as if her words contained unquestionable truth, so Eleanor did not ask further. She did, however, wonder whether such a statement would ever apply to her as well. After all, she was an intruder, an accident who had stumbled onto Narnia, while Lucy had been a prophesied hero, a queen crowned by the Great Lion at Cair Paravel. 

The next place they reached was not exactly a land itself, but rather a mass of darkness seemingly devoid of materiality. They advanced into it only due to Reepicheep’s insistence, who gabbled on about honour and adventure until they had all been convinced. 

They found a delirious man stranded there, and they heaved him aboard the ship. His skin grasped tightly along his bony limbs, his clothes were little more than wet rags, and his hair was white and long. He urged them all to flee from there, for it was the island where dreams came true, where their fears would come into existence. His words crept under the skin of the entire crew, and they set sail from there immediately.

They later found out the castaway was actually Lord Rhoop, one of the seven lost lords they were looking for. During the next days, they learned little more from the distressed man. Mostly, he kept to himself and grumbled time away, preferring to speak clearly only to Caspian, who reminded him of his late king. Everyone else was fine keeping distance from him and the eccentricity in his wide eyes.

When they found land once more, Lord Rhoop refused to leave the ship, staying aboard with two other men while the rest went off to explore the island. Eleanor, along with the rest of the crew, took it as an opportunity to take a break from his madness, and the stroll along the country was peaceful and tranquil. Edmund had once again trusted her with his sword, though she knew she would hardly have to use it as long as he was on her side.

They came upon what looked like ruins from a distance, but turned out to be a roofless chamber made of perfectly smooth grey stone, encircled by tall pillars. There was a long table with rows of chairs on either side, all made of the same material, topped with rich crimson fabric. It very much reminded Eleanor of the velvet piece of the armour Edmund had worn on the battle against the telmarines; she could almost envision a golden lion embroidered in its centre.

But there were towers of the most magnificent banquet Eleanor had ever seen sitting on top of it. There were turkeys and geese and venison, there were lobsters and salmon, colourful fruit of all shapes and sizes, pies and puddings made out to be sculptures more beautiful than greek statues, glasses of sweet smelling wine, and nuts and cheese in more options than she would have ever thought possible. She had never seen a feast more appealing — not in Caspian’s or Archenland’s court, nor in England.

It was only when she spotted a pomegranate among the fruit which draped along the table that she came back to her senses. She thought back to the myth of the goddess Persephone, which she had studied a lifetime ago in a history book from a different world.

"Look!" Edmund said beside her. He pointed at the opposite side of the table, which they now noticed was occupied.

There were three figures hidden amongst the shadows. Edmund, Caspian and Drinian went forward to inspect them, soon realising the impossibility presented to them: they were the three remaining lost lords, all with a beating pulse, but frozen in place.

"The crew is right," Edmund finally said, once they had discussed what they should do with the three lords. "We should return to the ship. The food might have been the cause for their enchanted state, and there is no point for spending the night here. This entire place smells of magic — and danger."

"I am entirely of King Edmund’s opinion," said Reepicheep, "as far as concerns the ship’s company in general. But I myself will sit on this table until sunrise, for no danger seems to me so great as that of knowing when I get back to Narnia that I left a mystery behind me through fear."

Edmund straightened up. "Then I will stay with you, Reep."

"And I, too," said Caspian.

"And me," said Lucy.

Eleanor looked around and found Eustace’s gaze. He seemed unsure, and she wondered if she had the same look on her. But they shared some kind of silent understanding then: while they were not majesties or knights themselves, they would behave as such, until one of them came to deserve such an honour.

And so the group remained at the table, even though Drinian tried fighting his king on it. They sat somewhat in the middle, distant from the three sleeping lords, while still keeping them at sight. At first they tried to keep a conversation going, but the air around them was brisk and chilled the chatter until it stiffened back into quiet. Eleanor had been tugging at her cloak, trying to find a comfortable position, when she noticed Edmund seemed even more uneasy next to her.

"Is everything alright?" she whispered. The rest of the group could probably hear but a muffled murmur, though they all seemed too distracted to care.

Edmund blinked. "Yes," he said at last. "It’s just… Do you see that knife? I think it is made of stone."

She followed his gaze until she landed on the object. Indeed, it was true: the knife was long and sharp, carved crudely and cruelly, and seemed to be more ancient than anything else surrounding them. Eleanor had been about to comment on its strangeness when a tale surfaced back to memory, one told by Doctor Cornelius on her first night at the Great Tower.

"Do you mean…" she muttered. "Do you think that’s the Knife of Stone?"

"It would seem so," he replied quietly. "Though Lucy is the only among us who could recognise it."

Eleanor noticed Lucy had spotted the object as well, from the opposite side of the table, and the expression on her face seemed like confirmation enough.

She looked at the knife in disbelief. Was this the knife the White Witch had wielded over a thousand years ago, at the Stone Table? Could it actually have killed Aslan, the Great Lion, creator of Narnia, son of the Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea?

Edmund nodded beside her, and she realised she had said it out loud. "It was meant to kill me," he said.

She noticed he looked as pale as the moon above them, but she could not think of anything to say. Instead, she reached for his hand and stroked it, hoping it would bring him comfort somehow. It soothed her, too, to feel the pulse in his wrist. It was proof that he was alive, and they were together, and they were safe.

They waited until the stars had shifted positions above them. At last, there was a motion in a distant hill, and a door which had not been there a moment before had opened. A woman walked out of it, holding a silver candlestick, coming in their direction. She wore a simple blue gown, and Eleanor thought she was the most beautiful being she had ever seen. She reminded her of Gracie with her blonde hair, though hers fell in shapeless fashion, unlike Gracie’s carefully crafted curls. Her eyes were piercing, and it made her think of Susan. But they were also kind and caring, similar to Birdie’s, and similar to her own mother’s.

They all rose to greet her.

"Greetings, travellers," she said. "You have come from far to Aslan’s table. Why do you not eat and drink?"

"Madam," Caspian said, bowing graciously. Eleanor thought she even noticed a hint of tremor in his voice. "We feared the food because we thought it had cast our friends into an enchanted sleep."

"They have never tasted it."

"Please," said Lucy. "What happened to them?"

The woman explained how the three lords had quarrelled with one another upon arrival, to the point where one of them reached for the Knife of Stone itself. That was what put them into their current state, and it would remain so until the spell was lifted. She explained the food was renewed every day, and it was theirs for cherishing. She told them some called this place World’s End, though there was still further to go. But she affirmed that, by all means, this was the beginning of the end.

"I do not mean to be rude," said Edmund after she was done. "I cannot help but believe all you say. But then, that would also happen if you were a witch. How do we know you are a friend?"

"You can’t know," she replied. "You can only believe — or not."

Reepicheep was the first one to drink to the lady, and soon they all followed. The food was better than any meal Eleanor had ever had, each bite more flavourful than the previous one, every crumb as filling as a full plate. She had just realised she should stop before she got sick when the door at the hill opened a second time, and out came an old man.

He seemed to be made of light itself, shining more brightly than any flame or electric bulb. They all squinted as he came forward and joined the woman, and the two began singing to the skies. It reminded Eleanor of the music she had heard when she had first arrived at Narnia, though she knew they sounded nothing alike. It was beautiful and ethereal, and it was hopeful and calm. It sounded like dawn itself, if she could ever believe such a thing.

The man talked to them when they were done. He introduced himself as Ramandu, and he called the woman his daughter. He told them they had to sail to the World’s End, or as near as they could come to it, and leave one behind — it was the only way to break the lords’ curse. He could not tell them much of what awaited them east, for he said he had only seen it long ago, from a great distance, when he had lived in the heavens.

"You are… You are a star," Caspian uttered, his jaw wide open.

"A retired star," corrected Ramandu. "Resting, for now. A bird brings me a fire-berry from the valleys of the sun every morning, and so it will be, until I am young again to rejoin my sisters and brothers for their great dance."

Eleanor could barely understand how the man in front of them could be a star, an actual star, one who had lived in the heavens and heard all of their dreams, every tale told under the cloak of night, every wish made to the darkness. But at the same time it seemed like all the man could be. The brightness around him glistened with the familiar twinkle of their favourite constellations, and his words felt as ancient and true as the seas and the mountains.

"I have spent half of my life looking up to the stars," Caspian confessed slowly. "I spoke to you every night. Was any of it heard?"

"Of course," Ramandu replied. "It is for us stars to listen, as it is for you to dream. We are eternal. When you speak your love to us, it becomes eternal as well."

Eleanor felt Edmund’s hand reaching for hers, and they intertwined their fingers together. Here, in front of Ramandu, standing so near to his deathlessness, she felt as sure in their love as she had ever felt. How could it not be true, when a star had witnessed it this closely?

Caspian, too, looked deep in thought, and she could only suppose he was thinking of the matters of his own heart. She had not forgotten of the ulterior motive he had admitted to having for this journey, that he hoped to meet his parents at Aslan’s Country.

They rejoined the Dawn Treader crew eventually to tell them of the news. Not all of them were so easily persuaded to keep sailing until the end of the world, but by dusk it had been decided. They dined at Aslan’s table once more before sailing away the next morning, leaving Lord Rhoop to join his friends in their enchanted sleep.

"My lady," was the last thing Caspian said before they left, calling to Ramandu’s daughter. "Will you tell me your name?"

She obliged graciously. "My name is Liliandil, my king."

"I hope to see you again," he said, "once I have broken the enchantments."

Liliandil then smiled, and it was as pure and bright as starlight. "I would hope as well."

It was as if the brightness Liliandil might have inherited from her father had been casted upon Caspian as well, for his face glowed for every day which followed. His stance turned looser and more delicate, his smile resembled the buoyancy from his days as a prince. It was clear to anyone around him that the true change had happened inside him, and the name he would call for in his sleep would be Liliandil’s, from now until the end of his days.

The voyage to the end of the world was peaceful and quiet. They slept less, ate rarely, talked minimally. A current carried them to their destination, and time was spent simply watching the blue skies above or the clear water underneath them. They no longer played chess, practised sword fighting, or discussed constellations at night. Sometimes, when they were lying silently side by side, Eleanor thought she might as well survive solely on Edmund’s warmth and the sunlight from above.

She knew he was bound to leave the world of Narnia when this journey came to its end. She knew he would return to England, where he would join the British Army at last and be dispatched for the frontlines. He would spend a year and a half overseas, away from his family, fighting a war for presidents and leaders he would never meet. He would find his way back to England, and one day he would meet Nora under a snowy lamp post by St. George’s church, and they would be together again.

Every evidence of the World’s End came in gradually, one by one. First they noticed the water was sweet, not like those which came from rivers or lakes, but sweet as the most delicious delicacy. They would fill buckets with it and drink it day and night, feeling younger by each gulp. Then came the lilies, fragrant and lovely, floating around them as if they were gliding through a field in springtime. It was a sight too wonderful to fully memorise, and Eleanor thought she would only remember the feeling of happiness and the strange urge to cry from their beauty. Then, finally, they realised the water had turned too shallow, and they could not sail any further.

Caspian gathered all the men on deck, climbing himself to the poop.

"Friends," he called. "We have now fulfilled the quest on which you embarked. The seven lords are all accounted for, and the curse on those at Ramandu’s island will be soon lifted, for the knight Reepicheep has vowed to stay behind. Lord Drinian, I entrust the Dawn Treader to you, and you are to return to Narnia and give all of the crew the rewards they were promised. Then you must gather the Regent Trumpkin and Lord Cornelius and choose a new king…"

"Your Majesty?" said Drinian, his eyes big and lost.

"Cas!" Eleanor protested, unable to refrain herself. "Why would you…"

"I am going with Reepicheep to the World’s End."

There were murmurs and whispers exchanged among the sailors.

"Caspian," Edmund called sternly. He was more serious than Eleanor had ever seen him. "You can’t do this."

"Can’t?" Caspian said, a flicker of the temper he had shown at Deathwater Island back in his eyes.

Edmund, Reepicheep and Drinian all began objecting at once, listing argument after argument as to why Caspian could not go on to the end of the world and abandon his people at Narnia. Caspian ultimately was only one against too many, and he eventually retired back to his cabin, stomping all the way there. They waited for a while, a few grumbles here and there, for the king to return. When enough time had passed, Eleanor volunteered to go and talk to him.

"Cas?" she asked, knocking twice at his door.

A faint voice called her inside, and she obeyed to find Caspian sitting at a corner on the floor, his eyes red and glistening.

"It’s no good," he mumbled, as soon as she kneeled next to him.

"What do you mean?"

"I am not to go with them," he said. "Aslan came and told me himself."

Eleanor’s eyes widened, and she looked around in dismay.

"He did not come here exactly," Caspian explained. "But he spoke to me. He told me… Oh, it was too terrible."

"It’s alright," she said. "You don’t have to tell me."

"But I do, Elle," he cried. "For he did not instruct only me. He said Edmund, Lucy and Eustace are the only ones who should accompany Reepicheep east. You and I are to return to Narnia immediately."

She blinked a few times before she could even make sense of the words he had spoken. She stared at her friend as if he had whispered a foreign language, something too beyond her grasp. Caspian was not making sense. He must be having some kind of delirious episode. After all, she could not be separated from Edmund, not again, not now that they knew of their shared love.

They remained in his cabin until someone else came for them. This time, it was Lucy, and she placed her gentle hands on their shoulders. Eleanor heard Caspian repeating his perfidious message to Lucy, the cruelty of every syllable poisoning the air like some heavy mist.

"Oh, Elle," sobbed Lucy, embracing her dearly. "I’m so sorry."

As Lucy offered her remorse, the thought finally began to sink into Eleanor’s mind. Edmund would leave, and she would not go with him. How long would she have to remain in Narnia? Why? Why couldn’t Aslan have talked to her himself? Was she truly this unimportant?

They eventually took her back to deck, where most of the crew had already dispersed, but Edmund waited patiently. He ran to hug her upon seeing the state she was in.

"What is it?" he asked. "Elle?"

"I am not going with you," she answered hoarsely. "I will stay in Narnia."

He looked astonished, but only for a second. Sadness then took over his eyes, pulling the corners of his brows downwards. "I see," he muttered.

A line formed at her forehead. "Did you know?"

"I did not know," he said. "But I always feared it. But you mustn’t despair, my love. It might take longer than we would both like, but we will see each other again. It has already happened, and so it will happen again."

She knew what he meant: he would meet her in 1944, and she would meet him in the Golden Age of Narnia. But how would she ever get there — to the past? And would she ever go back to England at all?

They did not haste their goodbyes, though no amount of time would ever feel like long enough for her. Before she could realise it, Edmund, Lucy, Eustace and Reepicheep were all set to board a long boat towards the World’s End, and she was among the crew who watched them gloomily.

"It has been an honour, Reep," she said to Reepicheep, the first one to bid her farewell. "Good luck on your destiny."

The mouse performed a most elaborate curtsy. "And to you, my lady."

Eustace came next, and she hugged him. "I am so happy to have met you. I hope you will come back to Narnia one day, even if I am not here."

He smiled shyly in response, nodding once.

"Lu," she called, embracing the girl. They cried on each other’s shoulders for a bit.

"We will see each other again, Elle."

Eleanor smiled, thinking of the sunny day at the train station of Coombe Halt in 1945, where Lucy had jumped in her arms when greeting her. She wanted to tell Lucy of it, but she thought it was best not to spoil too much. The memory of that day warmed her heart enough.

They had to let go, and Eleanor spotted Edmund coming towards her. It spun her into a terrible nostalgia, of the last time he had left Narnia. She had barely been strong enough to bid him farewell then. How could she do it now, not knowing if she would ever meet this version of him again? The version of him who had confessed his love to her, who knew when to hold her hand and where to kiss her?

After they had hugged, she could not think of a single thing to say. She looked into his eyes, hoping she would find some pointer or sign in their darkness.

But he spoke first. 

"I will tell the stars about you," he promised her. "Every night, until we see each other again." He took her left hand, tracing along her scar, and brought it to his lips. “And then perhaps it will be whispered from star to star, from one galaxy to another, until it has travelled through the entirety of the universe to reach you. So that on one starry night, when you look up to the sky, you will hear my voice calling to you, singing your name.”

She brought his own hand to her face. It was cold, as usual. "I will look for you," she murmured. "Everywhere. Always."

Edmund kissed her — softly, delicately. It carried no trace of melancholy, and she was grateful for it. The crew and Lucy and Caspian were sure to be watching them, yet she could not bring herself to want for it to end.

"I hope you like the Eleanor you meet," was the last thing she said before he left. "She will not recognise you. But know she will fall in love with you at the first hello."

It had brought him his final smile. When he rowed away, towards the east, he did not look away from her. It was only when the Dawn Treader itself set off west that she lost him to the ocean, to her imperfect memories.

The lords had awoken when they returned to Ramandu’s Island, and they joined them on their travel back to Narnia. It did not come as a surprise when Liliandil, too, boarded the Dawn Treader. Eleanor had seen Ramandu cry when he sent his daughter off to be wed, waving from the top of the hill. She thought their marriage was sure to be the most blissful, for they had already been blessed by the tears of a star.

Eleanor rarely left her cabin on the journey back. Caspian would come to check on her, and Liliandil also tried speaking kind words on love and longing, but they were all to no use. Nothing could quiet the hopelessness of her heart then.

On one clear night, when she found the deck empty, Eleanor climbed as high as she could and closed her eyes. She tried summoning the feeling she had felt the first time she had met Aslan, after the battle against the telmarines. She tried conjuring the song which was the harmony of all living things, the melody which brought them all together.

"Aslan," she called to the chill air.

She waited until dawn, but there was no response.

When the sun came up, Eleanor felt as if her heart had absorbed the blackness of night. Her thoughts had turned bitter, heated, resentful. Why did Aslan not respond to her? He had come for Lucy, for Eustace, for Caspian. Why could he not come for her? Why was he condemning her?

She decided, then, she could not wait any longer. It was no use waiting for him, for he would not be coming. So she would have to take matters into her own hands.

She did not think of consequence, she did not reflect on the possible fallouts. She only schemed the details of her plan, concentrating on the arrangements she would have to make, the excuses she would have to give. She chose to flee under the cloak of night, on their first day back to the coast of Narnia, for farewells would be a strain to her already grieving state. She knew she would not survive another heartbreak.

The horse she chose was strong and took her all the way to Beruna. There, she exchanged it for a rested one, riding it immediately across the Great River of Narnia and towards the western woods. She had never attempted this path before, but she had now spent years studying maps and hearing its tales. She carried the sword Edmund had left behind, in case she came upon danger, and she now knew how to wield it. She felt sheltered by the knowledge that those same lands had once belonged to him.

The passage was not all that difficult to find, for it called to her with that same strange music as before. Something was singing to her soul, and she marched on fearlessly. The trees drew nearer, hiding the sun above her. Branches then turned into hangers, the dirt beneath her became hard wood. Her hands soon found the slab of the wardrobe’s doors, and she emerged inside a familiar house.

Chapter Text

England, October 1949

There was barely any light coating the unknown room. As soon as she stumbled out of the wardrobe, Eleanor tripped on some heavy object, falling on top of her wrist in the next second. She grunted as she kept wandering about, arms wide open so as to not hit anything she could not see. With time, her sight adjusted to the surrounding darkness, and she identified a trace of light coming from the borders of a door.

She came out to a tall staircase, after which there was a narrow corridor ending on another door. She crossed it to find a wide chamber, with stone floors and dark wood-panelled walls. She recognised the stained tapestry of philosophers by a tree and the intricate carvings of an antique hall bench. She was in Professor Kirke’s house.

She raced through the floor, smiling at every familiar painting or sculpture, dashing expertly through the maze of corridors and staircases. She finally reached the entrance hall, from which she could already spy the entrance to the professor’s study and the main staircase, which led to their rooms.

"Ed," she breathed, laughing idiotically.

But a mid-aged woman had just appeared to her left, and the two jumped upon seeing each other. The woman wore a knee-length floral dress and a knitted cardigan, and her hair was tied graciously in a rolled updo. Eleanor was so nostalgic upon seeing her English attire she did not even stop to wonder who the woman could possibly be.

"Who are you?" the woman inquired sharply.

Eleanor blinked. "I… I…"

"How on earth did you get inside? The house is closed for visitations today!"

"I am looking for Professor Kirke," she was able to say.

"There is no professor here," the woman spouted. "Now, get out of here before I call the police!"

Eleanor wanted to protest or ask for some explanation to her expanding worries, but the woman’s look was so menacing she could do nothing but obey. She ran out of the house, glancing backwards only to check whether she was being followed, and came out in the gardens. She only dared to contemplate the exterior once she was safely out of reach, and sure enough the house was the same — with its three stories, brick walls and ornate windows. It was as beautiful as always, though now she could barely comprehend how she had once thought a princess could live in such a place, for it was nowhere close to the sumptuous castle at Anvard, or even the telmarines’ grey fortress.

The thought of Archenland brought back the memories of Princess Prunella, and Doctor Cornelius, and Caspian. She shook them away. Now was not the time to reminisce, now was the time to find Edmund.

As she walked the path to the nearby town, Eleanor tried to make sense of what had happened. She had come out of the wardrobe at Professor Kirke’s house, but enough time must have passed for him to have sold the property already. The air around her was brisk, though not unbearable, so she assumed it must be autumn. Probably October, she thought, noticing how many dried leaves coated the mud underneath her. If she was right, Edmund should be back in London, and so should she — she should be at her first term at King’s College.

That was when she looked down to find she was wearing clothes she did not recognise: a two piece dress, made out of brown tweed and reaching just below her knees, and maroon leather shoes. She raised her left hand, which was perfectly manicured and adorned with golden jewellery, and gasped when she did not find a scar on her palm. The skin was perfectly smooth, with no evidence of the battle against the telmarines. No evidence of Narnia.

She pressed on as quickly as she could until she had reached the same post office where she and Edmund had sent a letter to Birdie, so long ago. She exhaled, making the way inside.

"Hello," she said, smiling at the man behind the counter.

"Morning, miss," he replied politely. "How may I help you?"

"Do you have a… telephone?" she asked. The word tasted foreign in her mouth, as if she had learned it through a book, and this was her first time ever speaking it. She almost wondered if she had the pronunciation right.

"There’s a phone box at the end of the road," he signalled through the window.

But something else had caught her eye then. There were stacks of newspaper positioned right at the front of the counter. The date on them said October 7 th , 1949.

Her chest sank, and she could barely keep herself standing. She heard the man asking her something, but she barely registered it as background noise. She held the paper, staring ceaselessly at the date, as if she might force it to change out of her own will. But those awful numbers would not alter, and they remained in their vicious truthness. She had returned not to 1945, as she had hoped, but to 1949. She had missed four entire years in England.

"Miss?" the man was calling, and she finally came back to her senses. She realised he looked deeply concerned.

She blinked repeatedly. "Sorry," she murmured. "I…" She let the sentence die, however, for what could she possibly say?

"Are you alright? You’ve turned white! Here, sit down."

He brought her a stool and a glass of water. He was surprisingly kind and patient, tending to her as she attempted to come to terms with the sudden realisation. 

What had she thought? She had not, not even for a second, considered time might have passed in England during her years away at Narnia. After all, in the Pevensies’ experience, they always returned to the exact same second. But those, as it seemed, were not rules to be relied on, but simply how they had personally adventured through time. All living beings experience their lifetime in a unique way.

What had happened during all these years in England? Had she disappeared entirely? She contemplated such a scenario: she had dissipated into the thin air during the summer of 1945, and now she would reappear after four years missing. Would everyone have given up on searching for her? Would Aunt Doris have purchased a grave for her? Would they all be spooked if she reentered their lives now, as if she was a ghost returned from the dead?

"I need to make a call," she said at last.

There was nothing inside the pockets on her dress, so the man gave her spare change of his own. He even insisted on accompanying her to the phone box, closing his shop temporarily, and waited outside as she made her call.

Her hand trembled as she listened to the ringing of the line. She counted her heartbeats by the dozen as she awaited, until a voice finally answered.

"Hello?"

She gripped at the wall for support. "Aunt Doris?"

"Eleanor?" her aunt replied. There was a hint of dismay in her tone, though not strong enough to confirm her theory of having been presumed dead. "Are you alright? What is it?"

She could not utter anything more. For four years, she had not heard the sound of her aunt’s voice, yet it reached her ear so naturally it was as if she was talking from the next room. She could imagine herself doing schoolwork at the dining table as her aunt cooked in the kitchen, making small talk through the open door. She could almost smell the savoury steam of carrot and lentil soup.

"Eleanor? Do you hear me?"

She nodded. Two tears bolted from her eyes to her chin. "I do," she murmured. "I’m fine. And you?"

"Your uncle and I are fine, of course. But why are you calling? Did all go well with Susan?"

The name formed a crease on her forehead, and it was sufficient to clear her mind momentarily. "Susan?" she repeated.

"Yes. Was the appointment not scheduled for today?"

"Susan Pevensie?"

"Well, who else? Of course it is Susan Pevensie."

So some version of herself had lived in England for all of the past years, and she had remained close with the Pevensies. Susan must be back from America, and they apparently had some kind of meeting planned.

"I’m afraid I cannot chat for long, Eleanor, I am late for supper with the Radcliffes. Is everything alright?"

"Yes," she stammered instinctively. How much could she even disclose to her aunt at that point? She could not begin explaining how she had no recollection of the past four years. It would be best if she met Susan and the others and asked them instead, for they were well aware of her journeys through time. So she said instead, mustering as much casualness into her tone as she could, "Aunt Doris? Do you have Susan’s address? I must have lost it."

Her aunt took a minute to find the notepad she had written it down on. Eleanor herself had nowhere to write it with, so she tried memorising it. 3 Fairholme Gardens , she repeated. 3 Fairholme Gardens.

"Where… where is that again?"

Eleanor expected a scoff, but her aunt paused instead. "Eleanor," she called carefully, "are you alright?"

"I… I’m fine," she replied.

Her tone must not have been convincing. "I should not have let you go alone…" Aunt Doris mumbled. "I knew it was a bad idea, but you were the one who insisted you should go without us… Rupert said you would be fine, after all you had lived there for years now, but it is still too soon. Where are you? Should we come and get you? I think we might have enough for one ticket, but that is all. London has become so expensive…"

London — there was her answer. "No," she rushed to say. "Don’t worry. I’ll call you as soon as I am at Susan’s."

Aunt Doris was still unsure, but Eleanor managed to convince her she was well enough. After they said their goodbyes, Eleanor remained in the cabin for a minute longer. Her eyes had become swollen, her nose runny, her heartbeat anxious. But peacefulness was slowly restoring itself inside her. Perhaps she would never get the last four years back, but was it all that terrible of a trade? Her four years spent in Narnia had been lovely, and now she could return to the life in England she had left behind. She would soon meet Edmund, Lucy, Peter and Susan. She would be able to go back to Stamford and see her aunt, uncle and Birdie. She would keep the promise she had made to Edmund that night at the campfire at Dragon Island: they would find each other again and spend the rest of their days together.

The man from the post office was still waiting for her when she came out, and he was so charitable as to give her the amount she needed for a ticket to London, plus even some pocket money. He took her to the train station, where they found she could still catch one that would depart at noon. His name was Harry Maitland, and Eleanor hugged him and gave her Susan’s address, telling him to visit should he ever come to London. As she watched the Coombe Halt station disappear from her window seat, Eleanor promised herself she would come back one day to pay him for all of it.

She was too agitated to sleep during the ride. Every city she could spot was bigger than she remembered, after years of visiting only small villages and towns in Narnia. The train itself was so fast it brought tingling to her stomach, and its whistle seemed impossibly loud. She had to stop herself from prying too much on the other passengers, but every detail was too interesting to ignore: from the amount of jewellery she spotted on most women aboard, to the smell of tobacco on men’s clothes, to the topics of conversation between each group. At one point, Eleanor asked to borrow a magazine one girl close to her age had just finished reading, and she smiled through all of it. She marvelled at a toffee advertisement, and she was enthralled to learn of so many new films that had come out. She decided she would visit a movie theatre as soon as she could. She could already imagine holding Edmund’s hand in the dark room as they laughed at the moving pictures.

It was late in the afternoon when she reached London. Many of the city lights were already flashing before her, and the roaring of car motors could be heard from inside the station. There was too much to process, but Eleanor focused on finding her way to Susan’s. She asked for directions until she was riding the tube to Finchley Central. It was a half hour walk from there to Fairholme Gardens, but she did not slow down for a second — for every step she took was one closer to Edmund.

Eleanor thought it was a very nice neighbourhood, with beautiful brick houses on both sides, and trees all along the footpath. The road was made of smooth tarmac, and it contrasted tremendously with her own street back at Stamford — with its stone lanes and endless rows of buildings that were all attached to one another. She stopped when she found the number 3 on a wooden door.

She breathed deeply, reminding herself Edmund might not be on the other side. This was Susan’s address, not his. She knocked twice.

She heard footsteps approaching, and then Susan was in front of her.

Eleanor’s eyes widened as she took her in. She had only met Susan back in Narnia, where she had worn no makeup and only tied her hair on ponytails or braids. The Susan in front of her, now, had her hair perfectly curled, and wore pearl earrings and lipstick. Yet her eyes were what caught Eleanor’s attention. They were not the piercing blue they once were, sharp and inquisitive, but rather sunken and hollow, and they glared at her with bleak hostility.

"You’re late," was all she said.

Eleanor blinked. Before she could stutter an apology, Susan turned and went back inside, leaving the door open behind her.

Eleanor still could not find her voice as she followed her inside, closing the door and entering the living room. But there was a strange man sitting at the sofa, wearing a fitted grey suit and expensive looking leather shoes. He stood up and offered his hand.

"At last," he said. "Mr. John Keatings, madam. I am glad to finally meet you."

She shook it, eyeing Susan in the corner. "Pleasure."

He indicated for her to sit across from him, which she did. Susan sat on an armchair to her right. "We are lucky Mr. Keatings has been so kind as to clear his day for this," she said coldly.

Eleanor could not make any sense of whatever situation she had stumbled into, but she couldn’t ask questions in front of Mr. Keatings. So she nodded and excused herself, "I’m sorry for being late. I seem to have… tangled myself with time."

"That’s fine," the man responded, opening up a briefcase and shuffling through the papers. "This should all be very quickly resolved. As I have explained to you on our previous phone calls, Mr. Christopher Pevensie had left his will very much in order. The only matter of dispute was this very house, but you informed me you would sign off your pretence to it. If you will sign this document, madam, this will all be resolved. The house will go to Mrs. Porter’s husband, as well as herself."

He had placed a piece of paper and a fountain pen at the coffee table between them. Eleanor stared at the words printed with black ink, but she couldn’t even begin to recognise the letters.

"Will?" she repeated.

They stared at Eleanor expectantly. Susan’s face was white, but her stance remained rigid and austere.

"Mrs. Pevensie?" the man called.

Eleanor looked at Susan, and she then realised Susan wore a golden band on her left ring finger. Susan was married.

But it was not Susan who Mr. Keatings was beholding — it was Eleanor. She glanced at her own left hand and realised there was also a golden ring on her finger, so delicate she had not taken it for anything other than just an accessory.

"Mrs. Pevensie?" John Keatings asked again, and this time there was no doubt he was referring to her. "Is everything correct? Take your time reading through it, of course, and let me know if you have any questions."

She could tell he was speaking English, yet none of his sentences made any sense to her. His voice had turned distant and muffled, as if he had been talking at her through a wall, or if she had her ears clogged with water.

"Just sign it, will you?" Susan blurted suddenly. "This is my parents’ house. I grew up here. You have no right to it, none at all. I do not care if you were married to my brother — I was their daughter. It is my right."

"Mrs. Porter, please," Mr. Keatings cautioned lowly. "This must still be very distressing for the both of you, and I am very sorry for both of your losses. I know it is still so terribly soon, for it has only been a few weeks since the accident. But we will come to an agreement. Let Mrs. Pevensie come back to reason. She has just lost her husband."

"But she is not the one with the greatest loss," Susan shrieked. "She is not the one who has lost her parents and siblings. She did not…" Her voice faltered then, and she began sobbing.

As Mr. Keatings went to comfort Susan, Eleanor kept staring at the piece of paper she was meant to sign. At last, at last, she recognised the first word. It was Edmund’s name.

It finally brought her to her senses. Susan’s and Mr. Keatings’ words sank inside her, pressing at her chest, gripping at her heart. They tumbled around, carrying their cruelty through her veins to every limb. It consumed her entirely, until Eleanor could no longer feel connected to her own body. She thought she might as well be but a trace of consciousness, soon to be washed out by a light draft in the air.

She has just lost her husband, Mr. Keatings had said. It has only been a few weeks since the accident.

Eleanor looked at Susan, who weeped desperately under the lawyer’s arm. She had just admitted to losing her parents and siblings. Mr. Keatings had mentioned Christopher Pevensie’s will. The document in front of her had her new full name written — Eleanor Pevensie — and it referred to her as Edmund’s widow.

Edmund had died. There had been an accident, some horrible accident, which had killed him and Lucy and Peter and even his parents. She had lost him. He was gone.

None of it made sense. How could it be? How could they have ruled a kingdom and survived wars, just to come back and die such a meaningless death? How was it fair that they had been granted only four years back in England? What had been the purpose of all this coming and going, of having scoured each other through different worlds and different times? How was any of it fair?

Eleanor realised she was now inside a bathroom, and she tried focusing on the floral wallpaper surrounding her. She stared at the painted peonies, a million shades of pink and white blending with the dark greenery backdrop. She breathed in and out, repeatedly.

"Mrs. Pevensie?" There was knocking at the door, and she recognised Mr. Keatings’ voice. Eventually, she was removed from her haven amongst the peonies and forced to face the viciousness of the lawyer’s groomed offerings.

The following hours passed in blurs. Susan screamed at her a bit more, but Eleanor did not register what it had been. She must have signed the document at one point — after all, it was so easy to scribble her name, and what did she care about a house now that she had found Edmund, the love of her life, had disappeared from this world and all others? Mr. Keatings had offered her a ride back to central London, which she refused. She had nowhere else to go, and she did not want to enter a car, not after she had just heard of the accident which had killed the Pevensies. She found herself somehow back at Finchley Central station, sitting at a bench by herself. The sky above her had turned dark and empty, and the clouds covered the stars behind them.

The only thing she remembered was Susan giving her a wooden box, which she now fiddled with.

"Aunt Alberta gave me this," Susan had said. "It ended up mixed with Eustace’s belongings. She did not want it, and neither do I."

The revelation that Eustace had been among the victims of the accident choked Eleanor into silence. Susan’s voice trembled as she spoke her last words, before closing the door on her face.

"If you had only let go of all those childish fantasies," she muttered quietly. "They would all still be here."

Now Eleanor gaped at the wooden box. She hadn’t found the courage to open it yet. If it was the last trace of Edmund she would have, she wanted it to preserve it for a little bit longer. Whatever was inside it, it was still a mystery yet to be discovered.

But night would not wait for her, and the station would close soon. Before she would be left stranded there, she decided to open the box.

There were two small compartments inside it. Tucked inside a velvet bed, were two sets of rings. The two on the left side were green, and the two on the right were yellow.

A faint memory came to her, from a summer spent on sunny gardens, swimming on rivers, baking potatoes and pies. From a merry dinner which had happened years ago, before she had ever even known about Narnia. Back when Edmund, Lucy, Peter and Eustace still lived.

Those were the rings Professor Kirke and Mrs. Plummer had once used to travel to Narnia. One touch would take you to enchanted woods, a world between worlds.

Eleanor understood it then. She would go to the Golden Age of Narnia, and she would meet Edmund once more. He would be younger, and he would not know or recognise her, but he would still be alive. Somewhere out there, he still lived and breathed.

 She was not sure which ring would take her into the woods, and which would take her out of it. She decided she would try the green ones first.

As soon as her finger touched the cold metal, she felt her insides turn in on themselves. Darkness surrounded her entirely, and the train station disappeared from around her.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 2356

As she settled comfortably on the warm grass, tucking herself into the bed of soft turf, she could not remember her own name, but she did not care for it. The trees around her stretched endlessly, the world seemed to end at their faraway canopies. A pleasant greenish light touched her skin, breathing life into her. She could almost feel her limbs turning into the roots that surrounded her, and she was glad to become part of those woods.

She had just closed her eyes when a roar jolted her back into consciousness. She jumped up, looking around her, but there was nothing but the same trees and ponds. She noticed a wooden box lying close to her, and she retrieved it. It had two pairs of rings inside.

That was when she remembered she was called Eleanor, and she had come there for a purpose. The story of those woods, this world between worlds, resurfaced for a brief moment. She had emerged at a pond, perfectly dry, and found the woods so enchanting she had simply decided to lay down and sleep. But now it was coming back to her: she had just found out some news, terrible news, and she had to do something about them. Except she could not remember what.

She had been standing there, holding the box with the rings, when she thought she saw a motion in the distance. She sharpened her sight, though instead she recognised a sound — a song. It called to her, in the same unearthly melody she had once dreamed of. She chased it immediately.

The voice led her to a different pond, identical to every other surrounding her, though she knew this was the one she was supposed to enter. She sat at its edge and dipped her legs inside. The water was surprisingly mild, the same temperature as the air around her, and she waddled her feet gleefully. At last, she opened the box and touched one of the yellow rings.

The same funny feeling filled her insides as she was transported somewhere else. When reality was finished framing itself around her, she realised she had come out into a different forest.

She sat up, taking in her surroundings. These woods were not as dense as the other one, and they seemed absurdly loud in comparison. The rustling of branches, the thuddings on the soft ground, the chirping of birds in the distance — it was all too deafening at first. It was only when she grew used to such noises that she was able to think clearly once more.

It all came back to her then: Susan, Mr. Keatings, the accident. The thoughts of cars and lawyers and testaments seemed so foreign there, as a dream she might have made up, but the pain in her chest was unyielding. Eleanor collapsed as sorrow took control of her, and she curled up and cried until she thought there was nothing left inside her.

She had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually she heard a thumping approaching her. She stood up to find a rabbit on the edge of the clearing, and it seemed to watch her curiously.

"A good afternoon to you, miss," it said.

The surprise washed her misery away, even if momentarily. "Good afternoon, sir," she replied, puzzled. So she had returned to Narnia, after all.

"I could not help but overhear your lamentation," he continued. "Could I offer any kind of assistance?"

She almost chuckled, though she didn’t exactly know why she found it so amusing. Perhaps it was the absurdity of having visited two different worlds in the past day, or perhaps it was the folly of having just discovered the person she loved the most had died in a world of trains and cars, and she nos found herself being comforted by a talking rabbit in a fairytale woodland.

"Thank you so much for your kindness," she replied faintly, "but I do not want to impose any trouble on you."

The rabbit, who later introduced himself as Taltuft, insisted she join him and his friend for afternoon tea, and he was so endearing Eleanor found it impolite to refuse. She followed him to the cave where a faun named Drusus lived, though it was not dark or narrow as she had expected — it was large and spacious, with intricately carved and decorated furniture, and the drink was served on delicate porcelain sets.

"If I may ask," she said, once they had all exchanged introductions, "who is the current king in Narnia?"

It was Drusus who answered. "Why, it is His Majesty, King Caspian, of course!"

Eleanor’s eyes widened as she recognised her friend’s name. She had been expecting them to say it was High King Peter and his siblings; after all, she was bound to travel to the Golden Age at some point. But it seemed it would come later than she thought, which she couldn’t quite decide whether it was for the best or the worst.

"Caspian the Tenth?" she asked.

"Indeed. Our king, the explorer of the eastern sea, who has travelled to the end of the world and back!"

They all toasted, and even Eleanor managed a smile. At least time had not passed in Narnia, and she could be reunited with her dear friend.

Taltuft and Drusus insisted on showing her the way to the castle, claiming it was only a day’s hike, and it would be no trouble at all. Eleanor accepted their help, following them quietly through the woods. She did her best at replying to whatever they said or asked, though she could hardly keep up with the conversation. As she roamed the Narnian countryside, she could no longer find beauty in the vibrancy of the greenery around her, nor in the hum of water nearby, or in the scent of salt air in the breeze. The world seemed to lose its loveliness, the lands striked her as nothing but barren waste.

It was only when she came upon a cliff and spotted the ocean in the distance that Eleanor realised they were not leading her to the Telmarine castle, which was north of the Great River of Narnia, but instead to a rebuilt Cair Paravel. It stood mightily amongst restless waters, and the lowering sun cast orange shadows all along its walls. If her eyes hadn’t been so tainted with her own grief, she would have found the sight beautiful. 

She thanked her two companions and descended upon the beach, crossing a large bridge towards the island. She felt inquiring eyes on her as she passed the entrance gates and began striding along the main street, for she was still wearing her 1949 tweed two-piece. But she hadn’t anything to buy new clothes with, so she simply carried on.

"Good afternoon," she said, when she reached the castle gates. "I would like to see our king."

"Hearings are ended for today," replied one of the guards. "Come back tomorrow."

"Please," she insisted. She had nowhere else to go. "Could you tell him Elle is here to see him?"

The guard eyed her gingerly, and he seemed about to refuse her when another voice interrupted him.

"Elle?"

They turned at the same time. Inside the front courtyard, a dwarf dressed in elegant robes had stopped to gape at her. He had white long hair and beard, with a bald spot which began on his forehead, as most dwarves did. Eleanor thought he looked familiar, though she couldn’t quite place him.

"Let her in," the dwarf said, and the guards obeyed immediately. "Follow me," he told her, turning and marching away.

Eleanor walked behind him as he led her upstairs and through an endless sequence of corridors. She had to rush to keep up with him, and he did not respond to any of her questionings, which were mostly concerning who he was and how he knew her. At last, after they had climbed to the top of some tower, they emerged at a grand balcony, which had an uninterrupted view of the eastern sea. In the distance sat someone, with their back turned to her.

The dwarf had left, so Eleanor decided to walk up to the balcony’s edge. As she neared the man, she realised the golden colour in his hair came from the sunlight, not from the strands itself. His head was covered in white, though she knew it had once been as dark as the night sky.

She halted before she reached him. She did not have the strength to bring more sorrow upon herself.

But it was inevitable, and Caspian eventually turned. Eleanor collapsed as she recognised his familiar eyes buried among drooping skin and wrinkle lines. He had a white beard to match his hair, framing his aged face as Doctor Cornelius’ had once had.

"Elle," he called, smiling, raising his arms towards her.

She kneeled before him, holding his hands. They were so bony and spotted, and his veins bulged like tree roots. Yet his eyes glistened as he looked at her, and she found herself smiling back.

She sobbed helplessly. "Cas," she whispered, barely believing it herself. How could she have lost him, too? How could the old man in front of her be the friend she had once known? How could it be, when only a few days ago he had been twenty-one?

"Oh, my dear Elle," he said. "I am so happy to see you."

She could do nothing but weep at his feet, but he waited patiently until she could quiet her breathing. 

"How long have I been away?" she whispered.

"Forty nine years," he replied.

She whimpered. She had missed half of his lifetime.

"I suppose it hasn’t been so long for you," he said kindly. "You look exactly like I remembered you."

She wiped her face and sat down before him. "It has only been two days for me," she confessed.

Caspian frowned, even more lines forming around his eyes. "Two days?"

She nodded. Silence fell upon them, as Caspian seemed too astonished to speak, and she remained entertained by her own misery. The golden light had almost entirely faded, and the sky was turning to pink. A cold breeze reached them from the sea.

"Come, my friend," he finally said, standing up. The simple movement seemed to take some toll on him. "Let us go inside."

She followed him into a beautifully decorated room, where they sat at a long table and were served a most extravagant dinner. Caspian ate very little, and Eleanor could not find any appetite within herself. She sipped a bit of the wine quietly.

"Tell me, Elle," he said, after they were done.

She sat next to him, and he reached for her hand. It still felt dreadful to hold his hand and not recognise it, to feel it so frail and weak, to not know the callus she pressed upon.

"He’s gone," she breathed at last. It was all she could bear to utter at that point. Thankfully, Caspian seemed to understand. He sighed, anguish now filling his eyes.

"What happened?" he asked.

She shook her head. "After we returned from the Dawn Treader, I… I decided I would try and go back to England. I rode to the lamppost in the western woods. And I did — I went back to the wardrobe at Professor Kirke’s house, but… But it was not in 1945, when I had left. It was in 1949."

Caspian watched her sadly.

"They’re all dead, Cas. Peter, Lucy, even Eustace… They all died. Susan was the only one who remained. And when I met her, she seemed to loathe me for some reason. She resented me, she even blamed me for it."

"For their deaths? Why?"

"I don’t know. Some version of me must have lived there during those years, and somehow we ended up on terrible terms."

"But you have no memory of it?"

"No," she said, chuckling helplessly. "I… I ruined everything, Cas. I was so greedy. I wanted to be back with him, but I only dug deeper into my own doomed fate. I lost my years with them, and now they are dead. And now I have lost my years with you, too."

The pity in Caspian’s gaze only heightened her guilt. She almost wished he too resented her, as Susan had.

"Perhaps I should just accept my destiny," she sighed. "I could stay here, for the rest of my days, making up for the time I lost with you."

He didn’t refute her, choosing to settle back into the plush seat instead. Eleanor stared at her left hand, which no longer had the scar on her palm, but a golden band on her ring finger instead. She had lost her past and her future, all at once. Time could not be rewritten, and now she would fade away into its dried ink, doomed to live out the cruelty of its immutable words.

That was when she realised the emptiness of the dining room she and Caspian shared. She noticed Caspian’s own wedding ring on his aged finger. "Where is Liliandil?" she murmured, though she already knew the answer to her question.

The grief in Caspian’s eyes was unmistakable — it echoed her own. She pulled her chair closer to his, and they only embraced for a while. After all, what could be said in the face of their twin broken souls? What could they do other than hold each other, knowing their halved hearts would never fit together? Could their shattered spirits somehow keep each other afloat, or would they simply crumble in synchrony?

Caspian told her of his family’s fate. He and Liliandil had been married for fifteen years before she became pregnant with a son. He was called Rilian, and he was brave and loving. One day, the queen was attacked by a dreadful green serpent, somewhere in the northern lands. Prince Rilian was only twenty when he set off to avenge his mother, and never returned to Narnia. Lord Drinian, who had once been the captain of the Dawn Treader, asked Caspian to execute him for not having protected the prince, which Caspian refused. There had been too much death already.

Yet Drinian, too, departed soon after, for he had already served his youth away during Miraz’s and even Caspian IX’s reigns. Doctor Cornelius was also gone, having overseen the reconstruction of Cair Paravel during his last days. The only one from those early days who still lived was Trumpkin — the old dwarf who had escorted her inside the castle.

"I am glad you are back," Caspian said. By then, the candles lit at the table had already reached their brass bases, and the moon casted its cold light on their long faces. "I always hoped you would come back."

She turned to him. "You did?"

He nodded. "You once helped me in my darkest hour, when I was a young prince and had no true friend in court. It only made sense that fate would bring you back one day, now that I find myself forsaken once more."

She couldn’t hold his gaze for too long, she couldn’t face the decades which were marked on his skin. Even his voice sounded different — drained.

Her discomfort did not go unnoticed by him. "Do not pity me, Elle. I know I have lost the good looks of my youth," he laughed softly, "yet I am grateful for it. Every spot, every crease, every white hair — they’re all fruit of having had the most wonderful, blissful life. Ageing is a privilege. One my son was not granted."

She understood what he meant. While it was hard to see him now so grey and worn, it was still the best alternative. Edmund would never see his hair turn as white as snow, he would never find out he needed reading glasses or a walking stick. He would never wake up to find his muscles weakened, his bones frail, his limbs scrawny. She would always remember his face as young and handsome as ever — but he would succumb to becoming only a memory himself.

"I’m so sorry," was all she could say.

"Don’t lose hope just yet, my friend," Caspian said. "I have not. I will not stop searching for my son until the day I die. Neither should you stop trying to find Edmund."

"But he’s gone," she murmured.

"And yet you have travelled through different worlds and times. You once told me yourself: all of time is happening at once. This means Edmund is still out there. You can still find him."

She couldn’t do it, though, she knew it. She had no control in where she went or when, and her attempt at conducting herself had only resulted in finding too many heartbreaking news at once. She should have never tried meddling with time. She had been a fool in believing their fate unchallenged simply because of the thread which had always connected her and Edmund. Fueled by hubristic delusion, she had forgotten threads shred and break and split, and that time was but a cruel, ruthless blade.

"I love you, Elle," Caspian said. "And I was once in love with you, too. It was a green, juvenile sentiment, but I will not disregard it. Of course, it was nowhere as near the love Liliandil and I shared. I will not presume to fully comprehend our souls, but I believe there is only so much love each of us is entitled to, and it is our life’s mission to find the one person who we can trust our whole heart with. It is such a delicate thing to ask someone to take a look through every dark corner of our minds, every desperate desire of our spirit, and expect them to fondle them nonetheless. Yet I found it in her, and she found it in me."

Eleanor looked away. She had found it once, too. And she had lost it.

"If Edmund is that person for you, which I know he is," he continued, "You should not stop trying to find him."

She had no strength left in her to fight him. Trying to find whatever version of Edmund who still existed somewhere out there would not change the fact that he would die, at age twenty-four, in an accident in 1949’s England. Could a little more time with him be worth having to lose him once again? 

"There is a ship awaiting at port," Caspian announced at last. "I intend to sail with it to the end of the world. I will go east until I reach Aslan’s Country once more, and I will ask the Great Lion for guidance. You must come with me, Elle. I dare say this is the very reason why you have returned on this specific day, which is the eve of my departure."

She still could not find it in her heart to believe it to be true, but she accepted. The guilt she felt would bend her into doing anything Caspian asked.

And so the next morning they parted from Narnia. The ship was called the Lady Eventide, and it was double the size the Dawn Treader had been. Eleanor was given a cabin bigger than the entire first floor of her old Stamford house, with room for a double bed, a velvet window seat, two full bookshelves, and even a round dinner table. She left the tweed dress back in Cair Paravel, but she still wore her wedding ring, even though she had no memory of ever being married. Caspian advised her to bring the wooden box with the magical rings, but she kept them tucked away inside a drawer, hidden from her sight.

The voyage followed the same route as before. They stopped at Galma, Terebinthia, and the Seven Isles. When they docked at Narrowhaven, the capital of the Lone Islands, Eleanor was shocked to find Prunella amongst the welcoming party. Her hair had more white strands than blonde, though her smile was as kind as always. She was now the Duchess of the Lone Islands, having married Duke Bern’s eldest son. She introduced Eleanor to her four young kids, who all bore the same golden locks she had once had. She said she still visited Narnia in the summer and Archenland in autumn, where her brother was now king. She told Ravi had at last married, and he was a most loving father.

As happy as she was to hear such news, Eleanor couldn’t help but mourn the time she had lost. She felt as if they were all reaching the end of a book while she had only read the first chapters, and its middle pages had been ripped away, thrown to the fire, forever turned into ashes. She had reached their destination, but she had lost the entire journey.

She and Caspian would often sit together on deck, watching the stars in silence. It was supposed to bring them comfort, though to Eleanor it only highlighted the pain in her chest, and she suspected it did the same to him. Caspian had spent his entire life watching the night sky, learning every constellation, and he loved them so much he married the daughter of a star. But Edmund had been her entire heavens, from every pale lavender morning to the most vibrant amber evenings, from a cloudless blue sky to each dark storm. He was the sun which warmed the earth, the light of the moon trembling on the ocean’s surface, the stars and the hurricanes and the aurora borealis. Now when she looked up to the sky, she could only see the terrible hollowness it had been all along. This chasm of endlessness, this dreadful pit of nothing — it hung above her forever, a constant reminder of the void which grew inside herself.

Ramandu was not waiting for them by the time they reached the Island of the Star. When the lilies came, and the water turned sweet, the same calm as before took over them. The ache in her heart softened as the sun drew closer, calling her to its light. There was still a deep sorrow rooted inside her, but she had learned to grow used to it. When they left the Lady Eventide to row east in a long boat, Eleanor had come to terms with knowing Edmund’s light would only burn so bright, and she was only fortunate to have ever crossed his path at all.

Aslan was waiting for them when they reached a different kind of shore. There was a blue wall by the end of it, and only when they got close enough did they realise it was in fact a wave, and it hung in the air between them and what seemed like a lovely countryside.

Both Eleanor and Caspian fell to their knees and wept.

Aslan spoke to Caspian first. He told him help was on its way, and his son would very soon find his way back home. He instructed him to sail back west, so he could be reunited with Rilian. He told him he had been a great king, and he would soon return there to rest at last.

This time, Caspian and Eleanor were able to exchange their last farewells. There wasn’t all that much to be said, for they had talked extensively during the last weeks aboard, suspecting they hadn’t much time left. They simply embraced, knowing they had loved one another as true as they could.

"Promise me you will never give in, Elle," was the last thing Caspian said before he left. "I have had many adventures in my life, but none as great as simply sharing a life with the people I loved. Those quiet moments — they are what I will carry with me, until my own end."

She promised it, and he disappeared to the sea of lilies.

"Child," called Aslan. His voice sounded graver and deeper when he spoke directly to her. "What burdens you?"

Eleanor could barely meet his eyes. Before him, she felt infinitely small and insignificant; every torment she had ever had struck her as meagre and pointless. She stared at the wooden box she carried, the shameful evidence of her wrongdoings. 

She couldn’t do anything but tell him the truth. "I have discovered what happened in England, sir. I have learned of Edmund, Lucy, Peter, Eustace, and even Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie’s deaths. I cannot bear it."

"All things meet death," he said. "I have died once. You will, too, and so will this world and all worlds. Even time will one day meet its end."

"Please, sir," she cried. "I know I have done wrong. I should not have set out to find the passage back to England myself, I should not have rushed out of Narnia. But please, is there any way that I could go back to my own time?"

"You have done no wrong," he replied. His voice was not tender, but it was truthful. "I once told you the way the fabrics of this world and the next are entwined together are beyond our comprehension. You have only been able to wander during those moments when different realities were drawn closer together. It is not always clear why — but I have speculated myself."

Eleanor blinked, holding her own heart.

"You first came to this world when Caspian needed you most. You have returned, now, when he needed you once more." The lion waited for her to look directly into his eyes, which were as ancient as always. "And so you were taken to that time in England because someone needed you there, too."

Eleanor tried to make sense of it. How could she be needed in a time when she had lost everything?

"You have done no wrong," Aslan repeated, "but you must learn to live with your decisions. Remember, you chose to leave Narnia, knowing those you left behind would not wait for you. You must learn to decide what is right and what is not on your own."

"Yes, Aslan," she said. "I’m sorry. I will do better."

"Very well, child. Now come, I will open a door for you."

She barely had time to understand what was happening when the wall of water tore open in front of her. A mist covered what lay inside the gorge, though she thought she saw a faint light coming from the other side.

"If you cross this passage, you will return to Digory Kirke’s house in 1945," Aslan explained. "Do you accept it?"

She swallowed. "I do. But will I return to Narnia?"

He nodded. "In time," was all he said.

Eleanor walked towards the opening, wrapping herself inside it until it all went dark. She waited for her eyes to adjust, and soon she spied brightness in the distance. She walked toward it, realising she was surrounded by snuggly pelts. She marched towards the light until it fell at her all at once, and she found herself blinded for a second. She had just stumbled into hardwood floors, and someone’s arms had caught her.

She knew him by the coldness of his hands.

"Nora? Are you alright?"

She was standing in the upstairs room of Professor Kirke’s house. She looked down to find herself wearing the cream-coloured dress Aunt Doris had made for her, the one she had once lost when she had been forced to become a maid. It was late in the morning, and the sun shone warmly from a window to her right.

"Nora?" Edmund called her again.

She stared at him, his face only a few inches away from hers. He was so real, so beautiful she almost believed she was dreaming. Yet she felt the clutch of his hands on her, and his eyes were too profound for her to have imagined. This Edmund was twenty years old, his skin lightly tan from all those summer weeks spent in the gardens. He had walked her from Mr. Taylor’s shop back in Stamford, he had written letters to her through the last months of the war, he had shared a pack of mints with her outside the post office.

She didn’t respond, but he seemed to grasp it then.

"Elle?" he said hesitantly.

She chuckled once. "Ed," she whispered.

His eyes grew, and in the next second he was holding her as close as he could. As they hugged, Eleanor breathed him in, gripped his hair, and closed her eyes so as to memorise the feeling.

"Oh, Elle," he called softly. "Welcome back, my love."

For a second, a flash of memories glimpsed before her — Mr. Keatings, the house at Fairholme Gardens, the floral wallpaper in the bathroom. But she pushed those thoughts away, trying to focus on the feeling of Edmund holding her instead.

"My Elle," he murmured.

"My Edmund," she replied.

Chapter Text

England, July 1945

They sat on the wooden floor of the wardrobe’s room. Eleanor had wept, laughed, mumbled, and Edmund had held her through it all. When she finally quieted down, she could scarcely remember the feeling of not having his arms wrapped around her.

She pulled away only to gape at him. She took in every detail as if she was seeing him for the first time — how could she have forgotten how long his eyelashes were, or just how many freckles sprinkled his nose, or how his mouth crooked ever so slightly to the right? But most of all, she could not look away from his eyes. How could she have forgotten their depth, their beauty, their entrancement? She thought she could dwell into their darkness for an entire lifetime and never find an end.

"I can’t believe it’s you," she whispered, chuckling.

His smile already outgrew hers. "I can’t believe it’s you."

"All this time," she said, "these weeks at the professor’s house, the letters we exchanged, our walks under the snow at Stamford — all this time, it’s been you."

"And now you know," he said. "Now you have lived through all of the same things as me. The battle against the telmarines, the voyage of the Dawn Treader, and the million moments in between. We share the same memories now."

"We are up to date," she laughed, and he joined her.

"At last."

He kissed her, and it tasted like tea and cinnamon biscuits. It left a lingering bitterness in her chest, though she quickly shook it off.

“How long was I away for?”

“Seconds, really.”

“Did you know I would travel to Narnia?” she asked. “When you took me here to see the wardrobe?”

“I suspected it. I knew you would eventually, because you once told me so, but I could not be certain when exactly it would happen. The wardrobe passage is not one we can access at our own leisure.” He looked down, taking her hand. "We have all tried."

He began tracing along the lines on her left palm, as he had done a thousand times before, back in Narnia. But its surface was soft and smooth, perfectly unscathed. Her scar had never existed, not in this world.

"It’s been four years since I left," she murmured. "I was twenty-two in Narnia, when we returned from the Dawn Treader. And yet this body is still only eighteen."

He gazed at her somberly. "It is not so easy to settle back."

She scoffed lightly. "At least I am still an adult. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you to return to your teenage body."

"The first weeks were the hardest," he told her. "But our mind plays tricks on us. We will accept whatever reality is forced on us, if enough time has passed. Sometimes, I think of my time in Narnia as only a dream from long ago. When I was overseas during the war, I almost convinced myself it had never happened. That is why I lost all of my composure when I saw you that evening by St. George’s church. You were proof that Narnia was real, and all of our love had been, too."

Eleanor smiled as she thought back to that first day. Back then, she had been charmed by the attentions of a soldier from the British Army, while he had already known her for years.

"You loved me already," she said.

"Of course."

"And I had convinced myself you wanted nothing but friendship," she laughed, shaking her head. "Weren’t you ever tempted, Ed? All of those nights at Stamford, and all of these weeks here. I don’t think I would have been able to restrain myself. Ever since the first time we touched, I have longed for nothing more than the burn of your skin on mine."

"Oh, believe me, I was very much tempted," he asserted. "I have been holding my breath since last December. I have been covering my ears when my favourite song was playing, and all I wanted to do was dance to it. It was like standing at the gates of heaven, prying but not daring to cross them."

She brought his hand to her lips. "That Christmas night, at my aunt’s kitchen," she said. "I wanted you to kiss me."

"But don’t you see, Elle? It would not have been the same. You did not love me as much as I loved you, in fact, you barely knew me. Perhaps I have been selfish for trying to preserve my past, but I also did not want to rob you of your future. I wanted my first kiss to be your first kiss, as well. I wanted for that first night at Narrowhaven to be a fixed point in time — immutable, pure."

His hand stroked her face, cupping it delicately.

“If we are fated to live as scattered souls across different realities and all of time, then shouldn’t we care for these rare, perfect moments when our hearts are aligned? Shouldn’t we treasure that, for a beautiful instant, you and I were falling in love at the same pace, walking the same steps, growing butterflies in both our stomachs at the same time? We were falling together, hand in hand, in perfect synchrony. Wouldn’t you say it was some sort of miracle? Wouldn’t you have tried to safeguard it, as well?"

She smiled. Back then, she had thought all of time had been written for that one moment. Perhaps she hadn’t been all that wrong.

"You are right," she finally responded. "I would not have traded it."

Edmund came closer. "I would never change any of it. Not one chapter, not one line."

The words drew her to kiss him once more, pressing on for as long as she could. His hands glided through her sides to her back, pulling her closer, and she clenched at his neck. She could feel the throbbing of his pulse, his warmth, the quickness of his breaths. As she held onto him, all she could think of was how it would all fade away one day, and soon enough he too would disappear back into the earth.

They then heard excited voices and quick footsteps in the distance. When they sharpened their hearing, Eleanor recognised Lucy’s giggling among the chatter.

"They’re back," Edmund said.

"Back from where?"

"They had gone to see Mrs. Plummer off to the train station, remember?"

She nodded slowly. She reached for a memory of years ago, when Mrs. Plummer had come to spend a weekend with them, when they had baked pies and told stories of Narnia around the dining table. That had only been the night before, at this point in time. "Right," she murmured.

"You don’t have to see them all right now," Edmund said. "I know this is all very overwhelming."

"No, I… I want to see them."

She wasn’t entirely convinced of it herself, but she let Edmund escort her out of the room. She was glad for his support as they climbed down the stairs, for there was barely any strength left in her legs. As they came upon the entrance hall, Eleanor recognised the place where she had met the strange woman in 1949, the one who had threatened to call the police on her. But she shook the memory away once she spotted Lucy, Eustace and Jill standing around in cheerful conversation, dashing towards the group instead, gathering them all in one embrace.

The initial confusion quickly turned into passionate commotion as they realised the Eleanor that stood before them had become almost a different person entirely. It was as if a veil had been lifted, and now they could speak as freely as ever. They gabbled on as they prepared lunch, but after it was done none of them ate more than a few bites, as they were so busy catching up. Eleanor didn’t tell them what she had discovered during her day spent in 1949, only that she was able to get the magical rings to go back to Narnia. In return, Eustace and Jill told her of the adventure they had gone through on their most recent trip there: how they had found Prince Rilian, defeated the witch who had imprisoned him, and taken him back to Cair Paravel.

"Caspian told us you had accompanied him to Aslan’s Country," Eustace said. "He said you had returned, as young as ever, and would be coming to England soon."

Eleanor’s face grew warm, and Edmund reached for her hand on the dining table. "I’m glad you got to see him again," she was able to respond. "Even if for so little."

"I will miss Caspian," said Lucy. Even though her eyes were big and wistful, her tone had a hint of sweet reminiscing, a sentiment Eleanor herself was not yet capable of. After all, Lucy and the others had had two years to mourn Caspian, and none of them had known him as well as she had.

The pain was still too powerful, the grief still too recent. However, Eleanor had to remind herself of what Caspian had told her. She should not pity him, for he had lived the most wonderful life. It was comforting to know he had been reunited with his son before he died, and he now had joined his father and mother in Aslan’s Country. Liliandil, too, would be welcoming him with open arms and the brightest of smiles, as well as Glenstorm, Doctor Cornelius, and Reepicheep.

"He did come to this world for five minutes," Jill made sure to point out. "Helped us scare some of those idiots from school."

They all laughed as Eustace and Jill explained how Aslan had allowed Caspian to see their world ever so briefly, how he had regained his youth before parting forever. In the end, he had gotten to see the world that once fascinated him so much — this round world, where all seas connected infinitely, where mankind had forged electric light so luminous it overpowered those of the stars. And he would be remembered in Narnia as the king who had brought peace for a severed kingdom, the first to explore the eastern sea and sail to the end of the world and back, who had rebuilt them to the forgotten glory of ages prior. Every prince and princess that ever came, until the end of Narnia itself, would look up to the night sky and make wishes for the stars, dreaming of one day being a ruler as great as Caspian X had once been.

Eleanor went to bed early that night, hoping sleep would bring her clarity to her disorganised mind. When she woke up the next morning, however, she still found it hard to believe she was finally back in 1945, which she had longed for for so long, yet with a new dread glooming over her. During the next few days, as she settled back into the lovely life at Professor Kirke’s house, a shadow followed her every move. It darkened her laughter, stiffened every hug, and defiled every meal with the aftertaste of dread. She would notice Eustace’s puffy cheeks and think of how awfully young he still was. She would listen to Lucy making plans for her future, and she would have to leave the room before she burst into tears, knowing none of it would come true.

She could not bear to look at Edmund and think of a world without him, though. Whenever her mind did as much as whispering such an idea, she would force herself to think of anything else. So gradually, as the days went on, she became proficient in distracting herself. Soon the very memory of that awful day at Fairholme Gardens seemed as unthinkable and as inconceivable as a frightful nightmare from a distant childhood, one she barely believed herself.

After all, how could she mourn someone who still lived? How could she miss them as she held their hands, and felt their touch on her skin, and laughed at the words they spoke? How could she convince herself that every night, as they gathered at the dining room, she was sitting at a table full of ghosts? If they were right in front of her, real and palpable and breathing and growing, how could she do anything but enjoy their company?

All she cared, for now, was that she was back with Edmund. They loved each other, and they were together at last, and that was all that mattered.

She focused, instead, on their immediate future. She had called back to Stamford on the very first day, longing to hear the sounds of her previous life. Aunt Doris had answered, but she excused herself very quickly — the eighteen-year-old Eleanor and her had not parted on good terms, and only a month and a half had passed in 1945 since Eleanor had left Stamford. Birdie and Uncle Rupert, on the other side, were eager to hear the news, and they talked for as long as they could. Birdie told her of how Theo had been joining her at their father’s shoe shop, and how happy she was to have him back, even if he was a lot quieter since he had returned from the war. Uncle Rupert told her stories from their old neighbourhood, of Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, of the Sloanes, and even of Gracie and her fiancé Albert, all of which Eleanor could not tire herself from. She went on to call them twice more only that week.

By the end of her second week back, as the month of July ended, Edmund took her horse riding on a sunny morning. He sat in the front, and she gladly wrapped her arms around his chest. They had assembled a bag with sandwiches and fruit, which they then laid out to eat as soon as they found a grass-covered hill with lovely mountain views. After they had feasted on the whole meal, they lied back and watched the clouds float above them.

"Elle," Edmund called at one point, his voice trembling ever so lightly.

He sat up, and she did the same. He moved around uneasily, barely meeting her eyes.

"I have brought you something." He then reached inside his front pocket, fumbling inside until he took out a delicate golden ring.

She smiled at the sight of it. She had worn it, for a little while, even though she had yet to be proposed to. It had disappeared when she had emerged back from the wardrobe, as well as the Narnian gown she had been wearing and the wooden box with the magical rings, and she had wondered if it all still drifted somewhere in the passage between their worlds.

"It’s so beautiful," she whispered.

"I brought it from Italy," he said, gazing at the object pensively. "It was one night when I thought I was alone with the stars. I was telling them about you, as I had promised I would. My captain overheard me, and when I realised it I thought I was about to become the laughing stock of the battalion. Yet he gave me this ring instead. Said it belonged to his late wife, and now he wore it around his neck. He said I might need it more than him."

Eleanor waited until he met her eyes. "You’ve had it since you returned from the war?"

He nodded. "I knew I would meet you again one day. I thought I should better be prepared when that day came."

They had given each other their souls long ago, yet she still revelled at the thought of him carrying this ring for the past two years, only waiting for the moment when they would be even. She wanted to jump in his arms and kiss him repeatedly, but he stiffened back.

"Stand up, my love," he said softly, offering his arm.

"Why?"

"So I can kneel before you."

She did as he instructed. Her skirt must have been terribly crinkled and most likely covered with grass leaves and speckles of dirt, but she could not take his eyes off of him. His posture was graceful, his eyes pleading. She wondered whether he had ever knelt at anyone else before.

"In another world," he began, "I would have made you my queen. I would have given you all of the riches of our land, I would have built you a palace to match your splendour, I would have had songs and ballads written about you, about your beauty, and about our love." He raised her hand and kissed its back. His lips still touched her skin as he carried on speaking, "Yet I am not a king here. I have not a cent to my name, no properties, not even higher education. But I promise to serve you nonetheless. I will love you, and protect you, and toil as hard as I can to give you a good life."

Yearning seemed to pour from his eyes as he looked up to her. She had never seen anyone so open, so unguarded, so entirely surrendered. She could scarcely believe it, but she thought he actually looked fearful of her answer.

She crouched to match his height, settling back in the grass. She cupped his face until their gazes met. "Oh, Ed," she said quietly. “Haven’t you understood yet? It is not titles, or wealth, or glory which deem you your worth. It is your soul."

She stared deep into his eyes, hoping he would see the truth in hers.

"Do not forget," she whispered. "I loved you long before I ever went to Narnia. I fell in love with you, Edmund Pevensie, exactly as you are. All I could ever wish for is a life by your side."

He didn’t say anything for a long time. But then finally, very slowly, he nodded. And so Eleanor smiled, and they touched their foreheads together and closed their eyes before they broke into laughter. He kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. Soon after, he put the ring on her finger. It came to no surprise to her that it fit her perfectly.

They stayed on the top of that hill until the sun was low once more, and its light was warm and reddish.

"If all of time is composed as one, and every event of the universe is happening at once," murmured Edmund to her ear, as the sky darkened above them. "Then I have loved you from the moment we were written into existence, and I will love you until the end of time itself."

Eleanor rested her head upon his chest, listening to the tranquil beating of his heart. It sounded as grim as a countdown. "Until the end of time itself," she promised.

Chapter Text

England, August 1945 - November 1945

With every minute she walked along the familiar cobbled streets of Stamford, Eleanor became more and more convinced she was indeed only eighteen years old, and she had never known life outside the old town. She was kept in constant interrogation all the way from the train station to her old neighbourhood, and yet she took every step with perfect certainty, knowing every crack and possible hindrance on her path. When she stepped inside the house’s entryway, smelling the roast Aunt Doris had made seeping from the kitchen, recognising Uncle Rupert’s battered boots near the door, it was like she had indeed crossed a door to the past. Time was, in fact, quite the curious concept.

Uncle Rupert led Edmund to the living room, where he went on to pour two glasses of whiskey, while Eleanor and Birdie ran upstairs to unpack. As soon as the two girls found enough privacy, Birdie snatched Eleanor’s hand closer to her, demanding to see her ring once more.

"Oh, it’s lovely," Birdie whimpered. "And you said it is an heirloom! That is so romantic."

Eleanor smiled, still marvelling at the sight of her friend. She looked just as she remembered: rosy cheeked, bouncing brown curls, big eyes. "Oh, Birdie," she sighed. "I have missed you so much. There’s so much that has happened since we last saw each other. I feel like I have become a different person entirely."

Her friend matched her wistfulness. "You look different, Nora."

The name struck her deeply, as if it was puncturing through her, searching for the part of herself she had left behind. "I am still the same soul," she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. Then, louder and more enthusiastically, she said, "But what about you? How is Theo, how are your parents?"

Birdie went on to tell her how the summer had been in Stamford. There wasn’t all that much to catch up on, for they had talked on the phone for the past few weeks, yet Eleanor liked hearing the same stories over and over again. Stamford had not changed, as it had not changed for centuries. Its permanence over time was exactly the type of comfort she most desperately needed.

They stayed in Eleanor’s old room until they were called back down for lunch. Edmund and Uncle Rupert seemed to have found a common interest in discussing Great Britain’s railroad system, though Aunt Doris kept to herself, serving the meal silently. Eleanor had been worried her aunt would nag her about the wedding or the upcoming move to London, as she had previously done so, but she only wished them both congratulations instead. Despite her withdrawn posture, she kept asking if Eleanor was hungry or hot or cold, which she knew was her aunt’s way of demonstrating affection.

Birdie had to leave after they finished eating, so Eleanor joined her aunt in the kitchen as they cleaned and washed dishes. They were able to make small talk as they chored, and slowly the same ease fell upon them both. By the time they were done, Aunt Doris surprised her by reaching for a strand of her hair and tucking it behind her ear.

"The sun has done you good, Eleanor."

She had been too astonished to reply, too bewildered by such a sudden stroke of tenderness. Before she even caught hold of herself, however, Edmund appeared in the doorway.

"My dear," he called, after a moment’s hesitation. "I am off to the station to wait for my family."

Eleanor blinked. "Oh! Right. Peter’s train should be arriving very soon, shouldn’t it?" she said, checking the clock on the wall. They had scheduled the wedding at a very short notice, wanting to be married before they moved to London in September, which meant only a handful of people would be attending. Lucy and Eustace were coming from Cambridge, accompanied by Mrs. Alberta Scrubb, and Peter would be travelling from the capital, where he had been living for the last couple of weeks, working in the parliament. His arrival was the one they were all looking forward to the most.

"That’s right," he replied, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I’ll see you later?"

She nodded, and he left soon after. A different kind of silence filled the room then — her aunt and uncle were now able to speak freely, without outside witnesses, and she feared hearing their true thoughts. Yet Uncle Rupert only sighed, kissing her on the head before heading back to his appointed spot at the sofa.

"Come," Aunt Doris said, redirecting her towards the stairs. "I need you to try on your dress so I can make the final adjustments."

A few minutes later, Eleanor stood in front of a mirror, trying to recognise the bride in its reflection. The dress her aunt had made for her was long sleeved and modest, covering her in white lace. Though she had no makeup on and her hair only hung loosely, she already felt prettier than she had ever been. Even the gemstone-covered gowns she had worn in Narnia fell flat in comparison, for this was the kind of dress she had always dreamed about, and she was about to wear it to marry Edmund.

"Are you sure about this?" Aunt Doris asked, watching her gingerly.

"It’s lovely," she breathed.

"I meant the wedding, Eleanor."

The light in the room dimmed, and its colours paled as well. Eleanor tried standing taller. "I am sure," she stated firmly.

"For your own sake, I hope you are. Edmund seems very nice, but you have not yet known him for a full year."

Eleanor felt her face burn as her sight blurred. Aunt Doris had expressed the same concerns when she had told her the news on the phone, and it appeared she had not changed her mind. Back then, Eleanor had vouched for their love — weakly, hopelessly. After all, how could she explain to her aunt that she had known Edmund for years, waited for him for years, loved him for years? How could she tell her their love had defied time itself, that it had survived wars, that it had sprouted both in this world and in the next?

"I understand how it looks from the outside," she muttered. "But you must trust me. I have never known love like this."

"We all think no one has ever known love as we have," her aunt countered. "But then we grow up."

The first tear escaped from her eyes, and it only made more assemble in line. Eleanor had arrived at Stamford, engagement ring and fiancé in hand, feeling more an adult than ever, and already it had all been shattered before her. She was a teenager again, crying from anger, frustrated at her own helplessness.

"You don’t understand," she whispered.

"I do. More than you think."

"No, you don’t! You don’t understand at all!" she cried. She crouched on the floor, covering her face. Her aunt’s condescension annoyed her, though she knew it was not her fault. She didn’t know Eleanor and Edmund were running out of time, that they had been running out of time since their first encounter. She didn’t know Edmund had a monstrous, imminent deadline, and every second he still breathed was as precious as midnight rain at a desert, about to evaporate entirely by sunrise.

She felt her aunt’s hand on her back as she kept on weeping. She quieted down eventually, and they did not exchange further words as Eleanor changed back into her regular clothes. When Aunt Doris left the room, Eleanor closed the door and tucked herself in bed, hiding away beneath the covers. She had once done the same thing, when she had been seven and had just moved into Stamford. Was it at least poetic that her last day in that bedroom would feel as isolating as her first? She chuckled at the absurdity of it.

When night fell, casting cold moonlight through her window, she finally got up. She bathed and dressed herself, taking the time to put her hair up in the elegant way she had seen on a well-dressed woman on the train. She met her aunt and uncle downstairs, and none of them said much as they made their way back to the town centre.

They met with Edmund and his family at a pub across from the bed and breakfast where they were staying. Eleanor spotted Peter immediately, and she couldn’t help the smile that spread through her face, or the way she ran to hug him.

"Elle!"

"Peter!" She took a step back to take him in. He looked more mature than she remembered, his blonde hair cut shorter, a short beard growing around his smile. "I can’t believe you exist here, too."

He laughed heartily. "I have existed here long before I ever did in Narnia."

"If you say so, Your Majesty. Or should I call you Captain?"

"You may call me Pete. After all, you are to become my sister quite soon."

Eleanor went on to greet Lucy and Eustace, despite having seen each other only a few days prior, and Edmund introduced her to his Aunt Alberta. The older woman, thankfully, seemed to get on well enough with Aunt Doris, and the two spent the rest of the night conversing by themselves. Uncle Rupert found some of the men who worked on the railway with him at the bar, and the group toasted drunkenly to Eleanor and Edmund.

The rest of the night passed in cheer and laughter, and the next morning came with perfect clear blue skies. Birdie came to get ready with her, and the two locked arms as they made the way to St. George’s church, followed by their respective families. A few people crowded the small garden around the building, and Eleanor spotted Lucy glistening in her light blue dress. They didn’t talk much as the final preparations took place.

It was all quite simple, and a lot faster than she had thought. Uncle Rupert walked her down the aisle, towards the altar, where Edmund waited in a recently adjusted black suit which used to be Peter’s. They exchanged solemn vows, and by the end of it she had taken his name. Flowers, cake, and champagne were distributed as they were granted countless congratulations, and the celebration went on until nightfall.

It all passed in a blur to Eleanor, as the words they had spoken still echoed in her mind. Until death do us part , they had both promised. Edmund had smiled at her, but she had hardly been able to mirror it back to him. The countdown had started in her own heart, now that their four years of marriage had officially begun. From then on, every blissful moment would be tarnished with the tragedy of their ending.

They moved to London the day after, lodging temporarily in a vacant room at Mrs. Plummer’s townhouse as they searched for some place of their own. They were at last able to rent a flat south of the river, though still close enough to the Strand Campus of King’s College, and in the same neighbourhood that she had once lived with her parents. It was the second floor of an old widow’s house, converted into a two bedroom rental, upstairs of her own place. When they moved in, Mrs. Todd, their neighbour and landlady, gave them her best wishes and then warned them not to make noises after nine, when she went to bed.

Edmund had bought a bottle of red wine for their first night at their own place, though they had to drink it from chipped mugs they found at the cupboards, sitting on the empty living room floor. They toasted and talked in whispers, still uneasy by Mrs. Todd’s warning.

"I have fought giants and witches and war tanks," he muttered quietly, fidgeting with her hand. "And I have sailed to the end of the world and back. Yet I feel like this is the real adventure I have been waiting for."

She smiled. "Cheap wine and irritable landladies?"

He chuckled. "Precisely."

They stayed up late that first night, drinking and talking and dancing to the sound of whispered melodies and hummed tunes. After Edmund found work at a warehouse, they were able to slowly furnish and decorate the place, though most evenings they spent in that same serene quietness. Edmund liked discussing assignments and revisions Eleanor brought from university, and sometimes he would read to her until she fell asleep. On other nights, they would lie in bed for hours, under the faint gleam of the moon, recounting their past. She had taken the habit of questioning Edmund on every possible detail she could ever harbour, as if one day she would gather enough pieces of him for it to become impossible for him to disappear entirely.

"What’s your favourite colour?" she asked once.

She could barely make him out in the darkness, but he sounded amused when he answered, "Green, like your eyes."

"I am serious."

"So am I. What about you? What’s your favourite colour?"

She smirked. "Black. Like yours."

He scoffed, but pulled her closer at the same time. She closed her eyes so as to better take in his smell, his warmth.

"I do mean it," she said quietly. "It reminds me of the sky at night."

"When there are no stars?" he retorted.

"No. I mean the darkness that allows them to shine brighter. That is how you are, Ed. You have the most beautiful soul, yet you do not demand your light to be seen. You are quiet and observant instead. You would rather see others shine than take the spotlight yourself."

He did not respond, and eventually Eleanor fell asleep beside him. It was only days later, when she had assumed he had forgotten about it, and she had almost forgotten herself, that he at last replied.

"I never really liked my eyes, you see," he confided. The lights in their bedroom were off, though it was still early enough in the evening for her to discern him. She looked deep into them, the darkness where she had lost herself a thousand times, which she had once believed to contain the entire universe.

"Why not?" she asked.

"My siblings all have blue eyes. I was the only odd one out."

Eleanor thought back to the time he had told her he was not so close with his siblings before the war, and how Narnia had helped bring them closer. She remembered the tale Doctor Cornelius had once told her atop of the Great Tower, under the stars many years ago, of a boy who had once been tricked for love by a witch, of a renegade who had become king. A traitor could mend, the story proved so, but it seemed his heart would forever remain patched up, scarred with past stitches.

"Your eyes were the first thing I ever noticed about you," she told him. Once again, he had only kept silent, placing kisses all over her instead.

It was due to conversations such as those, under the cloak of night, that Eleanor at last gathered enough courage to ask Edmund of his time in Italy. She had discovered a scar on his lower back which looked an awful lot like a bullet wound, and she had shivers whenever her fingertips brushed through it.

"It was not so bad," he had said, noticing her discomfort. "If I’m honest, I have been hurt a lot more gravely back in Narnia, though this particular body has never known such wounds."

She had clutched closer to him, holding on to his bare chest, feeling his heat, the blood pumping in his veins. "What was it like there?" she muttered.

He breathed deeply a few times before speaking. "It was so… different. I thought I knew war before, Elle. I thought I had seen enough deaths on the battlefield to not be so shaken by it. But it was nothing like our times in Narnia. Back there, everyone under my command believed whatever cause we were fighting for; they were standing for their country, their loved ones, their beliefs. I don’t believe in honoured deaths anymore, though theirs might have been as close to it as possible.

"But these frontlines were as meaningless as they were inhumane. We were all but sacks of meat, lining up to be exterminated until someone else came to take our place. Our enemies were only called so because they wore different colours, or spoke foreign languages. I don’t know how many lives I took — it’s hard to tell when you shoot from a distance. All I know is I had no right to any of them."

His voice had waned to trembling mumbles, his hands as cold as ever. Eleanor searched for words to comfort him, but what did she know of war or battles? What did she know of taking others’ lives, and the cost it entailed?

"I went in hoping to climb through the rankings," he said, after he had stopped shaking. "But I rejected the first rise that was offered to me. By then, all I wanted was to survive the war so I could find my way back to you."

"You found me," she whispered. "It’s over now."

He had smiled and pulled her closer, but she saw it in his eyes — it would not ever be over, not for him. The war would go on inside his mind for years to come, she would witness it herself. She would notice he sometimes flinched in his sleep, and other times she found him awake in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling or through the window. Once, as they were walking down the street, he jumped at the sound of a car engine backfiring nearby, his face turned white as paper, and he had not spoken another word until they were back at their place.

Despite all of it, they still found happiness in their simple routine. Memories of her early childhood surfaced every time she walked around the streets of London, and she felt comforted by their constant presence, as if her parents were with her at every step. She even found a picture of her father, one day she went on to roam the Mathematics department at King’s College, on a wall of photographs of past scholars, smiling proudly back at her. Her own classes at university were interesting, her classmates were friendly and witty, and they frequently met for drinks on weeknights. Mrs. Plummer often invited them over for dinner, as well as Peter, and they would spend hours reminiscing over their stories of Narnia. Even Professor Kirke, who was now living at a cottage a dozen miles from the city, would at times come to join, staying at one of Mrs. Plummer’s guest rooms.

"I have news from Susan," Peter said, one night as they waited at a bus stop, after having just dined at Mrs. Plummer’s. It was late November; the air had turned cold around them, and their breaths could be seen under a lamppost’s light.

Edmund nodded beside her. He did not call for California very often, just as she had scarcely called for Stamford in the past weeks. 

"Mum and Dad are moving back."

Edmund’s eyes widened. "To England?"

"To our old house in Finchley, in fact. Dad was offered the same position at the University of London."

"What about Susan?"

"She is staying in America, though she will still come for a visit. She is engaged to a Mr. Leonard Porter, it seems."

Edmund turned to Eleanor in perplexity, then back at Peter. "Engaged?" he repeated, raising his voice.

Peter’s eyes were reprimanding, though Eleanor thought he looked a little bitter himself. "You cannot resent her for it, Ed. You, of all people."

"You had all met Elle before," he protested. "You knew I had been waiting for her for years. It is not the same thing."

"If they are in love," Peter sighed, "then it might as well be the same thing."

Peter’s bus arrived soon after, and they exchanged quiet goodbyes. When they finally boarded their own, Eleanor and Edmund only sat in silence, each deep in thought. Edmund still looked upset over finding out Susan had become engaged without his knowledge, but all Eleanor could do was stroke the back of his hand with her thumb. Her own heart was too concerned with her own distress.

Susan was now engaged, soon to become Mrs. Porter — the version of herself whom Eleanor had met in 1949. The future was set, it was approaching her sooner than she had expected, and so were all of its dreadful consequences. As they rode home, she clutched to Edmund’s hand, holding it tightly, as if it was a float that could stop her from drowning in the sea of pink peonies from her nightmares.

Chapter Text

England, December 1945 - January 1946

London turned paler and brisker with the arrival of December, though no snow came. It rained every other day, a relentless type of drizzle that would never entirely go away, and the city streets became flooded with black umbrellas and grey coats. Eleanor and Edmund’s plan to go Christmas shopping on one weekend was cut short by a forceful wind which bent rain sideways, and the two were forced to rush for cover inside a small church. Eleanor didn’t even mind it much, for they instead sat and listened to a choir rehearsing carols, waiting for the weather to clear.

They were at last able to shop on the following Saturday. The stores were so packed it was difficult to move around the aisles, and they couldn’t afford much anyway, but it was still their first holiday as a married couple, so they loved every second of it. By the time they were done, they walked to Regent Street and searched for the Café Royal. It was as sumptuous as Eleanor remembered: they sat at a salon covered in gold, with painted ceilings and velvet cushions, and drank tea as a piano played beautiful tunes nearby. They would have to live on beans and toast for the next few weeks to make up for such an expense, but she thought it was worth every dime.

"I know what I’m about to say may sound ridiculous," Edmund began, once they were finished with the sandwiches and the scones, "but I never found anything comparable to English tea in Narnia."

Eleanor laughed, perhaps a bit too loud for the classy environment. "I suppose it makes sense," she replied. "We didn’t have the same blends back there."

"Or snacks, for that matter. Susan used to crave marmite so much back then," he said. "She’d always complain whenever we had toast. Honestly, I wonder how she’s survived this long in America without it."

Their smiles faltered at the mention of Susan and her living away. Edmund looked away, while Eleanor sipped her tea, which had turned cold. They hadn’t talked further of Susan’s engagement or even of Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie’s return since that night at the bus stop with Peter. Edmund seemed set on avoiding the subject altogether, and Eleanor had no idea how to introduce it into their conversations. Most of the time, they simply tried and moved on from the topic.

But they were only a few days away from Edmund’s family’s arrival in London, and they could not keep ignoring it any longer. 

"Ed," Eleanor called, with as much courage as she could muster. "It’ll be great. Remember how excited you were to all be reunited again, after so many years apart?"

Edmund did not seem convinced. "It is easier to fantasise of happy scenarios than to actually live them."

She couldn’t press on much further then. She had learned it the hard way, when she had returned to Stamford for their wedding. She had missed Aunt Doris for so many years, back when she had been in Narnia, only to be reunited with her and have the truth of their painful relationship thrown at her. She had hated how childish and insecure she had felt, so much that she barely felt guilty for choosing to spend Christmas in London with the Pevensies. Uncle Rupert and Birdie had been disappointed, of course, but Eleanor kept reminding herself that she had to make the most of her time with Edmund, Lucy and Peter.

They had arranged to meet for dinner on the day the group arrived from America. Leonard Porter, Susan’s fiancé, would also be visiting, and Edmund spent all afternoon dropping cynical remarks on the man’s prospected appearance or behaviour. 

"I’m sure he will be a perfect gentleman," Eleanor had rebuked. She wanted, most of all, for dinner to glide by in high spirits. She was nervous herself of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie, of course, but most of all she felt responsible for making sure the siblings would all remain as close as possible. "After all, Peter said your parents approved of him."

Edmund scoffed. "He’s very well off."

She had only eyed him carefully. It seemed she was not the only one who would act like a teenager under their family’s influence.

His face softened. "I’m sorry, darling. I’m only nervous about seeing Susan again, after so long. I’m sure this Leonard bloke is fine."

Eleanor smiled kindly. "You should give your sister more merit. I don’t think she would get engaged with just about anyone."

"You are correct on that," he replied, a hint of amusement returning to his eyes. "You remember the tale of Prince Rabadash of Calormen."

"I do," she agreed. The story of Cor and Aravis, king and queen of Archenland, had been one of Caspian’s favourites. Doctor Cornelius had told it more than once, and she had heard it again during her visits to the castle of Anvard, the very castle Rabadash had then failed at invading.

"That is more than enough proof that my sister is very proficient in seeing people’s true nature."

Eleanor thought of how hostile Susan’s eyes had been towards her that day in 1949, but she said nothing. They then took off to the restaurant, which was elegant but still intimate, and locked hands before walking in. Edmund’s agitation dissolved into nothing as soon as they spotted the group, however, and he ran to hug his mother.

Mrs. Helen Pevensie was a small, delicate woman with dark brown curls. She disappeared momentarily inside her son’s embrace, though she quickly held his face close to her own. Eleanor gave them enough space not to overhear whatever they were saying to one another, spying Mr. Pevensie and Peter in the distance. She still caught a few soft murmurs from Edmund and whimpers from Mrs. Pevensie before they separated, and her mother-in-law came towards her.

"Eleanor," she called, smiling kindly. Her eyes were as dark as Edmund’s, and they glistened and crinkled at the corners. She hugged Eleanor tightly with her bony frame, though it felt tender nonetheless. "I am so glad to finally meet you. Everyone has spoken so highly of you."

Eleanor blinked, incapable of mustering up a response. She had not expected such sweetness, and her own eyes watered as she stared at the woman who still held her. She could not look at Helen Pevensie and see anything but a ghost — a character from Edmund’s stories, a woman in old photographs, a name on a lawyer’s document.

"I… I am so happy to finally meet you, as well," she finally muttered. "Edmund speaks very dearly of you. He has missed you tremendously."

They turned to Edmund, who was now being embraced by his father, though the gesture was a lot more stiff. Mr. Pevensie kissed him on his forehead by the end of it, before moving on to greet Eleanor, and she thought Edmund almost looked petrified for a second.

"And this must be Eleanor," Mr. Pevensie said, offering his hand. His shake was perfectly firm, almost as if he had rehearsed it a thousand times.

"Pleased to meet you, Prof. Pevensie."

"Please, call me Christopher."

Eleanor nodded, smiling. Edmund’s father had Susan’s piercing eyes and Peter’s golden hair, and his voice and posture were perfectly polished. She had seen pictures of him, of course, but none had conveyed his real life charisma. She could hardly believe this was the man who had left for America, years ago, without saying goodbye to his son.

"Susan and Leonard must be arriving any minute now," Mr. Pevensie said, wrapping an arm around his wife, as soon as they were done greeting Peter. "And Lucy will be arriving from Cambridge by the end of the week. Then we may finally all spend Christmas together, for the first time since before this terrible war."

Peter had smiled politely, and Eleanor noticed Edmund only did the same after looking at his mother.

"Let us not speak of the war, dear," replied his wife, patting his arm.

"Pete!" A voice suddenly called.

They turned to find Susan entering the room, beaming as she ran towards her older brother. She wore an elegant maroon coat and her hair was tied up, revealing a pair of pearl earrings. Eleanor felt her insides turn as she took her in. She already looked more like Mrs. Porter than the Queen Susan of Narnia.

"Don’t you look handsome," she said, cupping Peter’s face tenderly. "And Ed!" she cried, throwing herself at Edmund. "I’m so glad you have both returned home safely!"

"You look well," Edmund said, once they had separated once again.

"Thank you, Ed." Susan then turned to Eleanor, opening her arms and smiling. She kissed her on both cheeks. "And you must be Eleanor. I’m Susan, Edmund’s sister."

Eleanor could feel Edmund and Peter’s gaze on them, most likely as confused as she was. Still, Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie were also watching, so she forced a smile and replied, "I am very happy to meet you, Susan."

"I cannot believe you are a married man," Susan squealed, reaching for Edmund’s arm. "My little brother. Oh, and I cannot wait for you to meet Lenny! He is just outside, parking the car. He’s so excited to meet you all! He has heard so much about all of you, naturally…"

It was only a few seconds later that Mr. Leonard Porter came in. He had short, neat hair the colour of sand, brown eyes and a kind smile, and Eleanor thought he looked like the least remarkable man she had ever met. He was nice and good-looking, of course, but he hardly seemed like a match for Susan, whose hand had once been courted by every royal from the surrounding kingdoms of Narnia.

But Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie seemed very fond of him, for they spurred him into talking about his work back in America, once they were all seated, as they opened a bottle of wine and were served appetisers. Leonard managed his father’s pencil factory, which seemed boring enough from his own descriptions, but it afforded them a comfortable living. He and Susan told them how they had met one sunny afternoon at a party, when he had accidentally spilled his drink all over her dress. They ended up so caught up in conversation Susan forgot about the stain, and she wore the liqueur-stenched clothes for the rest of the event.

"I made sure to send her a new dress the next morning," he told them. "Along with a bouquet of roses and a dinner invitation."

Susan laughed and kissed him. "How could I say no to it? I would have stained one dress a date, if it meant I could keep seeing you."

Eleanor couldn’t help but smile at the loving couple. By her side, Edmund did the same, and they intertwined their hands together.

"But what about you two?" Leonard asked. "What was your story like?"

Eleanor and Edmund grinned at each other. They had become quite skilled at telling a carefully crafted version of their story, one that did not involve battles for a crown or travels through time, for whenever friends and colleagues asked.

"It was quite the opposite of yours, I suppose," Edmund began, "for it was a snowy evening in a quiet street. We had just stationed ourselves at Stamford, and I happened to see Elle from across the road. I thought she was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen."

She tightened the grip on his hand under the table. "Introductions were a bit messy," she continued, chuckling lightly, "but we ended up getting to know each other during the next few days. I eventually invited Edmund to spend Christmas with my aunt and uncle. After that, when he left Stamford, we kept in touch through letters, until he invited me to spend the summer at Professor Kirke’s house."

"By then, we were too deep in love already," Edmund said. "Which is why we were so eager to get married and start a new life together. I hope you will understand our rush."

Mrs. Pevensie still looked somewhat wistful, though she nodded gently. "Of course, my dear. I am only glad we get to spend more time together now."

The rest of the evening carried on pleasantly, and their embraces lasted considerably longer by the time they said their goodbyes. Edmund kept pensive and silent the entire way back, even when the two of them walked alone to their bus stop. Eleanor only waited patiently, not wanting to interrupt his reflections.

"I think it will be nice to have my family so close once more," he finally said, once they had returned home and bathed. They were lying in bed with the lights off, as they often did, with only the moonlight seeping through the window.

"I think so, too," she whispered.

"I was certainly not expecting to see my sister so much in love," he pointed out humorously, though a smirk escaped his lips. "But it is nice to see her happy. It seems she has found herself in America."

Eleanor could not discuss her own uneasiness concerning Susan, so she simply agreed. She was, in the end, glad to see Edmund’s newfound optimism towards his family. The next day, he and Peter even went to their old house at Fairholme Gardens for supper and to help their parents unpack and decorate for Christmas. Eleanor was also invited, but she excused herself by pretending she was late on her holiday assignments. The truth, however, was she was not yet ready to revisit the place where she had spent one of the worst, most abominable days of her life. She dreaded the vision of the wooden front door and the floral wallpaper of the downstairs bathroom.

But when Christmas Day came, and they were supposed to have lunch at the Pevensies, she could stall no longer. The morning had already begun on a sour note, after a brief phone call with Aunt Doris, who had made a remark insinuating Eleanor had replaced them for a shiny new family. She remained distracted by it as they rode the tube to Finchley Central, feeling the guilt lodging itself quite comfortably inside her chest. Before she could realise it, they were knocking at the Pevensies’ door.

But it was Lucy who answered it, and she and Eleanor were in each other’s arms in the next second. Lucy’s gaiety was captivating enough to distract her from the house’s familiar interior, and she was able to wish everyone a merry Christmas with acceptable enough enthusiasm.

Edmund had explained his mother had wished to celebrate the holiday as traditionally as possible, so as to introduce Leonard to their customs and to commemorate the end of the war. So they ate turkey and brussel sprouts, and mince pies and pudding, and they all wore colourful paper crowns. They watched the king’s speech on television and listened to Christmas tunes on the radio, and every single one of them got a box of chocolates from Mrs. Pevensie. A fine wine flowed through all of their cups for the entire evening, condensing time into lively conversations and endless laughter.

The four Pevensie siblings told stories of their childhood. Eleanor learned of how Edmund and Lucy once sneaked downstairs to the kitchen of that very house to try and bake Christmas cookies, ending up with underbaked goo they ate anyway, and gave them a terrible stomach ache the next day. She heard of how Susan and Lucy would put up fashion shows with Mrs. Pevensie’s shoes and clothes, how Peter had once left his marbles lying around and nearly broken his father’s arm, how Edmund had spent hours trying to learn to shuffle cards after seeing a magician’s performance. She thought she had never seen Edmund as joyous as he was around his family, in his old childhood home, holding her hand as he laughed at every shared memory.

Later that night, Leonard offered Eleanor, Edmund and Peter a ride home in his rented car. They carried on with the cheerful recollecting of the past all the way back to Central London, and even Eleanor and Leonard pitched in with a few stories of their own. He talked of his grandfather’s farm in Oregon, where he used to spend his summers as a boy.

"I wish my father hadn’t sold it after gramps died," he said sorely. "I do miss riding on horseback."

"I know exactly what you mean," replied Edmund, who had now taken a much warmer attitude towards Leonard.

"Do you ride, as well?"

"We all did, once."

"Well, I don’t personally mind cars and trains all that much," said Peter. "I do not miss the feeling of being saddle sore."

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Of course. I forgot Pete would complain the most, out of all of us." He turned to Eleanor and went on, his tongue loosened by the wine, "He turned into the grumpiest old man back in Narnia. Always grumbling about…"

"Narnia?" interrupted Susan, sounding amused.

They all quieted. They had only met with Susan in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie and Leonard, and had therefore avoided the subject altogether until then.

But Susan’s voice was enthusiastic. "Oh, I had forgotten about it!" she cried.

"What is that, my dear?" asked Leonard.

"It was a game we used to play as kids," she responded. "A game of make believe. We would pretend to be kings and queens, who would fight in wars and rule a magical land."

Eleanor and Edmund only exchanged an uneasy glance.

"It sounds lovely," Leonard said, which made Eleanor think back to when she had believed Narnia to be only a fantasy, when she had claimed it would make a good children’s book.

They did not talk further until they were dropped off at their place. Eleanor and Edmund stood at the empty street, feeling the brisk air creep through the cracks in their knitted scarves as they watched Leonard’s car disappear in a turn.

"Didn’t you find it odd?" Edmund muttered. "How Susan spoke of Narnia?"

Eleanor frowned. "I think she was most likely only doing so for Leonard’s sake. You once spoke of it as if it was only a game, back at Professor Kirke’s house, at that dinner with Mrs. Plummer."

"I did," he agreed, "but I never acted as if I did not remember it."

"You said you almost believed it hadn’t happened when you were fighting in the war."

Edmund still looked troubled, though he eventually nodded. They did not speak further of it that night or in the ones that followed, nor did they mention Narnia again when they met Susan and Leonard the following week. Eleanor knew exactly what Edmund feared, what he dared not utter out loud, and it was confirmed to her the last night before the two went back to America.

They had met the Pevensies at another restaurant for their farewell dinner, and by the end of it they were all standing at the lobby, exchanging hugs and kisses on cheeks.

"Oh, Elle, dear," said Susan, once she had reached her turn. "It was such a lovely pleasure to meet you. I hope you and Ed will come to visit us in California."

"Susan," she called quietly, mustering up all of her courage, loud enough only for Susan to hear. "Do you not remember meeting me before?"

Susan blinked, unsure, and beheld her as if she was seeing her for the first time. She mumbled before she finally answered, "Did we know each other?"

Eleanor could not find any words.

"Was it from when you lived in London in your childhood?" Susan insisted. "I suppose you do look a bit familiar, but I must admit I cannot place you anywhere. I’m sorry."

Fortunately, Leonard interrupted them to say his goodbyes to Eleanor, and she was not forced to reply. She waved silently as the couple took off, feeling smaller with every second, as if Susan’s oblivion was erasing her from existing as well. She felt Edmund reaching for her hand, but even his grip would not ground her to reality. This new lightness she felt was not from a releasing of burdens. It was from a maiming of her very soul.

Chapter Text

England, January 1946 - June 1949

Classes returned in the second week of January, and soon enough Eleanor’s life began to be compressed into the university’s terms. She would spend hours locked inside their flat studying for exams or working on assignments, noticing the passage of time only by the changing of the weather. When summer finally came, and she was granted two entire months for her own leisure, she could think of nothing more than simply lying in a grassy park under the sunlight.

Since Edmund had just started a new office job as a filing clerk, working for a colleague of Peter’s, it was Lucy who accompanied her on her daily holidays. She had now moved to London definitively, having just graduated from school in Cambridge. The two young women had begun to make a habit of walking around the city, stopping at ice cream shops or watching a film at the cinema. They sometimes met Mrs. Plummer for afternoon tea, which was always brimming with sweets and a bit too much honey for Eleanor’s taste, though it was delightful nonetheless.

Time carried on with unrelenting speed as her second year in college began, and Lucy started nursing training. Soon enough, the weather had turned wintry once again, and carols creeped back into the city’s churches. This time, Susan and Leonard were not able to come to England for the holidays, and they merely exchanged phone calls and cards with photographs. Eleanor and Edmund spent Christmas once again with the Pevensies, at the Fairholme Gardens house.

The invitation for the Porters’ wedding came after the New Year, and it was set for that next spring. They were all expected, of course, but Eleanor and Edmund could barely begin to fathom how they would possibly afford such an expense. Edmund’s new job had better wages, which meant they could buy new clothes every now and then, or eat out once in a while, though it was still not enough to pay for such an extravagance. He and his family quarrelled for weeks, but in the end only Lucy and Peter accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie for the trip to America.

Susan stopped calling Edmund entirely afterwards, and he rarely took the initiative himself. Eleanor wanted to persuade him to keep close to his sister, but what could she possibly say? She couldn’t tell him they had little time left together, she could not spoil him of his cruel fate. And she couldn’t even argue without sounding like a hypocrite herself, for she had not yet returned to Stamford since her own wedding, almost two years prior, nor did she call them with much frequency. So she simply sulked as she watched Edmund and Susan growing distant, witnessing the resentment spreading and flourishing inside his heart.

"It’s no use, Elle," Edmund had declared, on the last occasion that they discussed the subject. "She has changed. She is not the same sister I have once known. She does not even remember Narnia, despite us living there for fifteen years. She did not even recognise you."

"Perhaps she has only been away for too long," she had answered then, though it had no effect on Edmund’s judgement. 

The last couple of years in England had been built over Eleanor’s memories of Narnia, as if one reality could not exist concurrently to one another, not even in her mind. She no longer remembered what colour Caspian’s eyes had been, nor what Doctor Cornelius’ voice sounded like. She remembered swimming with naiads in their rivers, but she could not picture the face of even one of them, and she had forgotten entirely how to braid her own hair into the elaborate pleated crowns she had once worn.

They talked of Narnia less and less frequently now. Tea and dinner invitations at Mrs. Plummer became scattered through the passing months, as all of their lives became too busy and externally engaged to find a common vacancy in their calendars. When Eustace and Jill came to London on a school trip once, and they all at last came together for lunch, even their reminiscing sounded more like attempted recollections. Most of their sentences included phrases such as "I believe it was," or "I think I remember," or even "I’m not sure how this happened at all."

"Look at those two," Edmund had commented to Eleanor, as they remained seated at the table while Eustace and Jill cleared their plates away, arguing with each other on who had the correct estimate of the gnome population they had met in the Underland during their last trip to Narnia. "The last of our litter. They have grown too much already."

It was true: Eustace had stretched taller than both Edmund and Peter, while Jill now wore heels and seemed more preoccupied with her posture than Eleanor had ever seen her. Still, it did not seem like old enough — it was not even close to enough.

"Do you think there is something between them?" Peter asked beside them, smirking playfully.

"I did notice Jill making a few too many remarks on a Julia Armitage, who I think is one of their classmates who has grown closer to Eustace," Eleanor replied. "I thought it sounded like there was something more to that teasing."

"Well, if that is the case, Eustace is entirely clueless," Edmund laughed.

"But love turns us all into fools, does it not?" she countered.

Edmund smiled and reached for her hand. He stroked her palm, where her scar had once been. "Indeed, it does."

Eustace and Jill still hoped to return to Narnia one day, but Eleanor was the only one who was still bound to it, and so she would always be on the prowl for any signs of magic. For her, it sounded like a hum or a melody, the beginning notes of a kind of music that could feed one’s soul for an eternity. Edmund, on the other hand, would describe it as a funny feeling in his stomach, a tingling of nervousness or excitement, like waking up on the morning of your birthday or the first day of term. Lucy argued it tasted like the first bite of your favourite dessert, and Peter thought it reminded him of drifting into a peaceful sleep. But not one of those signs ever reached her.

"You wouldn’t happen to know how old I was when you first saw me, back in Narnia, would you?" she tried asking Edmund one night, as they walked home after having watched a concert downtown. She knew she would hardly get any helpful answer from him, for they had agreed long ago not to spoil each other’s futures, but she could not help her own uneasiness.

"I would not ask a lady her age," he replied, to which she smiled. "But it hardly matters anyway, don’t you think? Neither you nor I appear the amount of years we have actually lived."

"I suppose not," she sighed. "Though it would be helpful to have some kind of idea of when it will happen. I feel I am always on edge, always on the lookout."

Edmund’s gaze disappeared into thought. "I feel the same way," he confessed quietly.

They reached the underground, and Eleanor wrapped her arms around him as they waited for their train. She thought of how Peter and Susan had returned from their last visit to Narnia at a station such as the one they were in, nearly six years ago. They had been brought back with the certainty that they would never again return to the place they had once called their home. Was it so absurd that Susan had perhaps chosen to forget it all? Was it better to waste away so many years reminiscing of a life you could never go back to, to persist forever on the lookout for a calling that would never come?

When winter and carols came once again, it seemed the life they carried was the one they had always known. They had Christmas dinner at the Pevensies, and neither Susan nor her husband came to England. Eleanor called for Stamford hastily, wishing them happy holidays and asking politely of their news. Mrs. Pevensie served a fantastic roast, Lucy prepared raspberry jam tart, and Mr. Pevensie splurged on a fine bottle of wine. The only difference that year, however, was that Peter arrived with a lovely red haired lady at his arm. She was called Margaret Hartley, and she studied English at King’s College.

"Please, call me Maggie," she said, beaming as she shook all of their hands. "Margaret is only for when my mum’s cross."

Her brother worked with Peter, and they had met at his birthday party. They were all appalled to find out the two had been dating since early October, to none of their knowledge. Still, they seemed as enamoured as a newly formed couple should be, and Eleanor thought they looked like a lovely fit.

"What did you think of her?" Lucy inquired, as soon as the two of them were alone. They had just withdrawn to the kitchen, Eleanor having volunteered to help her with decorating her tart.

"Maggie?" Eleanor asked. "I thought she seemed nice." They hadn’t talked very much, so that was about as much judgement as she could muster by then.

Lucy nodded, concentrated on sifting sugar on top of the dessert. "Didn’t you find her a bit plain?"

Eleanor frowned. "Plain?"

"That was so rude," Lucy murmured, shaking her head. "She is beautiful. I only meant… I suppose I find it hard to accept that Peter and Susan are falling in love with people who don’t truly know them. Can you even call it love if they will never know of Narnia, and the entire lives we had there?"

Her tone had been light, but her eyes seemed elsewhere. Eleanor took a careful step closer, while Lucy remained focused on decorating the dessert plate.

"I cannot speak for what can be considered love and what cannot," she answered at last.

"But you can, Elle," Lucy insisted wistfully, finally meeting her eyes. "You and Ed are the only ones who can. You two have the most extraordinary story. You have yearned for each other through different worlds and different times. Who else would be better qualified to speak on love?"

Eleanor could not think of anything to respond, so the two simply watched as the sugar melted into the jam, disappearing entirely. Lucy sifted another layer of the powder, but even that one was already beginning to dissolve.

"Have you ever been in love, Lu?" she asked quietly.

"I don’t think I have," she sighed, "which means I have not. Not yet."

"Not even in Narnia?"

She chuckled softly. "There were always too many interesting things to do."

Eleanor smiled. "What about the hospital?"

"Oh," Lucy giggled, "have I not told you about Doctor Keplan? Half the nurses are in love with him already."

The two laughed as they set off to serve dessert, and none of them spoke of it again. The following nights, Eleanor would lie in bed thinking about what Lucy had said. She wondered if Lucy would ever fall in love before her time in this world was cut short. Would she know the feeling of having your heart beating so forcefully you worry it will imprint its silhouette into your chest? Would she know the burn of one skin on the other, the feeling of being turned into pure light? Would she know the bliss, the effortlessness, the fulfilment, the joy?

The year of 1948 creeped quietly in, pushing them nowhere but forward. Eleanor began to resent her studies, begrudging them for the time they stole from her, wanting to spend it with Edmund instead. Yet he was out working all day, and the only moment they had to one another was at night, once they were finished with all of their daily errands.

It was late in January when he sat down on the sofa with her one evening, looking rather serious.

"My love," he called, folding her hand in between his, "there is something I would like to discuss with you."

Eleanor nodded slowly. "What is it?"

Edmund breathed deeply, his gaze gloom and downcast. "This is something I have been mulling over for quite some time now," he began. "When we first moved here, right after the war ended, I was mostly concerned with making a living for the two of us. Which was why I took construction jobs, then the one at the warehouse factory, until finally Pete helped me with securing this office position. It is comfortable enough, and I am grateful for it. And yet… I do not feel like I can find much meaning in it."

She pressed on his hand, encouraging him to continue.

"For a while now, I began thinking… I thought maybe I could get back with my studies. When I was little, my dad always said I would become an engineer one day, for I had always been so fascinated by cars and planes and trains. Well — that or a racing driver, but I think my mum would not be so favourable to it."

They both laughed softly.

"What I’m trying to say, Elle," he concluded, "is that I was thinking of applying for an Engineering course this spring. I could speak to my father and ask for his aid, and I could still work in the meantime. I have not forgotten the promise I had made to you to toil and give you a good life. We might have to downgrade on a few expenses, but I believe I could still make a living for us."

He looked at her earnestly. Her chest ached at the sight, at witnessing the dreams he still created for himself. He still saw an infinitude of possibilities ahead of him, whilst she knew it would all be in vain. Even if he was immediately accepted and started university in September, he would never graduate. He simply didn’t have enough years.

But what was the alternative? Have him carry on working a meaningless job, one that fed on his soul instead? He had already left part of it in Narnia, and yet another piece in Italy. He could not spare many more.

"I want you to be happy, Ed," she whispered, raising her hand to his cheek, feeling the stubbles of a beard he now had to shave every morning. "I want to see you gratified with the life you live. That is all."

 He exhaled as he smiled, as if he had been holding this breath for weeks. 

"Thank you," he muttered, placing a kiss on the back of her hand.

"You don’t have to thank me," she replied, taking his hand and kissing it back. "I’m happy that you have decided to chase something for yourself. You have always been so reluctant to."

Edmund straightened up. "It took me too long to realise this," he admitted, speaking slowly. "It’s dreary to think I have spent my entire life, up until this point, trying to become a version of myself that felt worthy, or good enough. I have done so much in search of my father’s approval, I have bent myself trying to outgrow Peter’s shadow, and I have laboured tirelessly to feel deserving of Aslan’s sacrifice. I thought I had finally become such a person, back in Narnia. And so it despaired me to come back to England and have it taken from me. Ever since, I have been trying to go back to it, to him — the Just king.

"But now I see the true lesson, the one I have taken too many years to learn. You helped me see it — if  you could love me in every version you had met, why couldn’t I? Why couldn’t I see I had been the same soul all along? I was not yet King Edmund when Aslan sacrificed himself for me. I was no fair ruler, no great swordsman, no dutiful soldier. I was a boy, a traitor, and still he found my life worth saving. I was the only one who could not see it.

"So I will not dishonour you any longer by believing myself worthless. I promise you this, Elle."

There was nothing she could think of saying, so she simply embraced him as she whispered her love for him, time and time again. She knew there would come a time when she could say those words, and he would not be able to hear them.

Edmund was, in the end, accepted to the University of London that same year, and he was even granted a scholarship. He still found work in night and weekend shifts, and even Eleanor took a temporary job as a secretary during her summer holidays. Their new routine was more demanding than ever, yet Edmund seemed to thrive in it. When he started his first term at the university, she saw a lightness in him she had never seen before, not even back in Narnia.

But the weather had turned cold once again, and the iciness in the air seemed to have infiltrated entirely into Eleanor’s heart. Her eyes would often glisten like pavement after a downpour, her face paled like early morning mist, and carols turned into funeral hymns in her ears. She and Edmund went for tea at the Café Royal, and they spent Christmas at the Pevensies’ Fairholme Gardens house. When they came home after celebrating the New Year, having met Lucy, Peter and Maggie at a pub, Eleanor cried silently as Edmund slept peacefully behind her.

She had run out of time. They were now in the year of 1949 — the last year Edmund and his family would have in their lives, the year that would be engraved in their tombs right after their respective birth years.

She had achieved nothing. Susan was away in America, isolated and estranged from her siblings. Lucy was still in nursing training, and she had not yet experienced her first love. Edmund was studying for a degree he would never get, working too many hours simply to afford rent. And she had not been able to avoid any of it, and she would not be able to stop the accident which would cause their deaths. She had been warned of the storm, but she was impotent against it. She had spent the last four years huffing and puffing, trying to blow it away, corroding her lungs from inside out, and still it had kept coming with invariable speed.

She had crafted no plan, but would it even have been of any use? How many stories had she read in which the characters hoping to avoid their destiny only ended up sinking deeper into it? Oedipus had once fled to escape a prophecy, and still he fulfilled it unknowingly. Antigone, Laius, Clytemnestra, none of them had been able to escape their endings. The lesson was as clear as always — attempting to weave the thread of fate would only entangle one further into it. She would be Odysseus instead, sailing straight into a doomed fate, leading his men into their deaths.

It was a frightful June afternoon when the phone call came. Eleanor had just arrived home, and she had been close to falling asleep on their sofa. Despite all of it, life had kept on rushing on, and she had graduated and taken a job as a research assistant for a Mr. Ellis Talbot, who was writing a book on the war. She waited for it to ring a few times until she finally found the strength within her to answer.

"Hello?"

"Eleanor?" Aunt Doris’ voice cried from the receiver. The initial shock — for they had taken to calling each other only on holidays and birthdays — was cut short when Eleanor noticed how anguished her aunt sounded.

She straightened up in the same second. "Yes? Is everything alright?"

There was a beat of silence, and then, "Something dreadful has happened."

"What? Aunt Doris, what happened? Is Uncle Rupert alright?"

"It… it was Theo, Eleanor."

His face flashed back before her eyes. She had last seen Theo Radcliffe at her wedding, and he had smiled and wished her congratulations.

"What happened?" she asked, wishing she did not have to ask it. 

"He was found dead this morning," her aunt stated grimly. "At the lake near Tallington. He and Birdie had gone on a fishing trip. She woke up to find him gone, only an empty bottle next to his bed."

Everything seemed to hover in the air around her. She could find no words, no sense.

"You must come, Eleanor. Birdie is sinking herself. It was she who found his body."

Chapter Text

England, June 1949 - September 1949

As she rode the train northwards, Eleanor thought back to what Edmund had once said, when they were saying their farewells in Narnia, the day after Caspian’s coronation. He had wondered whether it was preferable to get the chance to say goodbye, or whether it would be easier to simply disappear without notice.

She had said goodbye to him twice already — the second time aboard the Dawn Treader, at the World’s End — and each time had taken a piece of her heart away. She had dreaded this third time, this definitive parting, which she knew would shatter her irreversibly. She almost wished it wouldn’t happen, that perhaps it would be best to simply wake up one morning and find him gone. But the news of Theo’s death were proof that farewells, hurtful as they may be, were better than the alternative. After all, wouldn’t Birdie have wished for one more conversation with her brother? Wouldn’t she have wanted one last hug, one final smile?

Her goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie had been on a Sunday dinner, the week before Theo’s death, without them knowing it would be for the last time. Mr. Pevensie had kissed her on the cheek, as affectionately as he would with Lucy or Susan, and Mrs. Pevensie had hugged her. It had not happened at once, instead taking its time over each passing year, but Eleanor now saw her mother whenever she looked at Mrs. Pevensie. They did not share any of the same features except for the sweetness in her smile, and the fact that it, too, would soon disappear from the world completely.

Edmund, Lucy and Peter had accompanied her to the train station to see her off. There was a sombre tint to the light around them, and the wait had been mostly quiet. They only spoke when her train arrived.

"Give everyone at Stamford our best wishes," said Peter, hugging her. 

She had only tried smiling back, fearing her voice would not comply if she tried using it.

Lucy tucked herself comfortably in Eleanor’s arms. She had not grown taller than Eleanor, and her hug was every bit as warm and inviting as it had been that first day at Coombe Halt station. "Come back to us as soon as you can," she muttered.

Eleanor only agreed silently. She knew this might not be their final goodbyes, for they likely still had a month or two. But she had no guarantees, and she would not be taking chances.

Edmund walked with her as far as he could, carrying her suitcase. They stopped at the train door, where a uniformed man was asking for tickets.

She took him in, bit by bit, desperately trying to ingrain every detail into her mind. She wished, sometime in the last four years, she had counted the freckles on his nose, drawn around them as islands on a map. She wished she had measured the angle of his nose bridge, the distance between his eyes, the width of his smile. She wished she could capture the feeling of having him holding her hand.

"Will you call me?" she whispered.

He nodded at once. "Of course. Everyday, if you would like it."

She nodded, too. "I would like it very much."

"Everyday it is, then." He then pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. She buried her face in the curve of his neck and released the tears she had been battling all day. She could hear strangers rushing around them, hurrying around the busy station, their paces quick and routinal. It was only another Tuesday morning for the rest of the world.

"I love you," she said, when they pulled away. It seemed too few words, too few letters, to truly express what she felt, but she hoped he understood the extent of her sentiment. He must have been familiar enough with it by then.

He met his forehead with hers. "I love you," he said, and she felt his lips brush on hers as he spoke. "You do remember what I told you the day I asked you to marry me, don’t you?"

"I do." From the moment we were written into existence, he had promised, and until the end of time itself.

"Do not forget it, my love," he said, kissing her softly. He smiled. "When you return, if the weather will still permit it, we should go on holiday, just the two of us. We will find some place by the beach and watch the sun rise from behind the sea."

She could not help her smile. It was a fantasy too sweet not to indulge. "We must choose carefully. I wouldn’t want you waking up to the squawking of seagulls."

"Excellent point," he chuckled. "And we should remember to watch out for dragons and Dufflepuds. I’m afraid they would be a bit of a hindrance."

Together they laughed at those lovely lies, and Eleanor used them as crutches to board the train and wave them all goodbye. Edmund, Lucy and Peter disappeared too soon from her window, and she sobbed for the rest of the trip.

The sun shone from the highest point in the sky when she disembarked at Stamford station. Her entire body heated as she walked across town to her aunt’s, and her face was scarlet by the time she reached her front door. She spied the Radcliffes’ house across the street, with all of its curtains closed.

Aunt Doris opened the door, wearing a grey dress she had owned since Eleanor had been a child. But her eyes were deeper than ever, and a few unfamiliar white strands stood out from her black tied up hair. 

 None of them said a word. They embraced each other at the doorstep, then Aunt Doris took her to her old bedroom and helped her unpack. She served them tea, and they listened to the broadcast on the radio, barely registering whatever was being said. At last, once their cups were emptied, Aunt Doris explained in detail what had happened.

"We knew, we had all known," she muttered weakly, as if the weight of all of her years had finally caught up to her voice. "Theo had not been well since returning from the war. How could he, after all he must have seen, and after losing his brother? But he pretended he was fine, and so we pretended, too, because it was more convenient. We convinced ourselves he had always been this quiet, this retreated to himself."

Eleanor did not know what to do when she saw her aunt collapse, covering her face as tears streamed from her eyes. She had never seen her cry.

"He crumbled so quietly, Eleanor," she continued. "He never even made a sound. I wonder whether he even put up a fight before he left."

Eleanor had thought she did not have anything left inside of her, yet water summoned in her eyes once more. There were too many sentiments stuck in her chest, grief and guilt the most powerful of all. Could she have done anything to avoid it? If she had visited Stamford during these years, would it have changed things? Would Edmund, perhaps, have been able to come through to Theo, through their matching trauma? Could at least one death have been spared?

She decided to visit the Radcliffes later that day. As she waited by their door, she wondered who would answer it, if anyone at all. Mrs. Radcliffe had always had a fragile disposition, and she had remained in bed for weeks when Grant had died. Mr. Radcliffe and Birdie had carried on strongly then, but had they still any strength left?

But someone else opened the door. A beautiful, familiar face, one Eleanor had known too well.

"Gracie?"

"Nora." Gracie’s voice sounded surprised, but not hostile. 

Eleanor swallowed bitterly. How long had it been since she had been Nora? At some point, years ago, she had embraced her new life as Elle, or even as Eleanor Pevensie, and she had never once looked back. Nora had been left behind in Narnia, rotting in a castle cell, and all of her memories had been forgotten with her.

Gracie had not changed in appearance, though she stood differently somehow. Her hair was down and she wore no jewellery, but she looked more at ease than ever. "I didn’t know you were visiting. Come in."

Eleanor blinked, taking cautious steps inside, still trying to understand what was happening. "I… My aunt called to tell me the news. I arrived only a few hours ago."

"I’m glad you’re here," Gracie said, and she seemed genuine. "Birdie will be glad, as well."

"Where is she?"

"In the back garden. We were having tea."

Eleanor followed her through the ground floor. The house had barely changed in the last decade, and she could still see where they used to play when they were little. She identified the spots they would hide in, the path they made jumping from one sofa to another, the corridor that was often turned into a makeshift runway. But the wallpaper print had become faded, the ceiling had sunken, and dust was sprinkled all around.

At last, she saw Birdie’s meagre figure sitting by the outdoor table. When she turned, she looked the worst Eleanor had ever seen, but she still smiled faintly.

"Nora," she called, and Eleanor crouched next to her. They held each other’s hands. Birdie’s fingers felt scrawny on top of her own.

"I’m so sorry, Birdie," she whispered. She had not yet discovered what there was to be said in face of unimaginable loss, and she suspected nothing would ever be sufficient. She kept running her thumb along Birdie’s hand, hoping it would help somehow.

The three of them sat in the garden. Eleanor stared at the tea set, recognising the print, the pieces, even the chips. Long ago, they used to sit at that same table, pretending to be grown women hosting tea parties.

"How was the funeral?" she asked at last.

Birdie surprised her by scoffing. "It was alright, I suppose. All of those people, so ready to reminisce on Theo, as if he hadn’t been here only a few days ago. As if any of them had truly cared about him while he still lived."

She knew Birdie had not been referring to her, but she felt the sting nonetheless. It didn’t matter whether her friend blamed her or not, the accountability she felt came from her own heart. She had abandoned Birdie — and all of Stamford for that matter.

She continued stroking Birdie’s hands, as if each brush could wipe away their pain. That was when she noticed a brighter tone of red on Birdie’s frail knuckles.

She frowned. "What happened to your hand?"

Birdie and Gracie exchanged a glance. "It was at the wake afterwards," Gracie said.

Eleanor waited.

"I punched that Sloane prick," Birdie explained.

"What?" Eleanor blurted. She gawked between the two of them, expecting to be the end of some joke, but they only looked serious. "Why?"

"I heard him saying…" Birdie shook her head, and Eleanor couldn’t figure out whether she was trying to restrain from hollering or crying. "He said… that it would have been better if Theo had died during the war, just like Grant did. That at least he would be remembered as a hero."

Eleanor’s eyes grew as big as they could. "Did he really?" she whispered.

Gracie sighed. "He’s always been an idiot."

"You haven’t seen him in years, Nora," Birdie went on, "but he’s turned into an even bigger arse than before."

Eleanor could only nod in response, still too much in shock. She could barely recognise the giggling, bouncing girl she had once known in the bitter woman who now sat in front of her, capable of swearing and physical violence, and she could not ignore the subtle tartness directed towards her.

"But enough of that," Birdie said at last. "How is London? And how long are you staying in town this time?"

Eleanor clutched tighter to Birdie’s hands, careful not to press on the red spots. "As long as I can," she replied.

And so the next day she sent Mr. Talbot a wire explaining she would not be returning to London for that summer, and she settled into life at Stamford instead. She would help Aunt Doris with housework, and she would bake cakes and pies almost everyday to take to the Radcliffes. Gracie always brought fresh flowers, which she displayed around the house in the most lovely arrangements, and those also served as an excuse to keep the curtains drawn and the windows open. The two took turns keeping Birdie company, making sure she bathed and sat under the sunlight once a day. They would accompany her to her father’s shoe shop, taking books and magazines to read aloud together, bringing gossip from their neighbourhood or even from Hollywood.

Edmund called Eleanor every night at seven. They would tell each other about their day, discuss that morning’s crossword or an article they had read on the post, or even daydream together of their planned beach getaway. She asked him what he had eaten, begging for the most insignificant details, doing as much to extend the conversation as she could. They were sure to be spending all of their savings for those phone calls, but what else was there to save for? Listening to Edmund’s voice was finer than any music she would ever hear, and his song was too near its end.

When July came, Eleanor felt like they had made little to no progress with Birdie. She would act perfectly fine in one morning, only to not even find herself capable of getting out of bed in the next. Sometimes, she would smile and talk normally, cracking jokes and spouting curses, but then she would withdraw deeply inside herself, not uttering one single word for hours. One night, they were awoken by screaming coming from the Radcliffes’ house, and Eleanor and her aunt barged in to find Birdie crying on top of one of Theo’s old hats.

Eleanor knew words were entirely useless. She was starting to believe time and company were the only things which could cause actual healing — after all, that was what had happened to Edmund and his father. She could feel it, too, happening between her and her aunt, with every shared meal, every quiet morning, every slow evening. There was no more lingering on one last sentence spoken over the phone, no more begrudging over how long it had been since their last call, or who had been the one to reach out. They still bickered occasionally on minor issues, such as the way Eleanor had put away the dishes or folded the laundry, though she still preferred it to the silent resentfulness they had come to foster in the past years.

One afternoon, on the very last week of July, Aunt Doris came into Eleanor’s room with a fancy, bow-topped box. She smiled proudly as she waltzed in, placing it carefully on top of the bed.

"What is this?" Eleanor asked, already beaming like a little kid.

Her aunt fiddled with the red bow on top. "We never gave you a graduation present," she said. "We couldn’t be there, but we hope you know we were very proud of you. Your father would have been so proud."

Eleanor nodded. She reached out to the present, unlacing it carefully, until she opened the box. There was a two-piece tweed dress folded inside it, one she had once known. Years ago, she had lived through one of her worst memories as she wore it.

The autumnal landscape around Professor Kirke’s old house, the quietness of the enchanted woods between worlds, the smell of salt in the breeze around Cair Paravel — it all hit her at once, and she was sobbing before she could even realise it. Aunt Doris’ proud monologue on the store she had bought the dress at turned into hushed comforting sentences, though Eleanor couldn’t make sense of them either. She sobbed helplessly, holding on to the familiar fabric.

Her aunt was patient as she waited for Eleanor to calm down. She held her hands, breathed in synchrony. She didn’t ask questions, she didn’t press on. She took Eleanor downstairs and poured her a warm cup of tea. At last, it became quiet once more.

"What is it, dear?" she asked, as softly as a feather.

Eleanor looked up to her aunt. She saw the woman who had raised her, who had cleaned her bruises and wiped her tears when she would hurt herself playing, who had taught her how to cook, how to knit, how to act. The woman who had scolded her so many times, the only person who had fought for her to continue her education during those terrible war years.

She would never abandon her, would she? Even if she thought she was mad?

"Aunt Doris," she whispered. "Do you believe in magic?"

Her aunt frowned, and mumbled, and pouted before she found her words. "Magic? What on earth are you on about?"

Eleanor considered, for a moment, telling her all of it. She thought of narrating every one of her adventures in Narnia, she thought of explaining how she had travelled back and forth between their worlds, how she had skipped through timelines. But there was a preciousness to those truths, a perfect kind of purity she couldn’t allow to be ruined by skepticism. 

So instead, she said, "I had this dream. I dreamed of it four years ago, during the summer I spent in Cornwall." She sipped her tea, hoping the drink would help the words slip out of her. "In this dream, Edmund and his family all died in an accident. He would have been only twenty-four. That is his current age."

Her aunt reached for her hand over the table. "Oh, Eleanor," she muttered, stroking it tenderly. "It is only a dream. I used to have similar nightmares right after the accident that killed your parents. I was afraid something would happen to you or to Rupert. That is probably all this is."

She scoffed lightly, shaking her head. But it isn’t, she thought. Time has already been written.

"But what if it isn’t?" she countered. "What then?"

There was a moment of silence. Eleanor noticed her aunt’s gaze falling onto the mantelpiece behind her, and she turned so she too could behold the framed pictures that hung on the wall. She saw the photo of Aunt Doris and Uncle Rupert’s wedding, the one with the grandparents she had never met, and she saw the photo of her own father, whom Edmund had once declared handsome. There was also a new addition to the gallery: a photograph of her and Edmund, one they had taken on the day of her graduation from King’s College, which she had then mailed to her aunt. 

Aunt Doris’ face was resolute, and her voice was as certain as ever when she answered. "We carry on, Eleanor. We must always carry on."

After that, they drank the rest of their tea in silence. Eleanor later tried on the tweed dress, even though she knew it would fit her fine, for her aunt’s sake alone. She hid it at the back of her wardrobe as soon as she took it off.

It was three days later when Edmund’s last phone call came. It was still late in the morning, and Eleanor was helping prepare lunch at the Radcliffes when Aunt Doris barged in the door, shouting for her.

"It’s Edmund," she said. "He told me to say it’s urgent."

The colour disappeared from Eleanor’s face. For a moment, it felt like she had left her body entirely, for she could not remember how to move her legs or speak. But then she bolted outside, crossing the street to their house, reaching for the phone so harshly it plunged out of her grip and bounced on its cord a few times. Finally she connected it to her ear.

"Ed?" she cried.

"Elle!" he replied, his tone so cheerful it lurched her out of her hysteria. "Oh, I’m so glad I got to reach you in time! I have the most exciting news!"

She blinked. She hadn’t known exactly what she had been expecting, though it had certainly not been this. "What is it?"

"It happened just last night, after I called you. We were at Mrs. Plummer’s for supper when a boy appeared in front of us. Just out of thin air! I don’t think he was ever really there — there was a faintness around him, as if he was an image out of a dream. He didn’t speak either, but we all thought he looked Narnian. Actually, I think he looked frightened, most of all. Peter tried talking to him, and he seemed to understand it. But he vanished too quickly right after it. We all agreed that something must have definitely been up in Narnia, though, and we talked and talked and talked until the professor declared the only way for us to get there would be with the magic rings. You know, the ones he and Mrs. Plummer used to visit Narnia. The ones you used to return to Caspian’s time."

Edmund had been speaking so quickly she was barely keeping up. "Hang on," she interrupted him. "Does this mean you are planning to return to Narnia?"

He paused for a second. "No," he answered at last, sounding as if he had something stuck in his throat. "Not us. Aslan had told us we would never return."

"But then…"

"But Eustace and Jill still could. They are the ones who should answer this call."

She nodded, even if he couldn’t see her. She tried picturing the expression on his face, and she imagined it must have been a bittersweet one. He had longed for Narnia for almost half of his life.

As if he could tell what she was thinking by her silence, or perhaps by the rhythm of her breathing, he said, "Do not worry about me, my love. I have made my peace with it. It took me longer than I thought, but I do understand it now. This is the life I was meant to live. Here, with my family, working for something I am passionate about. I have lived many lives, but this is my favourite — this one I have built with you."

She noticed she had been crying only when the first tear reached the corner of her smile. "I am glad," she forced herself to respond, "you deserve all of it."

He didn’t say anything, though she thought he might have been smiling, as well. But then she heard muffled knocking coming from his side, as if someone was calling for him.

"Oh, I have to go, Elle," he said quickly. "We are picking them up at the station very soon. The train…"

"Them?"

"Eustace and Jill. Mum and Dad were in Cambridge, so they’re accompanying them back. We’re all meeting them there to give them the rings. They wanted to go as soon as they could, you see…"

His voice began to fade as her heart thumped louder and louder. Once she had connected the dots in her mind, she could not unsee them. This was the day she had been dreading for the past four years.

"Wait," she pleaded, "did you get the rings already?"

"We got them this morning. It was all quite fun, actually. Pete and I dressed as workmen and went to Professor Kirke’s old childhood house to dig up the box from the garden. We had come up with excuses to give in case anyone questioned us, but no one batted an eye at us. It was for the better, of course, because now Eustace and Jill will get to Narnia as soon as possible. Whatever trouble might be going on there, they will get help in very short order."

"So you’re meeting them at the station?" she asked.

"I’m calling you from a box only a block away, actually."

She could make no noise, she could scarcely move her mouth. If this was it, could she still stop it? She had spent the last four years convincing herself that time could not be rewritten, and nothing she could do would ever change what had already happened — Aslan had told her this himself. And yet Edmund was just on the other side of the line, and they still had a little time. She decided she had to try.

"Ed," she called, "Ed, please, listen to me. Don’t go."

He waited for a beat. "What do you mean?"

"I have this horrible feeling that something dreadful might happen. That day that I spent in 1949, when I came back from Narnia through the wardrobe passage, I found out…"

"Elle," he cut her gravely. "We agreed we would not spoil each other of our future."

"I know, but…"

"We agreed, Elle. We should not talk about it."

"But…"

"I do not want to know. Knowing one’s fate will only drive them into madness."

"Even if…"

"Just a minute, Pete!" Edmund suddenly shouted. "I’m sorry," he then said, more quietly, "He’s rushing me. The train should be arriving in a few minutes now."

"Ed…"

"Listen, my love." His tone was serious, final. "I’m sorry for the burden you’ve been carrying — I understand how hard it must have been, I really do. But it will be alright. Trust me."

Her attempt at grasping for a response only led her into gasping for air. She scoured her mind for words, for arguments that could convince him into staying, but she could not conjure a single thought. And so she replied with the only thing she could think of. 

"I love you."

"I love you, too. I have to go now, but we will see each other very soon, alright? I promise it."

"Alright," she whispered, hardly believing it at all.

"See you later, Elle."

The line had already been cut by the time she found her voice.

"See you later, Ed," she whispered, into nothing.

Chapter Text

England, September 1949 - October 1949

The news of the accident was broadcasted that very same afternoon, and the call from Mr. John Keatings came only one day after. It had been a disaster too great for Eleanor to have anticipated. The train which brought Eustace, Jill, and Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie had crashed on the final turn before its destination, hitting some of those who waited by the station. Edmund, Peter and Lucy had been among its victims, as well as Mrs. Plummer and Professor Kirke. It had been a quick death, Mr. Keatings had assured her. They might not have noticed it at all.

The railways were all too turbulent because of the accident, so Gracie and her husband Albert drove Eleanor to London. They lodged her at his affluent godmother’s apartment, which was vacant for most of the year anyway, and told her she could stay there for as long as she needed to.

Eleanor spent the first day locked inside her bedroom. She had cried, and she had not cried, and she had felt too much at once, and she had felt nothing at all. She had expected to find herself drowning in melancholy, in grief, in sorrow, yet the feelings she couldn’t shake were those of outrage. They were often followed by a wave of unbearable guilt.

Her pain felt egotistical and undeserving, for she was only one amongst the hundreds or thousands left in mourning because of the accident. But she also hated how Edmund and his family had not even been the protagonists of their own deaths. She’d secretly resent the other victims, as if they were at fault somehow, simply because she despised the idea of sharing her heartbreak with unknown strangers. None of them were suffering like she was. They had not lost as much as she had.

She would hate herself most of all, of course, for ever thinking such horrible thoughts. Yet it was easier to trouble her mind with those trivial ideas, because the truth was she could not even begin to make sense of the new reality that surrounded her.

How could the world go on without them? How could the sun rise on every new morning, if it would never again cast its light on Lucy’s brown locks? Could the earth still spin, now that it no longer had the sound of her laughter? How could anyone ever dream of greatness again, now that Peter — High King Peter, who had ruled the Golden Age of Narnia, who had led armies and fought giants and the White Witch herself — had died before even turning thirty, every honour stripped from him in meaningless death? And how could it be that the ground beneath her still existed, and people still loved and aged and lived, when Edmund did not exist in this world anymore? How could he have been there, pale and slender and dark haired in one second, and in the next not at all?

She hated how the post kept arriving every morning, how buses kept coming and going, how shops still opened and closed at the same hours every day. She couldn’t understand how the entire world had not stopped to mourn with her, how the sun hadn’t eclipsed itself with grief. Why were the stars still shining, why was the moon still beautiful? Why was she the only one with an impaired heart, with a soul maimed to pieces? Why was she the only one left hollow?

The darkness inside her whispered the same small, horrifying thought whenever she felt overwhelmed with such questions. She feared, deep inside her, that perhaps they had simply not been important enough. They were all but insignificant beings in an infinite universe, living insignificant lives and dying insignificant deaths. They could only do so little in so little time. All of their dreams would end up buried with them, and all they could hope for was a beautiful tombstone to prove they had ever walked the earth.

Gracie accompanied her to their funeral. It was held at a small church in Finchley, one Eleanor had often frequented with the Pevensies on Sundays. It was immediately proven not to be a big enough venue for its attendees. Half of the University of London must have been present, from Mr. Pevensie’s faculty colleagues to current and past students, as well as Edmund’s classmates and professors. There were older ladies Eleanor had seen Mrs. Pevensie greet at the street, there was a group of young women from Lucy’s nursing school, and there were men in expensive suits from Peter’s circle. Those who recognised Eleanor cast pitying gazes all over her.

There were a few who greeted her as she walked by the crowd flocking outside the building. Timmy came by himself, and he had grown so brawny as compared to his days as private that Eleanor barely recognised him at first. Then came Maggie and her brother, both their faces long and swollen, though Eleanor could hardly feel sympathy for them — what pain could they truly know, compared to hers? She could not bring herself to care for a single word anyone threw at her. 

Eleanor anchored her feet on the stone floor as soon as she spotted Susan and Leonard, covered in elegant black attire, greeting the attendees by the entrance. Gracie had taken over whatever responsibilities were expected of Eleanor since the news of the accident, which meant she had also handled all communication with Susan so far.

"I cannot do this," Eleanor whispered, turning her head on the lookout for a possible escape route. It was not too late, Susan had not spotted her yet. She could still make a run for it.

"You can," insisted Gracie, stiffening her hook on Eleanor’s arm. "I’ll be right here."

The people in front of them moved, and at last their turn arrived. Susan’s eyes met hers immediately, and all Eleanor could think was how strikingly beautiful she remained. There were dark circles underneath her reddish eyes, yet she stood with perfect grace. Eleanor could not read her expression, and she thought Susan was as likely to slap her as she was to embrace her.

Leonard thanked them for coming, and Gracie responded in Eleanor’s place, thanking them for having come to England at such short notice and organising everything. They continued on their polite exchanges as Eleanor and Susan stared at each other, still and silent.

Eleanor at last raised her hand on a whim, and Susan caught them. For a while, they held onto each other. It seemed about as much as they could manage then.

Eleanor had thought she could sit through the service, but it turned out the sight of the Pevensies’ flower covered caskets was enough to send her spurting out of the church. The dirt sank beneath her shoes, coating them almost entirely brown, yet she only stopped running once she had reached the cover of a tree, far enough for the funeral’s noises not to reach her. 

She could not watch as Edmund descended into the earth. How could she, when her heart was still tethered to his? She could not set it free any more than she could not cut herself open and pull at her guts until they were but an unravelled string, staining the ground with blood. She would remain bound to him, even when his body began decomposing, even when the same rottenness reached her soul. She would carry this putrid, corroded heart for the rest of her life.

They remained in London for the rest of September. The law did not allow for quiet mourning, and there was still plenty to be settled with Mr. Keatings. Eleanor only agreed to most of the things he proposed, signing her name in whatever paper he mailed her, hoping he would eventually stop calling. 

In the meantime, Gracie took Eleanor to her and Edmund’s old flat. There was a cup with mouldy coffee dregs on top of the kitchen table, with a half-filled crosswords page sprawled open right next to it, and in their room the bed was unmade on Edmund’s side, his pillow still carrying the shape of his last night’s sleep. The sight of it was enough to send her hurrying off, begging never to step into the place again, but it would not do. She was made to separate a box of items of his to keep — only enough trinkets to remember him by — and the rest would be left for Gracie to either sell or donate. Eleanor even threw out the grey knitted gloves she had once given him, at that first winter back in Stamford. What was the point of keeping something so useless? His hands would never need warming ever again. She had seen what holding on to such things had done to Birdie.

She stashed the cardboard box underneath her bed, praying she would forget about it soon enough. It had already hurt too much to have seen their old home emptied, the evidences of their past lives erased to make room for its next tenants, four years of a marriage erased as quickly as the train had stolen Edmund from her.

October had just arrived when the bell rang one afternoon, while Eleanor and Gracie were occupying themselves with tending to fresh lilies they had just bought. It had been Gracie’s idea, and Eleanor knew it to be borrowed from the same strategy they had once used with Birdie — keeping fresh flowers around the flat was only an excuse to keep the curtains drawn and the windows open. It was a funny idea, that they weren’t all that different from plants after all, requiring only sunlight and nutrients and some tending to. Except Eleanor knew they could only ever prevent them from withering too quickly, and that, just like the lilies, she had begun to rot the moment her lifeline had been cut from her.

"Susan," she heard Gracie speak as she opened the door. "Come in."

Susan walked in, glancing around uneasily. Her gaze met Eleanor’s for only a second. "Sorry for coming in unexpectedly. I got your address from Mr. Keatings. I hope you don’t mind."

Eleanor had gotten up. She found herself nodding along. "Of course," she said. 

The three women stood for a second. Then Gracie offered to make them tea, leaving for the kitchen right after. Eleanor gestured for Susan to sit on the sofa, while she herself sat on the armchair across from it. They exchanged small, nervous smiles, which Eleanor found to be encouraging enough.

"Thank you for coming," she finally spoke. "I’m sorry for not reaching out. I… I did not know what to say," she admitted.

"I understand," Susan responded. She fidgeted with the wedding band on her finger. "There is not much to say in a situation such as this."

Gracie came back and placed a tray with an elegant tea set, which had matching cups and saucers and quite the assortment of biscuits, then excused herself back into the kitchen. They poured the drink for themselves, though none of them sipped more than once. Susan still stood rigidly, avoiding Eleanor’s eye, and she looked too deep in thought to be interrupted.

"I am moving back to England," Susan finally announced.

Eleanor blinked. "Oh?" was all she could muster.

"We had always talked about it," Susan continued, "Lenny and me. I do love America, but I have always dreamed of raising a family here. It should be easy enough for Lenny to find work around London, and I believe the schools are more properly suited for our kids’ education."

That terrible, dreadful thought slithered its way back into Eleanor’s mind. If only they had had more time, it hissed, Susan and her siblings would have mended their relationship. They would have gone back to spending holidays together, and soon enough those would have been filled with the laughter of their own children.

She tried smiling. "I am glad to hear it. I really am."

Susan breathed deeply. "This is part of the reason why I came here, in fact. I was hoping to move back into my parents’ house in Finchley. Indefinitely, that is. I’m not sure Mr. Keatings has contacted you, but there is an issue…"

"It’s yours," Eleanor interrupted her. "The house. I do not want it. It should go to you and your family."

The corner of her lips quivered, then Susan smiled and exhaled with her entire body. Her posture at last loosened, and she rested back on the sofa. "Thank you," she cried, her walls crumbling at last.

Eleanor fought the urge to get up and sit by Susan’s side. "Of course," she said. "The memories it carries belong to you. They would not have wanted it any other way." Her voice faltered right at the end. "Besides, I am moving back to Stamford."

Susan frowned. "You are?"

She nodded. "I graduated in the spring. There is nothing holding me here anymore."

It was not the entire truth, of course. But she could not speak on how grief had stained all of her past memories, how it coated every road and every corner. London had always been loud, but the torment it now echoed back to her was too deafening to ignore. The city had become too crowded by the spirits that haunted her. 

Susan did not protest. She looked at Eleanor in a way that seemed that she understood it, too.

"I hope you come and visit," she said. "I would love to have you over."

They smiled then, a kind of smile which was bare of politeness or etiquette — it was plain, genuine. There was a tenderness in Susan’s eyes that was comfortingly familiar. She had looked at Eleanor that way once, before she had forgotten her, before she had forgotten Narnia. How could it be that in only a week, when they would meet with Mr. Keatings in the Fairholme Gardens house, Susan would look at her with so much hatred?

"I believe the day will come," Susan continued, "when we are able to talk about them and smile and laugh. I hope we may stay in touch for that. I know my brother loved you very much, and so did the rest of my family."

Eleanor pushed the thought of Edmund away before she drowned in it. "He missed you very much," she muttered. 

Susan looked away, as if it would help her escape her feelings somehow. "I miss them," she whispered, before she broke entirely. Her words became interlaced with cracks as she covered her face, shaking with her entire body. "And I feel like I should talk about them as much as I can, otherwise they might disappear entirely, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I cannot talk about them in the past tense."

Eleanor watched helplessly, scouting her mind for something to say, but what could she say that would actually make a difference? She thought of talking about how every event in the universe was all happening at once, which meant Edmund and his family were still alive somewhere out there, but even she saw through the idiocy of such an idea. Why would it matter, if they were not here?

"I feel the same way," Eleanor admitted. "I’m terrified I’ll forget them one day."

Susan nodded, still sobbing. "I share the same worries. I am consumed by the remorse, and the horror, and the shame of having abandoned them. Why was I not here? Why was I not with them?"

Eleanor had asked herself those exact questions. Why had she stayed in Stamford for so long? Why hadn’t she warned Edmund, despite his protests that they should not spoil each other of their future? Surely, such an augury should overrule their agreement, shouldn’t it?

"You couldn’t have known," she told Susan. But even if she had, she would still end up drenched in regret. Eleanor had known exactly how long she would have with Edmund, and still she mourned every second from the past years she had not spent in his arms. How many times had she told him she loved him? How many times had she kissed him? Would any of it ever feel sufficient? She remembered counting each quarter of an hour she had spent with him, right at the beginning of it all, feeling like no amount of them would ever satisfy her greed for more. How could she live on now, knowing this craving would never be quenched?

"I became estranged to them," Susan continued, "and they to me. My own family. I visited my aunt and uncle in Cambridge last week, you see. My Aunt Alberta, she… She asked me if I knew why Eustace had been so eager to come to London. She said he had been so agitated to leave. He almost forgot to kiss her goodbye."

Eleanor had not given much thought to the rest of them — it would have been too overpowering, and her heart did not seem big enough to grieve them all. She knew Eustace, Jill, Professor Kirke and Mrs. Plummer had all had their own solemnities. What had those even been like? Eleanor had met Alberta Scrubb, but she had never met Mrs. Plummer’s sons, and she did not know the names of Jill’s parents. What picture had they chosen for their daughter’s funeral? What would they do with the empty bedroom in their house? What would they do with her old school uniforms, her half-used textbooks?

"Did you know?" Susan at last asked. "Why Eustace and Jill were coming to London in such a rush?"

Eleanor eyed Susan, unsure of how much she should disclose. Would knowing the truth benefit her somehow, or would it only make everything worse?

But then she pictured Alberta Scrubb vanquished by grief, by incessant questioning. Even if it didn’t change anything, it was not up to Eleanor to decide. They deserved the truth, whether it was beneficial or injurious.

"Edmund called me earlier that day," she said. "He told me they had seen a vision the night before, when they were dining at Mrs. Plummer’s. It was someone from Narnia asking for help. They crafted a plan to get the magic rings from Professor Kirke’s old house, so that Eustace and Jill could use them to travel to Narnia. They were meeting them at the station to give them the rings."

Susan’s face had gone blank as she listened. She did not frown, or nod, or react at all. She had watched Eleanor, blinking once or twice, but otherwise motionless.

"Narnia?" she finally breathed.

"Yes," Eleanor urged. "Aslan had said the four of you could not return anymore, but Eustace and Jill still could…"

"Stop," Susan commanded.

Eleanor halted, straightening back. Her mouth hung open as she waited for Susan to speak again. Susan’s eyes pierced right through her.

"How fucking dare you," she whispered.

Eleanor blinked. "I’m sorry?"

"How dare you," Susan repeated, her voice twice as loud, "throw such lunacies at me? Are you truly justifying my family’s fate with childhood follies? With fantasies? Stories of make-believe? Are you telling me they died trying to get to an imaginary world of fairytales? That they held onto such delusions until their last breaths?"

"It was not made up," Eleanor protested.

"It was a daydream!" Susan shouted. "Something we created to distract ourselves from the war!"

"That’s not true!" she cried. "Susan, please, you must remember. We were both there, we met there! Don’t you recall the battle against the telmarines, the day of Caspian’s coronation? Do you not remember Cair Paravel? You once said you loved waking up to the crashing of waves."

"Stop it!" Susan shrieked. She had gotten up, and she pointed one trembling finger towards Eleanor. "Stop it. I will not have you disgrace my family’s memory any longer."

"Susan…"

"No," she said, shaking her head and stepping away backwards. "I do not care if you have deceived yourself into this psychosis. I will not hear any more of it."

Susan burst the front door open, though she stopped at the last second. She turned, eyes ablaze, her posture still threatening.

"My brothers and my sister never wanted to grow up," she muttered. "I understand the reluctance — adulthood is not gentle on any of us. I was fine with carrying this burden for them, for a while, but it had to end. That is why I moved to America in the first place. So that I could live a life of my own."

She spoke every syllable slowly, as if steadying herself. She breathed one more time before concluding.

"But all of this talk of Narnia and magic and different worlds… This has to end. They died in this world. That is the truth. That is the reality. And I hope, for your own sake, Eleanor, that you will accept it. Before you, too, succumb to it. Do not sacrifice your youth for a fantasy."

Susan seemed ready to disappear behind a slamming door, but changed her mind at the last second. She corrected her posture, smoothed the lines on her face. When she spoke again, her voice was polished and distant.

"We will need to meet with Mr. Keatings to settle the matter of my parents’ house," she said. "He’ll call you to arrange the details."

Eleanor had not moved from her place in the armchair as she listened to Susan leaving, closing the door delicately behind her. She heard her steps in the hallway, then down the stairs, until they faded away. The room became replenished with unbearable silence, though Eleanor could not break it herself. She simply covered her face and wept as quietly as she could.

The light seemed dimmer when she wiped the last remnants of tears from her face. She took the tea tray back to the kitchen, where Gracie stood busily, watching over something in the oven. The sink was perfectly clean, and Eleanor wondered how Gracie had completed the chore so silently.

"What a pity Susan left so soon," Gracie at last spoke. "The cake was almost ready."

It was enough to make Eleanor laugh, ever so lightly. She closed her eyes and noticed the scent, sugary and citric, filling the room with its warmth. Gracie took the cake out of the oven and served it with fresh new tea, and the two did not talk any further as they ate.

"Did you hear all of it?" Eleanor finally asked. She hoped her tone had not been accusing.

"Only the louder parts," Gracie admitted.

Eleanor chuckled softly. "You must think I’m a lunatic."

Gracie gaped at her. "I would never think that."

Her words had been so sweet, so sincere, they prompted Eleanor into crying once more. It came too easily these days. 

"Thank you," she murmured, hopelessly wiping every new stream that ran down her cheeks. "You have been so kind to me, and to Birdie. You have been a better friend than I ever was. I truly cannot thank you enough for all you’ve been doing."

"Nora…"

"I begrudged you for so long," she continued. "When, really, all you ever did was outgrow us. I’m sorry, Gracie. I’m so sorry. I think we resented you for falling in love before us, for leaving us behind. But I did the same. I left for London and didn’t look back until it was too late."

"Nora." Gracie took her hand, cupping over it. "We don’t have to talk about this now."

"I’d rather get it all out once," Eleanor replied, trying for a smile. "I mean it."

Gracie seemed to be studying her, but she eventually acquiesced. She sighed, reaching for old sentiments. "I have conversed extensively with Birdie about this already," she disclosed. "I know I changed, and that’s why we all grew apart. I know I always went on for a bit too long about Alby’s family money and all that. I won’t pretend I didn’t like the idea of it. I won’t pretend I don’t still indulge in it."

She looked around the beautifully decorated kitchen, with its high ceilings and modern appliances.

"I knew Alby’s family would think I was marrying him for their wealth," she continued. "I knew people in Stamford would talk. But I didn’t think you and Birdie would, too. I thought you knew my heart better."

Eleanor swallowed. She could barely taste the sweetness of Gracie’s cake anymore. "We should have known better," she replied. "We probably did know better. But we were too clouded with our feelings of hurt and jealousy to admit it."

Gracie shook her head lightly. "I have let go of any bitterness from those days. Truly. We were too young to look past the borders of our own selfish hearts."

"Do you think Birdie still resents me?" she asked quietly. "For abandoning her at Stamford?"

Gracie sighed. She seemed pensieve, as if evaluating the weight of each word she was about to say. "I think Birdie felt abandoned by too many of us — you, me, Theo, Grant. But you shouldn’t feel liable for her pain. And you shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting more than what Stamford could offer you. I was actually always so proud of you for chasing your dreams so boldly. Birdie was, too."

Gracie’s kindness barely seemed to reach her. All she could think was how it seemed the lesson she was learning was the exact opposite, that she should never have left Stamford at all. It had cast her into the worst of pains, one she still could not believe she would crawl out of. But she would not pull her friend into her pit, so she only nodded in response.

"The people that we love don’t just walk out of our hearts," Gracie said. "We will always be there for one another."

Eleanor didn’t have enough strength left inside her. She clutched more tightly to Gracie’s hand.

"And, if I may be so bold," Gracie began, "I think Susan cares about you, despite all of it. I hope you do not give up on one another."

Eleanor looked down, still hearing the echoes of Susan’s harshness. "Don’t you think she has already given up on me?"

"It’s not over, Nora. Not unless you have given up on her, too."

She thought of the way Susan had spoken of her family, how her heart had shattered right in the middle of the living room. She had never given up on her siblings, not during all of those years living in America. Eleanor suspected, deep down, neither had them given up on her.

So how could she?

"I love her," she conceded. "So I will not walk away from her."

Gracie smiled, and they cut two more pieces of cake. They ate through the rest of it by themselves entirely, skipping supper that evening, going to bed straight after. Despite the excessive sugar, that was the first night Eleanor slept soundly, uninterruptedly, since the accident.

Mr. Keatings called her the next day, and he proposed they meet at the Pevensies’ Fairholme Gardens house, where Susan and Leonard were staying, on the seventh. It was a day Eleanor had already lived through, and she wondered how it would be to live it again. She had no idea whether she would meet a past version of herself if she walked into the appointment.

When the day came, she dressed in her tweed two-piece and set off to the streets of London. She had not decided upon it, but her feet took her to a familiar path underground, and she disembarked at Finchley Central station. She had been standing on the platform, wondering whether she should make the way to Fairholme Gardens, when she heard music.

She knew this melody all too well. It had transported her many times — to danger, to despair, to haven. It was calling her, serenading her. She could not ignore it even if she tried.

"No," was all she could say, somewhere between this world and the next. "Not now."

But the ground had disappeared from beneath her, and she was already falling.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 1014

The light was still blinding when Eleanor found ground to stand on once again. The platform floor had dissolved from beneath her, causing her to slip and roll around until she was mostly covered in mud. She got back up with difficulty, as her eyes still adjusted to the brightness. It did not surprise her to recognise the woods she had emerged in, once she could at last take in her surroundings; they welcomed her with a mother’s embrace.

She simply stood there for a while. She admired the loveliness of the scenery and the symphony of the forest’s sounds, but she saw them through the bittersweet lenses of someone who knew she would soon have to bid them a final farewell. This was the last time she would ever be in Narnia, she knew it. The final hourglass had turned, and the grains of sand already slipped carelessly through its opening.

She began making her way through the trees, wondering where she had come out to. It did not take long for her to notice a faint trail on the ground, where feet and hooves and paws had continuously forced the earth into a smoother surface, a pathway made apparent by an absence of trees. Time slipped away from her as she followed it, and soon enough she heard nearing voices. There were many of them, all chatting excitedly over one another.

"By the Lion!"

A group of nymphs seemed to emerge from the air itself, or perhaps they had been so harmonious with the nature around them Eleanor had not noticed them until they were in front of her. There were five of them, all dressed in light fabrics the colours of spring. Four of them had aghast looks on their faces, though one gawked at Eleanor with amusement.

"Dear girl," the closest dryad said, taking a step forward. "Whatever happened to you?"

Eleanor realised her clothes were covered in mud, twigs and leaves, and the length of her skirt was likely interpreted as having been torn. She must have been quite a frightening sight, indeed, for the unsuspecting narnians.

"I fell," she answered, smirking at the half-truth of her words.

"Oh, poor thing," the dryad cried in return. "Let us help you!"

They took her to a stream of water to cleanse, and they gave her a dress like their own, and they braided her hair and adorned it with wild flowers. She left the brown tweed amongst the moss covered rocks, but kept the golden ring on her finger. It would have likely returned to her hand when she eventually travelled back to England, but she would not risk it.

Soon enough, she looked like one of them, and she decided to join their group as they strolled along.

"Are you travelling somewhere?" she asked.

"To Cair Paravel!" one of them replied. "For the tournament!"

Eleanor felt her legs falter for a second when she heard the castle’s name. This time, there was no doubt who sat on its thrones. "Tournament?" she repeated.

"The High King is throwing one for a visiting foreign prince. It is supposed to last an entire week, with a great feast to accompany each of its nights! There are musicians coming in from Galma and Terebinthia, and caskets of wine coming from Archenland!"

Eleanor could not keep present as the nymphs carried on their conversation. The words they spoke seemed as those from dreams — strange and familiar, but barely believable. It was strenuous to try and care about fairytale festivities when she had awoken that same morning to meet with Susan and Mr. Keatings to discuss Mr. Pevensie’s will. She had walked along the loud neighbourhoods of London, swerving from buses and cars through its hot pavement, and she had discussed the morning paper with Gracie. They had commented on the ongoing football league championship, as well as on a new film which had won an important award. They had drunk coffee made from an electric machine. She still wore some of the perfume Gracie had lent her, which had come all the way from Paris.

But it was no use to try and deny her situation, for soon they had left the woods and hiked upon a large plot of grass atop a great cliff. The warm scent of the ocean blew on her face, and in the distance she saw a gleaming, imposing structure. Cair Paravel sat upon a towering mountain of rocks, as if it had been a sculpture carved from within it. Greenery sprouted from every corner, turning the structure into as much part of nature as the mountains themselves, and there were more towers than Eleanor could have counted. She realised, then, the castle Caspian had rebuilt had been no more than a shadow of the true Golden Age. The silhouette might have resembled it, the size might have been comparable, but it would never match its rightful splendour. This castle stood so closely to the heavens it seemed to be gilded by sunlight itself.

Narnia came to life as they drew nearer. A faun played his flute by a corner, a hare and a hedgehog were having a tea party in a grass lawn, and an eminence of centaurs galloped by. There were at least a dozen ships by the harbour, and Eleanor thought she had never seen a sight so magnificent. Once they reached the castle’s entrance, all kinds of creatures could be seen already wearing armour for the tournament — from men, to dwarves, to centaurs, to satyrs, to minotaurs. Eleanor could taste the thrill in the air, and she could not help but absorb it herself.

A fair had taken over the streets. Eleanor saw jars of honey and jam, stacks of all sorts of cheese, hangers filled with silk gowns and cloaks, cushions with hairpins garnished with glistening stones, caskets of mead and wine, rare books and rolled up parchment, flowers and vases and sweets and jewellery. She had been so engrossed by the vendors and their products that she barely registered the trumpets in time. 

"Way! Way! Way!" A voice followed them, loud and clear. "Way for Prince Rabadash, heir of Calormen, eldest son of the great Tisroc — may he live forever!"

Only a few amongst the crowd gave way, Eleanor herself included, mostly out of curiosity. She had heard the tale of Prince Rabadash a great many times, and she stood on the tip of her toes to try and see whether he came in human or donkey form. But only a litter passed by, and soon enough it disappeared behind the masses.

"He must be here to court Susan," she whispered to herself.

She remembered the story mostly due to Caspian, who had once loved it so much. Edmund himself had never told it to her in much detail, and now she understood why: it was because she had yet to live it with him.

So they were at the very end of their reign. The White Witch had been defeated almost a decade and a half before, and soon the Pevensies would return to England, and the telmarines would invade, and all traces of the Golden Age would slowly disappear into ruins and hushed out tales.

She turned to the castle, gazing at its walls, picturing those inside it. Edmund, Lucy, Peter and Susan were around somewhere, still alive, still together. They would meet her for the first time, while she would meet them for her last. She had anticipated this moment for so many years, she already grieved how short it would be. Was there any point in trying to heal her heart with their company, only temporarily, and then have it shatter again? How would she even survive another farewell? Could she bear to mourn a second time?

But the sight was too splendid, the atmosphere too lively, and she could not hold sorrow too long inside her. She let the nymphs take her along to the castle gardens, where they took to decorating. They told her the first night of feasting would honour springtime, and so the entire place was being covered in as many flowers as they could manage. The walls were lined with carnations and roses, hydrangeas wrapped themselves around ornate columns, climbing as high as the ceiling, and wisteria fell from every one of the castle’s arched passages. The familiar perfume of hyacinth was mixed into the saltiness of the breeze, and for a while Eleanor could believe she was nineteen again, realising this magical land could be called home by her, too.

"Oh, my," a sweet voice cried. "This is lovely!"

They all turned to find a noble woman coming in their direction. Her curls bounced as she skipped across the garden, twirling along as she admired her surroundings, glistening under the sunlight. Her smile was as delightful as it was familiar, and Eleanor could not help but beam at her glory. Lucy looked the happiest she had ever seen.

"You have truly outdone yourselves," Lucy said, taking each dryad by their hands and spinning with them. "Please, please tell me you will dance tonight!"

"Of course, Your Majesty," they replied. "This is the reason we came!"

"And who might you be?" Lucy finally noticed her. "I do not think we have been introduced."

Eleanor was still gawking at her in astonishment. It was eerie to behold Lucy carrying the years she had been robbed. She did not look too different — her cheeks were a bit slimmer, her eyes slightly deeper — but she stood with unshakeable grace and confidence. Most of all, she brimmed with liveliness. How could it be fair that, in another life, Lucy would be frozen in girlhood forever?

Eleanor fought the lump in her throat before her silence dragged for too long. Lucy was standing in front of her, waiting for her introduction. 

"Your Majesty," she at last spoke, bowing graciously. "My name is Elle."

"And what kind of dryad are you?"

"None. I fell and ruined my clothes, and the nymphs were kind enough to dress me with their own garments."

Lucy looked afflicted. "What a pity! Well, you look beautiful either way. Though, if you would like it, I could give you a dress of mine. I have so many to spare."

She shook her head. "Thank you so much for your kindness, Your Majesty, but that is not at all necessary…"

"Oh, do indulge me," Lucy pleaded, taking her by the hands. "It would be my pleasure. I know just the dress!"

Eleanor thought it would have been impolite to refuse, so she allowed Lucy to lead her through the castle to her chambers. Her heart raced as they traversed it, and she kept spying each curve, each passage, each set of stairs. It was yearning just as much as it was dread; she couldn’t decide whether she was glad or disappointed when they reached Lucy’s chambers without any further encounters. She was given a light green gown, which had details in white lace and peridot beads woven into embroidered patterns, and a naiad came and braided their hairs. Lucy’s was adorned with a crown made out of golden laurel leaves.

It was so comforting spending time again with her, being nothing but girls together, Eleanor could almost deceive herself into forgetting the cruel truth of it all. They were not friends, not yet, and Lucy was only being this gracious due to her own kind nature, not because of any particular fondness for her. Yet every shared laughter beguiled her into letting her guard down, into allowing herself to indulge into this daydream, and soon enough she had given into it. After all, she was already here, wasn’t she? Why should she try and fight it?

"The tournament must be over," Lucy announced, once they heard distant trumpets. "And we shall be feasting very soon!"

Eleanor drew in as much air as she could. Her insides tingled unbearably, and the seconds had taken to dragging themselves in front of her.

Edmund would be at the feast. Every cell in her body already burned for the moment she would be reunited with him. She no longer cared about him not recognising her, nor about the fact she would have to say goodbye to him again. He was here, he was alive, and he was so close. He was so close.

The sun was not done lowering in the sky when they began descending into the great hall. Eleanor had pried at her own reflection one final time before they left, worrying about the way she looked. She knew it was silly of her, for Edmund had already promised to fall in love with her, but she couldn’t help but feel distressed either way. They followed the echoing tune into the feast, which had already commenced, and emerged into a grand salon.

It was a sight made for a painting. Three of the room’s walls broached arches into the ocean, bringing light and salt air inside. Four thrones stood in front of the furthest wall, where an intricate stained glass window cast a golden tint throughout the entire space. Eleanor had read enough books and seen enough illustrations to know Edmund’s seat was at the furthest left side.

"Oh, look, there is my sister!" Lucy suddenly cheered from her side.

Eleanor followed her gaze to find Susan, stunning in her peach gown, radiant as she stood on a circle with a group of narnians. Her face lit up when she spotted her sister, who rushed to her side. Eleanor had only a second before Lucy pointed in her direction, and Susan’s eyes fell on her.

It was enough to bring back the accusations Susan had thrown at her, the grudge, the loathing. The fantasy crumbled around her, and for a second Eleanor was back at Gracie’s apartment, at the Fairholme Gardens house, at the church of the Pevensies’ funeral. The flowers around her transformed into fresh lilies in glass vases, into pink peonies on a dark bathroom wallpaper, into white bouquets covering wooden caskets. Guilt and grief wrapped themselves around her, suffocating her with the familiar feelings she had tried to bury. Before Eleanor could stop herself, she was running, rushing down hallways, climbing stairs up and down, turning left and right and right and left. She only stopped when it had turned quiet, and she emerged at some sort of greenhouse.

There was a water fountain at a corner, where a stream of water fell out of a stone lion’s mouth. Eleanor drank from it and then collapsed at the floor, hiding among the greenery, hoping it would shield her from her pain. She counted her breaths as she waited for her heart to slow, for her face to cool.

Her distress was not rational. She had no reason to avoid Susan — not in this world. This version of Susan had not met her yet, did not resent her yet. She was acting like a coward, she knew it. She needed to recompose herself so she could return to the feast and meet with Edmund. Every second she spent hidden was one second less she would ever have with Edmund, with Lucy, with Peter, and she had none of those to spare.

But then she heard voices, and the greenhouse’s door creaked open. She could only detect one person’s footsteps, though two male voices were speaking.

"Have you any concerns, Sire?" one of them said.

"Not presently, Sallowpad," the other replied. "Only a hunch, I dare say. He behaved quite decorously today, but I would not expect it any differently, for the Queen Susan was watching from the stands. It would be an entirely different thing…"

Eleanor’s heart had begun thumping too loudly for her to pay any more attention to the ongoing conversation. She had run out of air, she had been drained of coherence. Every single one of her organs failed simultaneously, longing for that voice which had called for her infinite times, which had whispered poetry and hummed melodies into her ear.

"Who is there?"

The sudden query forced her into sobriety. She realised she had, in her excitement, hit a nearby vase, and doing so she had revealed herself. 

"Come out at once," Edmund commanded.

She obeyed. How could she not surrender to anything he asked?

And there he was, only a few feet away. Her twin soul, her husband, the only man she had ever loved. Still living and breathing, looking the oldest he would ever become. He was as handsome as ever, dressed in elegant olive robes, wearing his silver crown. His stance was not threatening, but it was commanding, and he analysed her with suspicion. There was a very large raven sitting on a stone sculpture next to him, gazing at her with equal wariness.

Ed , she wanted to shout. She wanted to run at him, nestle in his arms, feel his lips on hers. Instead, she bowed.

"Your Majesty."

His stare did not falter. "Madam," he nodded, "will you introduce yourself?"

Her fingertips trembled, and she joined her hands in the back to cover her fidgeting. She spinned the golden ring around and repositioned it on her middle finger. "I am called Elle."

"Were you eavesdropping?"

"Not on purpose, Sire," she replied. There was no use in lying.

"What were you doing on this side of the castle? The feast is happening by the east wing."

She had been about to answer when he frowned, gaping downwards.

"Wait," he said, taking a step in her direction. "I know this dress. It is my sister’s."

It was so subtle a gesture she could have mistaken it, but for a second he seemed to reach for the hilt of his sword.

"She lent it to me, Your Majesty," Eleanor spurted. "I was to keep her company throughout tonight’s festivities, but I felt an urgent need for air and came here instead."

He looked up to the glass ceiling. "To a greenhouse?"

"It was not so crowded until just now."

A hint of amusement almost surfaced to the corner of his lips, though his hand still hovered near the weapon he carried.

"Let us return to the great hall," he said at last.

He gestured for her to take the lead, while he and the raven followed. He eventually drew to her side so he could show the way, and they walked in silence. Each hallway seemed to stretch for a mile, every staircase towered as high as a mountain. Her hand broiled wanting to reach for his, but she kept her fists closed. She thought back to the first time they had walked together in Stamford, making the way from St. George’s church to her house. Had Edmund felt even a fraction of this torment then? How could he have managed any amount of restraint?

At last, when she thought she was about to combust into ashes, they reached the feast. Lucy was summoned to them immediately.

"Of course she is my friend, Ed!" Lucy protested, as soon as he inquired. "I gave her a dress I thought would match her eyes, and I believe I have done quite a fine job at it! I hope you did not treat her poorly."

Edmund’s face was as stern as ever, his demeanour unwavering. He did not appear apologetic — he was a king, after all, one who had worn his crown for almost fifteen years. "It seems you are my sister’s guest, madam," he turned to Eleanor. "All’s well. I should advise you, however, to pay more care not to hide in places where you might hear what is meant for others’ ears."

Eleanor still gaped at him. She could not help but feel entranced by his eyes, his voice, his words, even when they were reprehending her.

"Of course, Your Majesty," she mumbled.

Lucy sighed. "Come on, Elle," she said, taking her by the arm. "Let me introduce you to some more welcoming friends."

Eleanor was redirected elsewhere, and Edmund disappeared in the crowd behind her. Lucy introduced her dearest friend, the faun Tumnus, and a number of others who had once only been characters in the Pevensies’ stories. It was amusing to put faces to the names, but Eleanor’s mind was only half present for it, flashing back to Edmund instead. She kept scouring the party for his familiar figure, hoping for a glimpse of silver, longing for the sight of a dark haired man.

"My eldest brother, the High King Peter," Lucy announced at one point, "and my sister, the Queen Susan."

This time, Eleanor stood her ground. She wielded herself into seeing exactly who was standing in front of her instead of through them, instead of grieving what they would become. Peter and Susan were smiling kindly at her.

"Your Majesties," she bowed, "it is my greatest honour."

"Be welcome," Peter replied.

"I hope we will meet on the dance floor in a few moments," Susan said.

Eleanor beamed back, subdued by her gentleness. "I would like that very much."

They did not converse any further, for Prince Rabadash intervened, seizing their attention. He was dressed more sumptuously than his royal hosts, and had strikingly handsome features — high stature, hazel eyes and a sharp jawline — though Eleanor could not find them appealing, perhaps due to her already knowing his vile nature. He did not glance at her once as she excused herself, weaving through the dancing nymphs and fauns.

Edmund stood at a distance, conversing with two Calormen nobles who must have been from Rabadash’s party. Eleanor sulked at a corner, resisting the urge to stare at him every five seconds, until the dryads who had found her in the woods came and pulled her into their dancing circle. It had been eight years since Lucy had taught her traditional Narnian dances, during those few days before Caspian’s coronation, yet every step and move came to her as if she had rehearsed it her entire life. Her body felt lighter at each twirl, as if she could spin her afflictions away. For a moment, she could believe she had never left Narnia, and she had never known anything but dancing, riding, swimming and stargazing.

She met Lucy and Susan a few times throughout the dance floor. The joyous tune did not allow for conversations, so they only giggled at each other as they bounced around, sometimes taking each other’s arms, sometimes circling in synchrony. Eleanor’s peripheral vision was constantly vigilant for Edmund, though he never joined. He and Peter remained at the sides, watching, as they entertained their Calormen guests.

Hours had flown before Eleanor felt as if she could not stand any longer. She excused herself and took a drink to the balcony, resting upon it as she caught her breath. Night had long settled around the castle, and the moon was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, enveloping all in darkness. She could hear the restlessness of the ocean nearby, but it was almost impossible to discern where it came from.

"Out for some air?"

Eleanor turned to find Edmund approaching her. He looked serious, though she had learned to read him well enough to know he was not in a poor mood.

She smiled, for she could not help it. "Indeed, Your Majesty."

"This seems like a much better suited spot," he commented, settling beside her. A gust of wind blew on the hair around his face, and she watched it as if he was a painting coming to life before her eyes.

"Yes," she replied breathlessly, "though it seems to have become just as crowded."

His eyes glistened with bewilderment for a second, though he quickly flashed a grin — a small glimpse into Ed, instead of King Edmund.

"It seems so," he muttered humorously. Then he added, his words stripped of regal formality, "I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Could we start over?"

She left out a half-chuckle. This was the third time he had asked her this question — the first under the snow in Stamford, the second at Doctor Cornelius’ study. Each time, he had known her less. Each time, she had loved him more.

"Of course," she replied. Always .

He seemed pleased, then gestured for them to sit at a bench. "You seem to know all of our dances quite well," he said. "But I do not recall ever seeing you in court before. I believe I would have remembered it."

She felt as giddy as a schoolgirl upon learning he had watched her dance, as if he hadn’t already declared himself for her, time and time again. "This is my first time at Cair Paravel, Your Majesty," she said. It was not a lie, not exactly.

"And how do you find it?"

"More beautiful than I could have ever imagined. And I have heard tales of it my whole life."

He smiled briefly. "It has been so long," he murmured, "I almost forget the stupor it was to behold it for the first time — I remember thinking no other place in the world could be so glorious. And now I call it my home."

"There is no sentiment more honourable than feeling at home."

"Perhaps not," he agreed. "Forgive me, madam, I did not ask you where you come from."

She stuttered for a second. "Narrowhaven," she finally said.

"Oh. It has been years since we last visited the Lone Islands, though I remember them being quite splendid."

"I have some very fond memories from there. Well," she made a face, thinking of a night spent at a slaver ship. "Others, I am not so fond of."

He laughed. "That is the thing about homes. Our memories will trick us into missing the good and forgetting the bad."

She frowned. "Do you have bad memories of here?" she asked. It seemed a place too delightful for it.

"No," he answered, sobering into faint wistfulness. "Of my previous home."

Eleanor had to focus on keeping still. Her body ached to wrap itself around Edmund, to rest her head on his shoulders, to kiss the top of his head and tell him he would return to his family one day and mend the shreds of their past. She wished she could tell him he would build a life he would pride himself on, even if for so little time, even if it was not the full expansion of all he could dream.

"Though there have been a few mortifying moments here," he added. "My siblings will not let me forget them."

She tried holding back her grin. "Such as what?"

"I suppose my sister Lucy would tell you all about them, wouldn’t she?" he sighed. "Well, there was this one time I confused a non-talking horse for a very important war leader from the Western March. I simply thought he was the quieter type. I had spent an hour telling him about our strategies before the High King found us, and I realised the animal beside me did not understand a single word I had spoken."

She had laughed, and he had taken it as incentive for telling her more stories. Some of them were as silly as the first, while others were riveting and suspenseful. She had heard most of them before, but she revelled in listening either way. It was like witnessing a shooting star cross the same path over and over again, a miracle she could relive knowing its tragic rarity. 

When they finally noticed the clouds were withdrawing, and the sky behind it was transitioning into lilac, they turned back to find the great hall quiet and empty.

"The feast has ended already," she whispered. At some point, the music had stopped, the dance floor had been cleared, and neither of them had noticed it.

"It seems time has slipped right by us," he replied.

She got up and walked to the balcony. Dawn had revealed the ocean at last, and the first rays of a new day already glimmered on its surface. Edmund came and stood next to her as the sun rose from behind the sea, covering them in its golden light, forcing them to squint at it.

How could her first day back have ended already? She did not know how long she would stay in Narnia for this final time, only that it would not last forever. Perhaps she would have months, perhaps only weeks, or perhaps only days. The only certainty she had was that she could only have as long as the Pevensies would remain in Narnia, until the day the White Stag would be sighted and they would find their way back through the wardrobe as they hunted for it.

"You do not look very captivated," Edmund noted.

She tried administering the expressions that battled to surface to her face. "I don’t think I’m fond of anything that reminds me of the passage of time."

"Even dawn?" he asked, surprised. "Perhaps it is because I witness it so rarely, but I am quite fond of it. It reminds me of new beginnings. It is proof we needn’t feel chained to our past. No matter the storm we might have endured in the night, the sky can still dawn as clear as ever. We can always turn a new page."

She thought of how his own story would one day be interrupted, without warning, without closure, with only half a sentence to pass off as an ending. This noble king, this fearless warrior, this great man — he would one day be nothing but a cardboard box of old things, small enough to fit under her bed. 

"That is not always true," she replied bitterly. "There is no guarantee of how many pages one has left."

He frowned and blinked a few times, turning back into the rising sun. Seagulls were already swarming by, singing into the morning.

"Perhaps that is only more reason," he said at last. "We should seize every opportunity, relish every chance for a new beginning."

She did not respond, allowing for the thought to sink in. The pale tonalities of the sky had been washed away by bright amber, and all around them the colours of Narnia grew vibrant. She looked at Edmund, gazing at the strands of his hair stirring in the breeze, the flush behind the paleness of his cheeks, the almost imperceptible vein twitching in his neck. This man she had lost, whom she had buried and mourned and missed, was now standing beside her. Perhaps it was not so much a punishment to have been brought back, but a favour. Who else had the privilege of hearing words of comfort from the very person they grieved?

"I believe you might be correct," she said, hoping the wind blew strongly enough to dry the water in her eyes. She beamed at him. "Thank you for your wisdom, Your Majesty."

He must have not been expecting such a response, for he stuttered. Once again, King Edmund disappeared behind a stupefied boy. "Of course," he responded, promptly reclaiming his noble facade. "It is part of my occupation."

She laughed. "Of being a king?"

He smiled. "Precisely. I spend most of my time counselling my brother and sisters."

"And if I may say so, you have done a fine job at it."

He nodded in acknowledgement, and Eleanor thought she noticed a discreet blush on his ears. He then asked to escort her back into her lodging and, upon hearing she had none, provided a room of her own within the castle. It was on one of the highest towers, and the sun scorched through the open windows. Eleanor was already planning on rushing towards the curtains when she turned to thank Edmund one final time.

"It is no trouble," he said. Then he shifted his weight from one leg to another and asked slowly, pausing in between every word, "Will you stay for the entirety of the tournament?"

"I would love to," she replied. "If Your Majesty would permit it."

He nodded one final time. "Very well. I will see you later today then," he chuckled, "most likely."

She let the warm feeling spread inside her. "Goodnight, Your Majesty."

He smirked. "Goodnight, my lady."

Chapter Text

Narnia, 1014

Every morning, Eleanor explored Cair Paravel — sometimes by herself, other times accompanied by Lucy, and once even with Susan and Rabadash, though the two mostly strolled lazily from a distance, entranced in their own conversation. Eleanor, on the other hand, was eager to get acquainted with every corner of their home, from its sumptuous dining halls and grand libraries to the most enchanting gardens. There was an observatory on top of the highest tower, with a telescope so big Eleanor thought they might even glimpse the entrance to Aslan’s Country, if they searched far enough in the east. She looked up and wondered if Ramandu could watch over them, from wherever it was he lived in the heavens.

The tournament took place in the afternoon, each day a different competition. Eleanor was surprised to watch Edmund win the archery competition, much to Lucy’s dismay, though Susan herself had preferred to sit with Mr. Tumnus by the stands. Edmund, Peter and Rabadash would place first in most of the trials, through both talent and esteem from their fellow competitors. A scrawny looking knight managed to rise among the rankings of the jousting matches, until it was revealed he was in fact a young boy, no older than twelve or thirteen, who had sneaked into the field with a dwarf’s armour. Later, Eleanor found out he was actually Prince Corin of Archenland, who was also visiting the country. She marvelled at the sight of this kid, smaller than herself, who would one day be celebrated in history books for defeating his enemies with nothing but his bare hands.

At night, the kings and queens of Narnia hosted a different themed feast. The spring feast was followed by summer, then autumn, then winter. The fifth night honoured the sun itself, and they all dressed in golden robes and wore gilded adornments with star polygons. The sixth night celebrated the moon, so they gathered draped in silver silk, and the seventh night was in praise of the stars. They drew on an outdoor patio so the heavens could bear witness as they danced. As Eleanor watched the kings and queens twirling about, all dressed in the most resplendent tunics and gowns, she found her mind drifting elsewhere.

Narnia was idyllic as always, yet Eleanor could not absorb herself entirely into it. She would be brushing her hair and see Gracie’s reflection in the mirror instead, reminding her of the friend she had just reconnected with, whom she had left in a different world. She would watch the ocean and think of Birdie, Theo, and everyone back in Stamford. She would lie in bed at night, in the regal quarters of this mythical fortress, and think of Susan and Leonard in the Pevensies’ Fairholme Gardens house, and she would wonder how she could ever make amends with them. Would she visit them in London, or would they spend the rest of their lives apart? Would Susan one day have children of their own? Would she be a stranger to them?

The song ended, and everyone was suddenly clapping. Eleanor blinked and joined in the praise, forcing herself to feel the brush of the wind on her collar, the liveliness of chatter around her, the solidity of the ground beneath. This was a dream, one she would soon wake up from, but she would never dream it again. She would do well to cherish it for as long as she could still dwell in it.

She found Edmund in the distance. It anchored her back into this reality.

His gaze met hers, and he made his way towards her. "Will you join me, my lady?" he asked, offering his hand. A slower tune had roused the dancing crowd into pairing up, joined by hands and hips as they twirled about.

"It would be my honour, Your Majesty," she replied, accepting it. She was glad for the glove that separated the touch of their palms as they took their places amongst the other couples, for only a brush of his bare skin would have been a punishment too sweet to endure.

They danced in silence for a bit, and it was as comfortable as lying in bed together in their old London flat. This was their first dance just as much as it was their thousandth, she realised, and perhaps it didn’t matter what memories this Edmund carried. This was the language their love was fluent on, a dialect they had created together, one only the two of them could speak. She would teach it to him, just as he had once taught it to her.

"Did you enjoy the tournament?" Edmund spoke at last.

She looked into his eyes, realising she could fall for their darkness, time and time again, for an entire lifetime.

"It was splendid," she confessed, smiling. "I had never witnessed such an event myself. Nor have I ever seen more skilled participants. Your Majesty was quite a marvel at archery, if I may say so. I had heard tales of your talents at duelling, but must admit I did not anticipate such versatile proficiency."

His fluster brought a tingling to her stomach. It was too delightful to tear down his armour, to dig for the Edmund who shielded behind the king. 

"It is not so much talent," he replied, "as it was training, my lady. Rest assured my abilities were only built over the years. My sister Susan was always the most natural with a bow, even if she will so often deny her gift."

"I could argue that perseverance should be just as esteemed as natural talent," she countered.

He was quiet for a bit. "Perhaps," he finally said, "depending on the reason behind it. If it was simply for ambition, for pride, then it would not be so honourable, would it?"

"Was that what drove you?" she asked quietly, hoping he did not hear judgement in her tone.

"Not exactly," he muttered. "I think it was repentance, most of all."

She was struck silent for a moment. This was the oldest she had ever seen Edmund, yet he was the greenest at heart. He would still spend his entire life fighting a feeling of worthlessness, trying to build a version of himself big enough to eclipse the sins in his past.

They did not talk too much until the final song ended, and he accompanied her back into her room. She had been about to bid him goodnight when he called her back.

"My lady," he said, "tomorrow Prince Rabadash will return to Calormen. Queen Susan and I will sail there, for he has invited us to stay at his palace. The High King will soon depart for our northern borders, so Queen Lucy will sit at Cair Paravel."

Eleanor nodded, and her heartbeat rushed as she grew with fear. This could not be goodbye already, could it?

"Oh," she uttered. "I hope you will enjoy your travel, Your Majesty. I have heard Calormen has a great many beauties."

"I was actually wondering whether you would like to come along," he said. He rearranged his stance and stood straighter. "Queen Susan would benefit from having a lady in her company."

Eleanor beamed, concentrating all of her will not to start skipping around. "I would love to," she replied. "I have never been to Calormen myself. I have heard it is a most exquisite place."

Edmund smiled. "Very well. We are set to depart at noon."

She nodded. "Thank you for inviting me, Your Majesty. I am honoured."

He crossed his hands behind his back and took a step closer. "If you would not mind," he began uneasily, still looking down, "I would prefer it if you called me Edmund, when we are by ourselves. I cannot help but find it strange to keep up the formality around you."

Her chest ached with tenderness and longing. "Alright," she replied, smiling. "But you must call me Elle in return."

He had agreed, and she both laughed and sobbed as she lay in bed that night.

They departed the next day on a ship called the Splendour Hyaline, a multi-decked galleon which exhibited the grandeur and force of the Golden Age. Eleanor loved spending time at the poop, watching the horizon line, feeling the breeze on her hair. If she closed her eyes, she could picture a young Caspian beside her, handling the sails or steering the ship itself. If she focused on the glistening water beneath, she could conjure Reepicheep’s humming, and she could almost bring herself into feeling Lord Drinian’s quiet presence.

Her purpose had been to keep company with Susan, but Susan kept busy with coddling Prince Corin to his needs, so they spent a great deal of time on deck. The two of them mostly watched from the sides as Corin pestered the crew around, climbing the masts and swinging around with ropes. At one point, he took a sword from Thornbut, a red dwarf within the royal party, and began petitioning for the crew to join him in a duel.

"Corin, Corin, have you not learned?" Susan pleaded. "You are much too young to participate in such perilous activities."

"Indeed, princeling," Tumnus agreed. "You are not to receive your first suit of armour and war horse until your next birthday. It shall come very soon. Remember the High King himself has promised your royal father he will make you knight at Cair Paravel when you come of age."

"But how will I become a knight if I do not commence my training?" Corin countered, swooshing the sword in the air.

"You will find, my young prince, that the noblest course of action is to avoid battles," Edmund appeared, gazing at him sternly. "Not to demand them at your own whim."

"That is easy enough for you to say, Sire," Corin said. "Your Majesty has already fought in countless battles."

Eleanor could not help but think of her own younger self, and how desperate she had once been to grow up. Back when she, Birdie and Gracie would sit at the Radcliffes’ garden and pretend to host tea parties for their dolls, popping their little fingers as they held their cups, sneaking into high heels and painting themselves with Mrs. Radcliffe’s makeup.

"Can’t Your Majesty train with me?" Corin still pleaded. He then turned to Lord Peridan, who manned the ship’s till nearby. "What about you, sir? I saw you in the tournament, you were quite skillful yourself."

Susan and Edmund laughed as Prince Corin went about the deck, nagging the crew for someone to join him. At last, he reached Eleanor, and she smiled at him. 

"I will join you, Your Highness." She then turned to Susan and Edmund. "If it is not an issue with Your Majesties, of course."

Edmund stood up, looking puzzled. "It is not an issue to us," he said carefully. "But do not feel an obligation to comply with the prince’s desires."

She shook her head. "Not at all. I am actually eager to put myself to the test. It has been so long since I have held a sword."

Edmund drew out the sword from his own belt and gave it to her. Eleanor and Corin then positioned themselves at the centre of the deck, surrounded by a few curious spectators, and began pacing around. She could not have held her ground had she been back in England, but the salt in the breeze was familiar enough to awaken the abilities she had once trained with both Edmund and Drinian, years ago, at a ship not too different from this one. At the first clashing of metal, she had already remembered every lesson she had ever learned.

Corin was stronger than he appeared, and his advances were sharp and earnest, but his lack of formal training made it easy enough for Eleanor to disarm him. By the time his sword fell on the wooden deck for a fifth time, the prince’s face had grown red with effort, and Edmund and Susan both looked like they were trying very hard to cover up the amusement in their expressions.

"Why, Madam, you are very well trained!" Corin squawked, still regaining his balance.

Eleanor blushed, realising perhaps it hadn’t been the brightest idea to fight the heir of Archenland. "Your Highness…" she began to stutter an apology.

"You must train me," he urged. "Please, let us take advantage of this time aboard and practise!"

Thankfully, Edmund came to her rescue. "Leave the lady to be," he said. "When the time comes, your father will grant Your Highness an instructor of your own. Until then, I would advise patience."

Corin had sighed and left mumbling, and Eleanor thought Edmund’s words had had no effect on the young prince. Susan and Tumnus followed him to his cabin, while the deck cleared of all but Lord Peridan. Eleanor gave Edmund his sword back, which he placed carefully back in its sheath.

"I am curious," muttered Edmund, as they positioned themselves by the ship’s railing, "on where you learned to fight. Your technique was quite impressive."

Eleanor fought the urge to laugh, knowing Edmund was complimenting his own craft. "I had a great tutor once," she said.

He eyed her thoughtfully. "You are most unexpected," he said quietly.

They stared at each other for a second, then turned immediately to the sea, watching the waves crashing as if it was an unforeseen spectacle. When they spoke again, they talked of the temples, the palaces, and all that awaited them at the city of Tashbaan, their words once again embellished with renewed decorum.

As the days passed, Eleanor would often feel Edmund’s gaze lingering on her, when he thought she would not notice. His smile loosened more easily now, wider each time, a grin which resembled that of a kid more than a king. When they reached Prince Rabadash’s palace and began attending the many festivities the Tisroc had prepared in honour of Queen Susan and the rest of the Narnian party, Eleanor found she and Edmund would often orbit each other around whatever room they were in, moving in synchrony, following opposite trajectories until they were side by side. They conversed for hours on end, sometimes in the midst of a dance floor, other times on balconies under the moonlight. Nights were colder in the desert, and still they would loiter outdoors until their knuckles and fingertips turned purple.

"Do you miss home?" Edmund asked on one of their final nights in the city. By then, Prince Rabadash had already begun showing his true colours, turning prouder and crueller each day, which Eleanor knew meant they would have to flee very soon.

"I do," she replied, and for a second she felt a craving for carrot and lentil soup. "Very much. And you?"

"It has only been a fortnight since we have left Cair Paravel," Edmund replied. 

Eleanor looked at him.

He then met her eye and exhaled slowly, mustering up a more difficult response. "I do miss home sometimes," he admitted. "It is… almost bewildering, wouldn’t you say, how one might miss something they were not even content with?"

"It is certainly intriguing," she agreed. "Though I don’t think I find it bewildering at all. Look at the stars above us. It is one of the most breathtaking skies I have ever seen, and yet I find myself searching for the same constellations I have gazed at for most of my life. Why, if not for the comfort of knowing they are the ones who have always watched over me? I think our souls are as much imprinted by the places we have lived in as they are by the people we have loved, despite the fact that we can’t choose either of them."

Edmund did not speak immediately, choosing instead to follow her gaze to the heavens. "Perhaps so," he muttered at last, without turning to her.

"Would you ever return?" she asked quietly.

He frowned, almost in censure. "I am avowed to my country."

"Of course," she said, shaking her head. "But… don’t you ever entertain the thought? Even only as a harmless daydream?"

"It is no use to dwell on what we cannot change. We should not forget our past. But sometimes it is better to let go of it."

Eleanor looked at him, her own, most treasured ghost, the lovely apparition of her cursed past. How could she ever let him go?

She could only respond with a faint nod, and the two of them went back to admiring the view around them. They watched the city which spread below, a thousand flickering lights drowned in the muffled chatter of night. Tashbaan was as breathtaking in the dark as it was under the sunlight. It was crowded, noisy and brimming with life, and it reminded her of London. Even though Edmund stood right next to her, Eleanor found herself longing for all the nights they had walked around its busy streets, hand in hand, from theatres to pubs to dinners at Mrs. Plummer’s or the Pevensies’; back when he had been her husband and she had been his wife, back when he called her his love rather than his lady.

"Elle," Edmund called her suddenly.

"Yes?" She turned to him and added, hearing the fever in her voice, "Edmund?"

He gaped at her so intently she almost thought, for a moment, he had somehow accessed all of the memories they would one day share, and he had become the Edmund she had lost. Yet she knew it was not it, it could not be it. The glow in his eyes was nothing but a fickle interest, the first sprouts of a passion. She was just planting the seed in his heart, while hers already tumbled with the weight of a fully grown tree.

He seemed to come to his senses. "It is late," he finally said. "Let me escort you back to your chambers."

He offered his arm and she took it, as they had done almost everyday for the past weeks. Except this time, when she held onto the bend of his arm, he then put his other hand on top of hers. The tips of his fingers stroked the back of her hand, brushing as lightly as a feather, until they intertwined with hers.

She thought perhaps the cavities in her heart had all collapsed on one another, her veins and arteries combusted by the force of his touch. He felt as brisk as the evening air around them, so numbing it burned right through her. Could he sense the old scorched burns he had left on her skin? Could he feel the way their hands tangled together in the most perfect fit, as if they had been sculpted from the mould of one another? Could he know, somehow, he would one day put a golden ring around her finger, that he would promise her his soul, his heart, his best years?

She yanked her hand back. It was a cruel gesture, and the confusion in his eyes shattered her heart as much as it shattered his. But she finally understood why Edmund had run away, that first Christmas dinner at her aunt’s house, when they had almost kissed in the dimly lit kitchen. She would not trade his first kiss for her last. She would not rewrite any of it. Not one chapter, not one line.

"Goodnight," she whispered, not daring to look at him. She turned and bolted down the hall and through the many passages that led to her room. Before she realised it, she had become lost in a maze of identical corridors and staircases, and she at last collapsed on an open ceiling patio, which had a fountain on its centre and greenery all around it. She rested her body upon the stone structure, weeping as quietly as she could.

But she heard sobs that were not her own, and she shuffled to the side to find someone else hiding in the shadows.

"Your Majesty," she called. "Are you alright?"

Susan bounced in a startle. "Elle," she responded, wiping the trails on her cheeks. "Yes, I am fine."

They stared at each other for a second before the two of them broke into laughter. It quickly began resembling sobbing once again, however, and soon they quieted.

Susan looked up to the dark sky. "It is Rabadash," she sighed. "He has proved, at last, he does not care for me. It is my titles, my lands, my looks which tempt him."

Eleanor stared at her, too stunned by the heartache in Susan’s voice. All of the tales she had heard portrayed Prince Rabadash as a fool, as an obvious tyrant, but never as someone capable of truly enchanting the gentle Queen Susan.

"He is not the first suitor to come after such things," Susan continued. "There have been too many to count, and I have grown accustomed to their false professions, their empty words, their pointless gifts. Yet Rabadash," she chuckled lightly, shaking her head, "he actually took the time to get to know me. He was warm, and he nestled my heart until I opened it to him. He showed me a map of his darkest corners, telling me I was the light that could rekindle them. We talked of the burden of looking after our younger siblings, of the responsibilities of leading a kingdom. We shared dreams of quiet lives in small towns, of tending to our own gardens and raising more children than we could carry in our arms. We created a life together in our heads. But now I see the picture was only ever painted in my own mind."

Eleanor kept silent for a while, wondering what she could possibly say other than the fact that she was sorry. That Susan did not deserve any of it, and that she would one day find a love to share all of her dreams with. That in a few years she would meet a modest man with a kind face, and she would lose a dress but find a friend, and he would cross an ocean and build a life on foreign land for her.

She thought back to what Prince Ravi had once said, the question which had gloomed over all of her best and worst days. "We are all fools in our pursuit of love," she said quietly. "And it might feel like doom at times. It might feel so despairing we want to believe it is not worth it at all. After all, there is no pain greater than the loss of love."

She looked at her left hand, at the ring she could not let go of. Hers and Edmund’s story had been the loveliest tragedy, so fateful it could have fed poets and songwriters for a lifetime. And yet she would not have traded it — not the anxieties of unrequitedness of those first days, not the years spent apart, not even the mourning of losing him. She would choose to do it all again if she had to.

"But I suppose, in the end," she muttered humorously, "love is still the best part of life."

Eleanor reached for Susan’s hand. She knew Susan would one day forget all about Narnia, and this very conversation, and Eleanor herself, but she hoped the sentiment could remain tucked away somewhere deep inside her, waiting to be retrieved when she would need it most.

"And we are so much more loved than we know," she said. "Romantic love is only one kind of it, lovely as it might be. But it is not the only one that makes it all worth it."

Susan still held her hand as she readjusted her stance, breathing deeply. 

"I was four when Lucy was born. My mother told me I loved holding her, that I would want to climb into the cradle with her. She said I used to promise to never love anyone more than her." She smiled, though her eyes glistened once more. "I suppose perhaps it is better to keep that promise."

Eleanor gripped tighter to Susan’s hand. "It is a lovely promise," she whispered.

The stars above them shone as they listened, securing their love in the heavens with them, promising to hold onto it for all of eternity.

Chapter Text

Narnia, 1014

The trip back to Cair Paravel was quiet. The breeze did not feel so lovely or fragrant any more, but it thrusted them forward charitably, shortening the time spent on restless waters. Prince Corin had disappeared the day after the last feast, and even after he returned they had stressed over the details of their escape. The Splendour Hyaline sailed away from Calormen in the dead of night, free of hindrances other than the turmoils of its crew.

Edmund had not spoken directly to Eleanor ever since the night they had spent on the balcony overseeing Tashbaan, when he had held her hand and she had so gracelessly fled. She had instead spent time with Susan, huddling in her cabin over books or games of chess. Even when enveloped in silence, there was a new shared understanding between them now, as if their souls had found kinship in one another.

Lucy was waiting for them at the harbour at Cair Paravel, wearing a bleak expression.

"We have received urgent news from the south," she announced. "It seems Prince Rabadash is set to return to Narnia, but this time with an army of two hundred men. He intends to seize Anvard first."

Edmund and Susan exchanged a grim look. Prince Corin’s head bobbed from within the arriving party, gaping at them expectantly.

"Then we march to Archenland," Edmund said gravely.

A coordinated commotion followed as they all prepared for battle. There was a tautness to the air around her, and it seemed to strain time into uneven pace, as it had the day of the battle against the telmarines. Eleanor only watched helplessly every arrangement being made before her. All types of Narnian creatures began gathering outside Cair Paravel’s walls, from dwarves, to hounds, to centaurs, to leopards, to bears; and a messenger was sent to the giants who lived by the Northern March. By nightfall, there were six of the massively sized beings making camp at what Eleanor had once considered a great green lawn, but now looked like a measly square of grass. 

"Let Rabadash come," she whispered, as she felt the tremor of the earth beneath the giants’ feet. She would like to see how the Calormen army would stand against them.

Edmund went to confer with them, and she wondered at how he had kept his imposing posture even in their company. The giants all seemed to be already acquainted with him, and they bowed respectfully at the start and at the end of their conversation. When Edmund returned, he announced they would depart at first light. He told everyone to rest and soon retired himself, followed by Lucy and the other lords. Only Susan remained, standing close near the balcony, forlorn in the moonlight.

Eleanor walked to her. "How are you feeling?" she murmured.

"Distressed, for now," Susan answered, smiling faintly. "But I will be fine."

They took each other’s hands delicately. Eleanor thought back to the day of the funeral, and how the simple gesture had spoken for them then.

"Are you concerned about having to meet Rabadash on a battlefield?"

Susan shook her head. "I am not going to battle."

Eleanor blinked. "You are not?"

"I will sit at Cair Paravel during my siblings’ absence."

"But…" Eleanor stuttered. She should not have been surprised, though the details of the story of the battle of Anvard, which she had heard years and years ago, had turned blurry and faded. "Do you… do you not wish to participate? Would you not want to retribute the harm Rabadash has caused upon you?"

"I would not want him to repay with his life," Susan responded. "Or in any way at all, as a matter of fact. I simply wish he learns from this."

"He would have taken you by force! He would have enslaved you into marriage!"

"I am past a raging state, Elle," Susan said. She waited until Eleanor met her eyes, and they were filled with sombre sincerity. "I simply want this chapter to be over."

Eleanor was too stunned to respond. She herself was still furious over Rabadash’s arrogance — how he had deceived Susan, how he belittled Narnia and Archenland as fearsome countries, how he felt entitled to invade after having just been their guest. He had eaten their food, drunk their wine, relished in the tournament and all of its festivities, and he had treated every courtesy the Narnian kings and queens had granted him with scorn and contempt. Eleanor’s face heated only with the thought of him, and her entire body throbbed in restlessness.

"He is not so bad," Susan whispered, as if she could hear her thoughts. "There is so much he is trying to prove. So much he seeks, he has lost sight of himself, and of what he truly wishes to be."

"How can you reserve so much sympathy for him?" Eleanor asked, struggling to keep her tone down. "After all he’s done to you?"

"We are better than our worst actions," Susan replied. "And perhaps my heart still has not let go of him. It is not so easy to displace something that has long been settled, you see."

Susan’s gaze did not waver, and her words carried a quietude to them, some intangible quality that refrained Eleanor from insisting any longer. She still heard echoes of them after they had said goodnight, as she walked up the stairs of the castle, and until she finally drifted into unconsciousness. When she woke up the next morning, she had been drained of an urge for vengeance, as if Susan’s thoughts of kindness and forgiving had gradually been absorbed overnight. Still, she presented herself at the armoury, where Lucy helped her dress in chainmail and find a balanced sword. She was introduced to a very sweet talking mare called Gwyn, who had agreed to let her ride on her back to Archenland.

"Have you ever been to battle, lady?" Gwyn asked, as she waited for Eleanor to saddle her.

"No," Eleanor answered. "Have you?"

"No," Gwyn said, skipping in place. She was fully grown, taller than Eleanor herself, yet there was an eagerness to her voice which unveiled unmistakable youth. "I have not even seen Archenland before."

Eleanor smiled, thinking back to all of the summer days spent with Prunella walking the rose gardens and swimming at the clearest of lakes. "It is the most beautiful country. I am glad we are helping defend it."

Gwyn’s attention, however, had been diverted to something behind her. Eleanor turned to find Edmund approaching both of them, pulling a great charger behind him. He wore full armour, and the sight alone was enough to set her entire skin ablaze.

"You are joining us in battle?" he inquired.

Eleanor blinked, trying to find her words again. "I am."

He seemed distressed. "Have you ever gone to war before? It is not the same as tournaments or sparring matches."

"I know," she said. She had seen the aftermath of war — not only the piles of bodies on a field, but also the invisible wounds it left on one’s soul. But this was her last time in Narnia, this land which she had once called her home, and she felt confident in her training.

Edmund took a step closer, lowering his tone, "It is dangerous, Elle. Even if we are secure in our victory, there are still risks."

She nodded grimly. "I would like to fight for Narnia," she said. "As well as for Queen Susan’s honour."

He seemed to study her carefully, and she held his stare in return. It was strenuous to remain determined when everything in him quietly serenaded her into surrendering; the darkness in his eyes had long ceased to intimidate her, and instead it invited her in, pulling her closer as if it had its own gravity. 

They heard a sudden roar of disquiet. The Narnian army was ready to depart.

"Very well," Edmund said at last. "I cannot deny an able and willing soldier."

Eleanor exhaled. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

For a moment, he seemed as if he was about to turn and leave. But then something changed in his expression, the subtlest hint of softness. He leaned closer.

"Edmund," he corrected her quietly. He smiled for a second. "We are still friends, are we not?"

His kindness clutched too tightly around her heart. He was keeping a promise he hadn’t yet made, she realised. Even if you must drive a knife through my heart, it will remain yours . She had already struck the first cut, and still he bore his chest, inviting her to twist the blade, to carve the wound deeper. He would accept as much of herself as she was willing to offer, even if it was so little. 

Eleanor understood the sentiment perfectly. She had once believed the same thing.

"Yes," she answered, then added, "Edmund."

It was still dark when they rode away from Cair Paravel. There were no sounds but the thumping of hooves, paws and feet on soft ground, and the air itself was hard to inhale, thick with anticipation. By the time the first rays of sun cast its golden warmth on them, Eleanor already felt as if days had passed since they had left the castle. This path, which she had once crossed forth and back so many times, back in the days of Caspian’s reign, now stretched unwelcomingly. The hills seemed steeper as the path narrowed, and the woods enclosed around them so thickly one could barely point the direction of the sun above.

They stopped for some rest and a morsel while still on Narnian territory, making camp by a dwarf’s cottage. Eleanor adjourned by the company’s rear end, joining the fauns and some of the talking beasts as they ate, for Edmund and Lucy were busy with Lord Peridan and the discussion of battle strategies. 

But she could not have more than a few bites. The chainmail she wore had grown heavy and uncomfortable, and the sword dangled awkwardly by her belt. The narnians around her were all in light conversation, perhaps already used to such crusades, while she was only now tasting the disquiet of war for the first time.

"By the Lion’s Mane, prince, this is too much!" Edmund’s voice suddenly echoed.

There was a growing conglomeration in the distance, and Eleanor had reached it in time to find Thornbut, the red dwarf who had accompanied them to Calormen, struggling on the floor in apparently great pain. Prince Corin stood beside him, looking surprisingly shameful as Edmund scolded him.

"If I had but my cordial with me," Lucy was saying nearby, as she accompanied the nymphs who were ushering Thornbut away, "I could soon mend this. But the High King has so strictly charged me not to carry it commonly to the wars and to keep it only for great extremities!"

The crowd, however, did not take long to disperse, for there were more urgent matters to attend to. Eleanor noticed an identical boy standing close to Corin, though significantly thinner and haggard-looking, whom she knew would soon be revealed to be his long lost twin, the Prince Cor, King Lune’s firstborn son and heir. He and Corin whispered to one another in hushed urgency, and Eleanor thought she might have been the only one to notice them sneaking Thornbut’s armour away.

The company was soon readying for march once again, so Eleanor returned to Gwyn’s side. She had already mounted when she noticed Edmund beginning to make his way towards them. Gwyn bowed hastily, nearly throwing Eleanor off her back in the process. She readjusted herself on the mare’s back as quickly as she could, knowing she must look laughable.

"Elle," Edmund was at her side, watching over her in distress. His arms extended before him, as if he had been ready to catch her. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she managed to reply, still regaining her balance.

"Your Majesty," Gwyn said. "My apologies, lady."

"It’s fine, Gwyn," she breathed.

They all quieted, and Edmund’s face turned stern again. When he spoke, it was with the king’s voice.

"When the battle commences, you are to stay alongside the archers," he told them. "The cats will lead from the left, followed by the cavalry, and then the giants from the right. We will have a secure position from the top of a ridge, from where you can watch as the conflict unfolds. You are not to engage unless Queen Lucy commands you to do so."

Eleanor frowned. "Are we not part of the cavalry? Why are we to stay on the sidelines?"

His gaze darkened, and Eleanor lowered hers. In this world, he was a king and a general, and she should know better than to dispute his authority in front of his subjects. 

But Edmund was patient. "You and a few others will stand as reinforcements," he explained. "Though it might not be necessary, if King Lune will join us with the full might of his forces."

She nodded, though the idea of sitting through another war stung the same. If this was her last time in Narnia, the last time she would ever get to live in this wondrous place and go on adventures, before she was made to return to a metropolitan London or a stationary Stamford, she wanted to make sure she made the most of it. She wanted to put her training to the test, and she wanted to fight alongside Edmund.

"You have proved your excellency in duelling," Edmund said, his tone softer. "And there is no doubt of your courage. I ask you to have faith that we are well experienced in war, and remain safe yourself, so you can return home."

The tenderness in his words brought a sudden shame to her, which helped clear her mind, as if she had just fallen into ice water. The king should not be coddling her for her own pride, the same way Susan did with Corin.

She stood straighter. "Of course. Thank you, my king."

He nodded once, then proceeded to instruct the remainder of their army. Eleanor noticed Gwyn sauntered more desolately as they awaited, though her voice was still kind when she spoke again.

"It seems King Edmund cares a good deal about you, my lady," she muttered.

Eleanor smiled faintly, straightening her posture. "I care very much about him."

They recommenced their marching the next day. The sun was high in the sky when they at last exited the trees’ cover, and the horizon line revealed all of Archenland, from its pinecone woods, to small streams and clear lakes, to the desert which separated their kingdom from Calormen. All around them, the Narnian army began readying itself for battle. Swords were drawn, the strings of bows were tested, and even the giants stepped into heavy, spiked boots. Eleanor and Gwyn positioned themselves by the rear end, though still keeping Edmund within their sight. As she watched him, austere and formidably covered in steel and scarlet velvet, Eleanor could barely comprehend whether the rhythmic noise which drowned her thoughts came from drums or the beating of her own heart.

They were already in position when they heard loud thuds and the shouting of men. Even though she would not engage, at least not at first, Eleanor’s hands already tingled so much she could hardly keep hold of the reins. But then a trumpet sounded, and the Narnian army was charging.

The castle of Anvard came into sight when they toppled the final ridge. Eleanor and Gwyn halted alongside the archers as the rest descended, galloping rapidly towards the intruders, who had been busy swinging a tree trunk at the front gate. Only seconds separated the Calormen army from strike with the narnians, and for a hopeful breath Eleanor thought they might not have time to reassemble. Prince Rabadash and his men, however, were as experienced as they were efficient, and they ceased their attempt at breaking the castle’s gate and had mounted their own horses before Eleanor could even exhale.

Once, a lifetime ago, as she had sat through a different battle, Eleanor had seen time twist and deform right in front of her. On that occasion, she had registered the conflict for only the blink of an eye, and she had little to no recollection of its events or details. This time, as she watched the impending collapse of the two armies, her eyes grasped too much for her to believe any of it. She could recognise the veins twitching behind a centaur’s neck, she could smell the dirt which trampled beneath their feet, she could feel the echoes of their weight thrumming in the earth below. She heard the hissing of metal cutting through the air, turning sharper and rougher, growing louder and shriller and piercing and strident, and suddenly it was so acute it had turned into a whistle, and the company moved so fast and in such perfect synchrony she could have mistaken it for a locomotive moved by a steam engine, and when the two armies at last collapsed it was as thundering and deafening as she imagined a train crashing on a busy station would sound like. Eleanor could no longer find Edmund among the ongoing rampage as the cavalries clashed upon each other, as bodies fell on both sides, as bloodshed and brutality unfolded before her, as she still watched, impotently, helplessly, stupidly as the day she had let him say goodbye to her, when she had abstained from telling him his fate, when she had wasted away their last conversation instead of trying to save his life, when she had bowed before the sovereignty of time and allowed it to take half of her soul away. Before she could realise it, she was ordering Gwyn into thrusting forward, and she was drawing her sword from her belt, and they were darting downhill into the battle.

The first clash came when they reached a Calormen soldier on foot brawling with a satyr. Gwyn trotted close enough by so that Eleanor could hit her sword on his chest, even if it did not cut through his armour, troubling him enough for the satyr to gain the upper hand. It sent a rush through her veins, and they were able to repeat the same manoeuvre on a different Calormen soldier. Eleanor then glanced around, searching for Edmund, and found him in a distance fighting two soldiers at once.

But just as she had redirected Gwyn towards him, one of the giants fell before them, his face pierced by arrows as if they were pins on a cushion. The ground shook beneath when he collapsed, and Eleanor was sent airborne and out of her saddle as Gwyn tripped and came tumbling down. Eleanor landed badly on her left side, and her entire leg came ablaze and searing as she felt something crack inside her. She shrieked more loudly than she ever did, though it was muffled by the war that went on around her, and groaned and wailed until she stood again, limping vulgarly. She turned and called for Gwyn, but the mare had disappeared among the rust and smoke. Eleanor could not discern any of the bodies that moved around her from friend or foe.

But then a man came running towards her, and she raised her sword just in time to protect herself from his. He kept on striking, time and time again, and every second she prolonged the combat felt like borrowed time, for the countless hours she had once spent training her footwork turned worthless with her broken leg, and the tricks she had once learned for disarming an opponent proved futile against an enemy who struck to kill. It was only when she at last realised she had to slay or be slain, and she gave into instinct instead of principle, that she gained a shot at victory. She aimed at an opening in his armour and carved through the flesh of his fighting arm, bringing him blaring to his knees, his own weapon tumbling out of his reach.

Eleanor had already raised her sword for a final motion when she noticed the crimson liquid that covered the blade. She looked down to the wound she had opened on the soldier’s arm, observing how the blood bulged outwards in the rhythm of his heart, how it left trails all the way to his open palm. She looked at his eyes, which were despairing and terrified, and the same colour as the blue skies above them. She thought of the time she had watched another blue-eyed soldier lose his life in front of her. She thought of Grant, who had perished away in a foreign country, who had died for a cause he barely knew.

What right did she have to this soldier’s life? Had he come to this battle out of his own will, or was he simply following orders? Did it even matter? What could she truly know of taking others’ lives, and the cost it entailed? How could she kill anyone, when she understood just how much pain one death could inflict?

She backed away, leaving the injured Calormen soldier to whatever his fate would be. Her focus went back into searching for Edmund. 

The battlefield was still ridden by chaos, a cacophony of clanking metal and thumping bodies echoing through the surrounding hills. Then, finally, a different noise rose above, and the gates of Anvard opened to reveal the Archenland army, ready to join the fight. Some of the Calormen soldiers began already scattering, most of them fleeing to the woods. But some still howled and raised arms, and Eleanor had been so entranced by the arrival of King Lune’s troops she barely noticed the blade that someone had struck right around her collar, where even the chainmail did not reach.

She could not look at her wound, only the leather hilt of the dagger that protruded from her. She collapsed, and for some time she could only gasp for air, as her oesophagus began drowning in blood, flooding every cavity all the way to her lungs. The urge for oxygen was infinitely more powerful than whatever pain the cut might have caused, but eventually, very gradually, like a storm slowing into a drizzle, it ceased. Eleanor could not have known whether it had taken seconds or hours. The sky above was a chasm of blue, cloudless and timeless.

She felt her body being moved, but her vision was too blurry to make sense of who had done it or why. She knew she had been just about to leave when she recognised a soft, cold touch stroking her face.

"No," she thought she heard him say. "No."

She reached for his hand, but she could hardly find her own.

Do not despair, my love, she wanted to tell him. A thousand years will pass, and we will meet again, under the darkness in the shuddering woods. We will not recognise each other at first. But rest assured — we are both in love already. We have always been.

Darkness cradled her, and everything quieted. A different sound called to her. It had no melody, but it was the most beautiful music she had ever heard.

And as for me, she thought, wishing she could still smile, I will be with you soon .

Chapter Text

The Mountain of Aslan, or

Somewhere not too far from there, beyond the reaches of time

In her dream, she had been a white lily, floating on calm water with her sisters. She danced weightlessly on its surface, separating the rich indigo tone of the ocean from the clear vastness of the sky. The liquid around her was sweet, not like those which came from rivers or lakes, but sweet as the most delicious delicacy; yet her perfume was fresh and fragrant and lovelier. Then she had been a grain of sand, diving insignificantly through the waves. She was pushed around in every direction, forced by the most demanding currents, powerless in her own microscopic essence. She was coarse, she cut through liquid. She became the breeze itself, the wind which moved the seas, the air which filled every living being’s lungs, the oxygen which breathed life into the world. When she awoke, she was Eleanor once more, and a blue sky still hung above her.

She rose to find herself in a bed of stained water. The temperature had been so delightful, and the sounds of the stream so pleasant, she hardly wished to get up at all. Her hand reached for her collar, just in time to feel her mortal wound seam itself shut. She watched until the last sanguine rivulets had disappeared and the flood had turned as clear as glass, revealing the golden gravel which lay beneath. She thought it more glorious than any jewellery she had ever seen in her entire life.

When she strolled around, she found herself at the very top of a mountain, which ended in a cliff too tall for her to believe. She squinted her eyes at its border and saw nothing but small dots of white, as tiny as if they had been ants, but she knew them to be clouds. The mountain towered so far from the world above that, had it been round like the one she had come from, she would have seen its curved edges.

She knew she was at the Mountain of Aslan. Eustace and Jill had once been there, as well as Caspian after he had died. Aslan had resurrected him with his own blood, they had said, and he had even allowed Caspian into visiting England for a few minutes. This was a place beyond both worlds.

"Are you ready to go, child?" a deep voice roared beside her.

Eleanor turned to find Aslan sitting next to her. She bowed, then rose to meet his gaze. His eyes still made her question the very concept of time, as if it was a children’s fantasy she had made up in her mind, yet such an idea did not unsettle her anymore. It was as truthful as the moon or the stars.

She nodded. "Where am I to go?" she asked, though it was of little consequence. She was ready for whatever fate awaited her.

"You have fought valiantly," the great lion said. "And you have met the end of a true knight of Narnia. For that, you are welcome in my country."

A feeling crept into her chest and spread through her entire self, the sense of being turned into pure light — a sensation that almost tasted foreign, for she had not savoured it in too long. Her Edmund, the one she had lost and missed, the completed puzzle of him, could be waiting for her in a place beyonds the bound of time. All of the anguish of their predetermined fates could vanquish at last, and their love could waltz back into synchrony.

Edmund, her heart sang.

"It is rare, however," Aslan continued, "for one to meet their death in a world they were not born into. You have reached the end of your path in Narnia. Yet you can still return to the one you left behind in England."

Eleanor’s eyes widened as her eyebrows grew nearer. "But I have died," she countered.

"Have you not noticed, child? The things you bring into the world of Narnia will always return to your own world." he replied. "It is the same with you."

She blinked, trying to make sense of it. Indeed, she had once returned to England wearing the same dress she had arrived in Narnia in, even though she had lost it, and the scar and the years she had gained had all disappeared when she went back through the wardrobe passage. But could her death itself be reversed? Was the heart that had stopped in Narnia not the same heart she carried in England?

"So I could go on to your country now," she whispered, "or I could go back to England. To 1949."

The lion dipped his head ever so lightly. "It is your decision."

"But is there… is there a way to your country? From my world?"

"All worlds have bridges to my country." His voice turned graver then, his tone solemn. "But passage will not be granted. If you return to your world, you must live a life worthy of it. You must not forget me, and you must not forget Narnia."

His words sank into her. The path before her was as clear as if Aslan had presented her with instructions for a quest. How could she go on without making sure Susan would come along, too?

She realised, at last, that it was not a choice, and it had never been a choice at all. It didn’t matter how much her heart called to be reunited with Edmund — he had never been its sole occupant. There were so many others she loved, whom she could not leave behind. She would never choose to move on to a next chapter without them. Not when there were still promises to be kept.

Perhaps that was why all of time was written as one. They were not doomed to the future, but to their very essences. Their fates could never be realigned, because they could simply not change their souls. She never would have been able to save Edmund, to stop him from being at that train station. His soul would always lead him into being there with his family, and she knew he would have chosen to die trying to save Narnia had he been given the chance. And her soul would lead her back to England and to those who awaited her there, for it had always led her, time and time again, into the when and where she needed to be.

"I will go back," she announced, as if she had been reading a line in a book. It had, after all, already been written.

Aslan’s gaze was as stern as ever, though Eleanor thought his eyes gleamed differently when he stared back at her. It made her stand taller, more bravely, yet with a new quietness. He had once told her to learn to make her own decisions, to stand by them. She wished she could ask him if he was proud of her, but she knew it to be a silly question. She was proud of herself.

"Come," he said finally. "I will send you back."

They rose and walked to the precipice’s very edge. Eleanor looked down, and she did not feel afraid.

She turned to face Aslan one last time.

"Thank you," she said. "And goodbye."

"Goodbye, dear one," he replied.

Lions could not smile, not the way humans did, but he watched her with tenderness. And so she smiled back just as he blew her away, and she began floating in a bed of warm puffs, and soon the mountain and the lion and the stream had all faded away. For a while, she simply glided through the vastness, long enough for her to learn how to twirl and perform pirouettes as if she had been swimming on water. Then she began her descent, cascading smoothly and gently, slowing down as she reached the ground. She sat on a cold bench.

She looked up to the stars first. Though the night had cleared, many of them were still obscure from the city lights. Then she gawked at the stone buildings surrounding her, blinking at the electric brightness which came from inside them, and at the train tracks and the gravel and the dewy limestone floors. She looked down to find herself in her tweed two-piece dress, and she held a wooden box in her hands. A draft blew at her, making her shudder in the chill October air.

The crushing weight of reality settled back into her all at once. It was all over at last — all of her and Edmund’s story, their travels through time, their adventures, their mismatched trysts. She would never return to Narnia, and she would never see him again, not while she still lived. From then on, he would accompany her journey only as a memory.

Eleanor got up and roamed Finchley Central station until she found a public telephone. She still had some spare change in her pocket from the kind man she had met at the post office by Coombe Halt, whose name she could not remember.

The line rang only once before her aunt picked up.

"Eleanor?"

She let out something between an exhale and a chuckle. "Hi," she breathed.

"Are you at Susan’s? It’s been hours, Eleanor, I’ve been sitting by the phone all night. You said you would call as soon as you got there, and…"

"I know," she said. "I’m sorry. I didn’t want to keep you waiting, I just… It… It didn’t go well with Susan, Aunt Doris."

Her aunt quieted, though Eleanor could still hear her breathing. "What happened?"

Eleanor shook her head. "I don’t remember it all that well," she admitted. "We settled on the house, at least. The legal part is finished. But she and I… We still have a long way to go."

“I see.”

Eleanor muffled a whimper. She gathered her strength to keep herself standing, though all she wanted at that moment was to collapse at her aunt’s embrace, to weep in her arms and hide from the world behind her. The feeling of absolution from the Mountain of Aslan was already blurring into the hazy fabrics of dreams, and in its place grew a terrible fearfulness.

"I am so cold," she murmured.

She heard her aunt sighing slowly. When she spoke, there was a warmness in her voice, real enough to travel from Stamford all the way to London. 

"Come home, Eleanor," she said. 

Eleanor looked around her. There were only a handful of people left at the station, all by themselves, clutching tightly at their coats as the evening briskness warned them of the forthcoming winter.

"Alright," she replied, before bidding her aunt goodnight.

She then boarded the last train back to Central London, and she hardly had time to glance at the stars again before she slid underground.

Chapter Text

England, October 1949 - December 1949

They left London on October 10th, three days after Eleanor and Susan’s final meeting. Gracie had been waiting up back at the apartment when Eleanor returned that night, and she conceded to her request immediately. They were finished packing by the next morning, though they had to wait for the weekend so that Albert could drive them back. On their last day in the city, Eleanor decided to take the tube to Finchley once again.

The sky was grey, the air cold and thick. The leaves crumpling beneath her unsure steps were slippery and soggy, almost as if they were daring her not to go forward, to give in, to slip and fall and lie on the damp asphalt instead. But she kept reminding herself she might not return to London for a long time, and she had taken the coward’s route too many times already. She marched on.

The path was familiar enough, and in only a few minutes she had arrived at the church. She circled around the building until she reached its back, where a wrought iron fence enclosed the graveyard, and the gate’s ghastly creak welcomed her in. She waited for a moment, hoping someone — anyone, anything — would appear and shoo her away, but it seemed no release would come for her. At last, she came to terms with it. She breathed deeply and began searching for Edmund’s grave.

The place stretched even further than she had initially anticipated, and several minutes passed with no development on her pursuit. Every unknown tombstone she passed was a momentary weight off her chest, a second’s relief until she reached the next one in line. After a few rows, she had begun to foster a fearful hope that perhaps he was not there, and she had gotten the entire thing mixed up, and she would put off seeing such a terrible sight for at least a day longer.

Her fortune would only last so long, of course. Merely moments later, she stumbled into the first of them.

Lucy’s engraved name greeted her first. The cruellest of them all — it made sense she would be the one to welcome Eleanor into the Pevensies’ row. Edmund and Peter came next in line, and Christopher and Helen shared a wider marker, with the inscription of "father" and "mother" on top of their names. All of their stones were as plain as they were ordinary, no different than any of the hundreds of others around them, smaller even than the ones she once climbed as a kid. Was this truly the one earthly token she would have to reach them? Would some other kid climb over their graves one day, on a dare worth a single penny? Would anyone even bother to read their names?

Eleanor looked around. An elderly woman had appeared in the distance, not too far from her, so effortlessly lackadaisical in her grief Eleanor could only assume she was a well experienced widow. She replaced a pot of flowers for fresh ones, then took out a book and began reading aloud. She acted so casual, seeming so perfectly at ease, Eleanor couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable herself. She straightened her clothes and stared at Edmund’s name in the stone in front of her.

"Hi," she said. Her tone, however, came out so unintentionally cheerful she had to repress a chuckle. "I’m sorry," she continued. "I don’t know how to do this. You’d think an orphan would be better at it."

She then laughed, more loudly than she should have, and the older widow glanced at her. She sobered up, focusing back on the tombstones before her. This was absurd, yes, but wasn’t it all? Hadn’t she just been dancing with an oblivious version of her dead husband, only days ago? Hadn’t she just died on a battlefield in his arms, only to be now left standing alone by his grave?

"The truth, Ed, is I’m at a complete loss," she admitted. "I was so young when my parents died, I barely had to process it. By the time I gained enough consciousness to grieve for them, their deaths already seemed very much set in stone, as if we had always been doomed for such a tragedy. As if it had always been my fate to lose them. To never really get to know them.

"It was the opposite with you. When you came into my life, I thought my true life, the one I was meant to live, had finally begun. But it was already ending. It has always been my fate to lose you, too."

Her face heated as her tone weakened.

"You have always known," she whispered. "The night of the raid on the Telmarine castle, at the shuddering woods. That first day, at St. George’s church. You looked at me and you saw a ghost." She shook her head. "I thought I was cursed to have spent the last four years mourning you. All the while, you were doing the same. You have been mourning me for almost a decade."

She had never expected time to write fairly, yet this was a twist so sadistic it read like mockery. They had been doomed from the start. She and Edmund had both been Orpheus, each on their own journey, travelling in opposite directions in time, spending their entire lives fighting for something that had always been set up to fail. They were Pyramus and Thisbe, Lancelot and Guinevire, Romeo and Juliet. The tragic, ill-fated nature of their ending had shadowed every step of their path, and they had been blinded enough to mistake it for destiny.

"Was that why you left? Was that why it was so easy for you to say goodbye? When I tried warning you of your fate, and you went to meet it anyway? Did you think you would be reuniting with me in a next life?"

She kept staring at the stone, at those same six letters, which had always been her most faithful companion. They had brought her hope during those last months of the war as she reread his name in letters, and they had warmed her heart whenever she came upon them in a Narnian History book. Could they keep her afloat during the rest of her years in this world?

"I won’t fault you for it. And I won’t pretend I have made my peace with it, either." She breathed deeply, standing straight. "But we will find each other again, as we have so many times already. It has always been only a matter of time, hasn’t it?"

She had no choice but to believe it. She was, after all, so well experienced in it. Their relationship had always been a leap of faith, a gamble on the chances of their reuniting.

She reached for his tombstone, and shuddered at its coldness.

"Goodbye for now, my love," she murmured. "Thank you for every adventure."

Eleanor remained by their graves until her heartbeat had quieted. By the time she turned to leave, she realised the older widow had parted already, and some kind of service was being assembled inside the church. She walked out, stumping with feigned bravery all the way to 3 Fairholme Gardens. The idea of meeting Susan again still frightened her, though she knew it could not possibly be worse than the sight of Edmund’s grave. She knocked on the door twice, and fortunately it opened with only seconds’ delay.

Leonard halted at the door frame. He wore a knitted vest and had his hair combed back. Perhaps it was a cruel trick of the light, but for a moment Eleanor thought he even resembled Mr. Pevensie, in the many times he had greeted her at that same step.

"Eleanor," he greeted her politely. He did not appear too surprised to see her.

"Hi," she replied in a small voice. "Sorry for dropping by without notice. Is Susan in?"

"I’m afraid not."

"Oh." Eleanor waited for him to go on, but he said nothing more. "Well," she decided to continue, "I only wanted to pay a final visit before I left for Stamford tomorrow. We didn’t exactly part on the best terms on our last encounter."

Leonard nodded. His gaze, thankfully, was devoid of pity — the one sentiment she had found back in the eyes of everyone she had faced since the day of the accident. Yet he too looked troubled, which somehow struck her as even worse. He shifted the weight from one leg to another, frowning downwards before he spoke again.

"I’m sorry, Eleanor. She cares for you," he said quietly. "I know she does. It is only… She has not been herself lately. I would ask you to try and understand, but you too have lost so much yourself…"

"I understand," she cut him, and she meant it truly. She knew reconciliation with Susan would not come quickly or easily, but she was still hopeful for it. It was, she had concluded, the very reason why she had been brought back to Narnia one last time: not only to give Edmund and the others a final farewell, but also to fortify the strength of hers and Susan’s bond, and to ascertain they could still restore it.

 “I think Susan has always had the softest heart, out of all of them,” Eleanor said. “Perhaps that is why she needed to protect it most.”

Leonard beheld her somewhat puzzled, but she was already taking out a wooden box out of her purse. Years ago, she had received it at that very doorstep from Susan, and she had taken it to Narnia, aboard the Lady Eventide with Caspian, and finally it was restored to her when she had arrived back from the Mountain of Aslan. That night, back at Gracie’s apartment, she had carefully placed the magical rings inside individual velvet pouches, rolled them inside another layer of fabric, and then inserted a note with Susan’s name on top of them.

"Will you keep this safe for me?" she asked, offering him the box. "Susan didn’t want it, and I cannot have it either." She had even considered, for a brief moment as she approached the riverbank on her way to the underground station, throwing it in the Thames to disappear forever, but she could not bear the thought of losing the one thing Edmund, Lucy, Peter, Eustace, Jill, Professor Kirke and Mrs. Plummer had all unknowingly sacrificed their lives for.

"What…"

"It was very important to them," she said simply.

Leonard’s mouth hung open, ready to ask following questions, but he acquiesced at last. He took the box from her hands and nodded once.

Eleanor took one last look through the crack behind him, at the living room where Mrs. Pevensie had gifted them all with chocolate on their very first Christmas together, at the kitchen where she and Lucy had decorated a raspberry jam tart, even at the bathroom where she had once locked herself in and weeped. She stared at the staircase, wondering whether the slopes in the centre of each step was a product of her grieving imagination. 

"Take care of her," she murmured, before turning and walking away.

She did not look back when she reached Finchley Central station, nor when she drove away the next day with Gracie and Albert. Arriving at Stamford felt like moving backwards, but this time she embraced it gladly, savouring every bit of nostalgia, every taste of her childhood. She moved back into her old room, she took to helping Aunt Doris with household chores, she joined on dinners with the Radcliffes, she even did the trip to Mr. Taylor’s shop on a daily basis. When winter came and it snowed for the first time, she nearly dropped her grocery bags when passing by St. George’s church. She could not see a lamppost and not search for Edmund underneath it, watching as snowflakes hovered above him, settling delicately on the dark strands of his hair.

The fifteen-minute walk ultimately turned into a daydream exercise. Eleanor would imagine Edmund was strolling along beside her, and she would think of what she would tell him then. Sometimes she wished to tell him of her day, or of something she had learned watching the news, or of an intriguing crossword answer on that morning’s paper. On gloomier evenings, she wished she could discuss her loneliness with him, as well as her fear of losing the few who had remained in this world with her. She wished she could tell him how much she missed him, and how she waited by the phone for a call from Susan that never came. 

Sometimes she wished to tell him nothing at all. She fantasised of him strolling next to her, offering his arm, holding her hand, kissing the top of her head. She missed the feeling of getting lost in the darkness in his eyes, gaping at the universe it contained. She craved his smell, the assurance of his arms around her, the sound of his laughter.

Most of all, she wished for time. Fifteen minutes, she would plead to the skies. What wouldn’t she give for fifteen more minutes with him?

On Christmas Day, Eleanor and her aunt spent all morning in the kitchen. Gracie and Albert had invited them and the Radcliffes for dinner. Aunt Doris was tasked with baking a chicken pie, while Eleanor volunteered to prepare a side dish. She decided on mashed potatoes, which brought bittersweet memories of her first supper at Professor Kirke’s house, when they had all competed on preparing potato-centred plates.

"Edmund and I were up against Jill and Eustace on whose mash would be the fluffiest," she was telling her aunt as she squashed the boiled potatoes into a paste. By then, she was slowly getting used to talking about Edmund in the past tense. With each story, each anecdote, each throwaway mention, his name came more easily, and he seemed to become real once again, instead of only a haunting inside her mind. Reminiscing, at last, was revealing itself as a self-indulgent activity. "They were all very competitive."

Aunt Doris smiled kindly. "And who won the competition?"

"Lucy," Eleanor replied, laughing. "She made chips. Though Edmund suspected it was due to the judge’s — namely, Professor Kirke — favouritism towards her."

"Well," her aunt said, checking on the oven, "there will be no favouritism tonight. Let us see if your mash will stand the test to an impartial jury."

Eleanor chuckled as she turned back to her dish, her chest warmed by the memory of those early summer days. She coddled herself with the picture of her and Edmund walking back and forth from the greenhouse, exploring the mazes of the house, searching for chives in an overgrown garden.

Her heart sank as her face turned white.

"Baked," she uttered.

Aunt Doris turned, frowning. "Hm?"

Eleanor blinked. "We… baked potatoes," she said, her voice very small. "Eustace and Jill were the ones who made mash. Edmund and I baked them."

She stumbled around the kitchen, reaching for support. She gripped at the countertop, the same one where she and Edmund had leaned on as they shared a small piece of chocolate on another Christmas evening. She glanced at the wall clock and was flooded with the memory of them checking the time for Peter’s train on the day before their wedding. She peered at the entryway, where she had once introduced him to her aunt and uncle, where he had gifted them with a bottle of wine.

"Eleanor?" her aunt was calling. "What is it?"

"I…" She cleared her throat. "I’m forgetting. I’m already forgetting him."

She met her aunt’s eyes, which were full of sorrow. She did not need to explain anything further, but she went on anyway.

"These memories are all that I have now," she whispered. "All that I’ll ever have for the rest of my life. I cannot be losing them already. It has been months, Aunt Doris. It has only been months. What will… what will happen after years go by?"

She knew despair must be leaking out of her eyes, but it was not in her aunt’s nature to cater to distress. Eleanor stood, trembling, still waiting hopelessly for words of comfort.

"You’ll forget him, dear," Aunt Doris replied. Despite the harshness of her words, her tone was as soft as Eleanor knew her aunt to be capable. "You will. One day, you’ll wake up to find you cannot remember his shoe size. A few years will pass, and you won’t remember whether he took sugar in his tea. And then a decade will have gone by, and perhaps his birthday will slip by without you noticing it, even though you promised yourself you would light a candle for him every year. Until one day, you will look at yourself in the mirror with your greying hair, your wrinkles, and the weight of the life you have lived, and realise you have become someone else entirely —  someone they didn’t know, didn’t love."

Her aunt took a step closer, placing a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. She waited until Eleanor had stopped shaking.

"I don’t remember your father as well as I wish I did," she continued. "You barely had time to get to know him, but I grew up with him. After he died, I believed it was my duty to remember him, so that I could pass it all on to you. But you grew up, and started asking me questions I did not know the answers to, so I recoiled in shame. For such a long time, I thought I had failed."

Aunt Doris’ voice cracked at the end, which startled Eleanor back into focus.

"Yet now I see it is not in our memories that the dead shall live. It is in us, Eleanor. I think of him whenever I listen to the radio, because he was the one who gifted it to me. It was your mother’s books you inherited, and her romanticism as well. It was your father’s ambition which drove me to push you in your studies. It was his hunger to leave us and Stamford behind I begrudged in you. It was his voice, his reasoning, that I heard back in each of our arguments. It was… the love that I had for him that I tried to share with you. Even if I wasn’t so virtuous in it.”

Eleanor stared into her aunt’s eyes — green, the same as hers. For a moment, Eleanor looked through the woman she had known, and she saw someone not too different from herself staring back. Could it be possible she had tasted her aunt’s love in so many ways, for so long, she had forgotten to notice it?

“I’m so sorry, Aunt Doris,” Eleanor muttered. “I spent… so many years wishing for what I did not have. But I am thankful for the life you have given me. The one I never appreciated until I lost it.”

She reached for her aunt’s hand, but they embraced instead. So Eleanor weeped desperately and sobbed painfully, allowing herself to break down further than she had the day she visited Edmund’s grave, or the day she first found out about his fate. Any pretense of stoicism was washed away, and Eleanor indulged in her own self-pity. She had no one to blame but herself for the path she had chosen on the Mountain of Aslan, yet she could scarcely find strength within herself to endure it.

“But how do I go on?” she whispered. “I don’t want to spend a lifetime longing for what I have lost. I cannot live the rest of my life in love with a ghost.”

Aunt Doris stepped back to tuck a strand of Eleanor’s hair behind her ear. She kissed her cheek.

“Hold on to your love, my dear. Even if it feels different.”

Her aunt then squeezed her shoulder once more before she turned back to the oven, checking on her chicken pie. Eleanor wiped her face, facing her own abandoned station.

Until it fades, she thought, as she took back to mashing potatoes.

Chapter Text

England, January 1950 - June 1951

Eleanor welcomed the following decade with a quiet, meagre celebration. Gracie and Albert were gone to Derbyshire to visit his family, so the Radcliffes hosted a small dinner party for Eleanor and her aunt and uncle, which ended before the clock struck midnight. Eleanor and Birdie then set off by themselves for the town centre, though they could not secure seating in any of the overflowing pubs, and ended up finding solace at a quieter street instead. They stood on one side, leaning on a storefront window, watching the night. Even their parallel griefs had not kindled much willful conversation in the past few months, so Eleanor had grown used to Birdie’s silent company. She soaked in the echoes of the Auld Lang Syne flowing from the city’s stone walls and observed the clear sky.

“Theo liked looking at the stars,” Birdie murmured by her side, startling Eleanor back into her body. “He said it made him feel like home, wherever he was. They were always the same.”

Eleanor smiled. “Edmund did, too,” she said. “He once told me he used to talk to them, when he was away during the war.”

In another world, a star had once told her their love could be kept amongst their light for all of eternity. But in this world, stars were nothing but big, floating bodies of gas. Could they keep the promise Edmund had once made to her, of having them whisper his voice from one galaxy to the other? Could they remember him, too?

“An army of dreamers,” Birdie scoffed lightly, bitterly.

They looked down to their shoes. The music had ended, though they could still hear excited chatter and roars of laughter from down the block.

“Mr. Pevensie, Edmund’s dad, was a physicist,” Eleanor said. “He once told me that some stars are so far away it can take billions of years for their light to reach us. That some of them might be gone entirely, and yet we can still see them shining, every night. He said that, if they were to look back at us on Earth, they might see dinosaurs instead.”

She waited for another scoff, or perhaps a snarky remark, but Birdie kept pensive.

So she went on, “He also believed the universe was infinite, and ever expanding. So if we are made of light, we are never truly gone. Even if there is an end to the universe, our light would still travel for billions of years.”

 As she spoke, the thought seemed to take form in her mind. Perhaps in this world Aslan’s Country was not behind a wall of water, but rather in the space between stars.

“I like that idea,” Birdie finally responded. “Though I do not care for billions of years. I only wish the stars can still watch over Grant and Theo, wherever and whenever they are.”

Eleanor took Birdie’s hand, and only let go when they separated at the front of their houses. From that night on, the two of them would often join on clear nights, sitting at Birdie’s back garden as they drank tea or listened to a record. They still mostly kept quiet, though sometimes they would share a story with their lost loved ones.

Spring gave birth to a season of weddings, for which Aunt Doris demanded Eleanor’s assistance. Time was compressed into sowing deadlines, meshing days and fabrics and weeks and stitches, and soon Eleanor was waking up to a brisk autumn morning. On the train accident’s anniversary, Gracie and Albert drove Eleanor once again to London, and she endured another visit to the Pevensies’ graves. She did not stop by the Fairholme Gardens house, nor did she see Susan at the cemetery, though the tombstones were all garnished with fresh flowers. Eleanor asked them to drive her straight back to Stamford afterwards. The wound was still too recent, and she knew additional time spent in London would only infect it further.

The year of 1951 came, and Eleanor still had not heard from Susan. She was well settled back into Stamford by then, and each passing month only convinced her she might never hear from Susan again — after all, they had parted on such terrible terms, hadn’t they? Sometimes, she would pick up the phone and listen to its ringing, trying to muster up the courage to call for Finchley, but she knew it would do no good to reach out. She could not force Susan to remember, nor could she impose her presence back in Susan’s life. Her only option was to wait, and to hope.

It was mid-June when Uncle Rupert called Eleanor to the living room, just as she was pouring herself a cup of coffee in the kitchen. He sat by his usual spot at the sofa, with the radio turned on the news.

“Yes, Uncle Rupert?”

He pointed at an envelope by the mantel. “This came for you earlier this morning. From London, it seems.”

The familiarity of the scene sent her heart yearning for an impossibility. The cup trembled in her hand, but she could not move her feet — for staying put meant she could believe, for a second longer, that the letter could be from Edmund. A correspondence lost in the postal system years ago, words of his that could still reach her, a scent perhaps preserved within the folded pages of a letter. For that one moment, she could believe he hadn’t been lost entirely to the past.

But of course this was a hopeless fantasy — Uncle Rupert would not have been so offhand if that had been the case. It might as well be yet another document to sign from Mr. Keatings.

Eleanor reached for the envelope, tearing it open to reveal a single-paragraph letter.

Dear Eleanor,

I hope you are well, and so is everyone at Stamford. I am writing to inquire whether you would like to join me on a trip to Cornwall on the 30 th . I have been meaning to pay a visit to Prof. Kirke’s old house, which has now become a historical landmark and will be open for visitations for the entire day. I have attached below the details on the train I will be taking from Paddington station, as well as my lodgings in Liskeard, if you would like to join me at either.

Best regards,

Susan Porter

Eleanor frowned, reading and rereading the letter, trying out different intonations each time. The sentences struck her as polished and colorless, yet the gesture was undeniably thoughtful, and she could not make sense of it. This was the first time Susan was reaching out to her in years, even if the invitation itself was so strange. She could do nothing but oblige.

Aunt Doris helped her pack for the trip, and Gracie even volunteered to drive Eleanor all the way to Cornwall, which she of course refused.

“It’s so much trouble, Gracie,” she had said. “Don’t be absurd. You’ve already done too much during all these years, I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

Gracie gaped at her, serious. “But I would like to do more, Nora. It’s not trouble to help your loved ones.”

Eleanor smiled at her friend. How could she have once believed her true calling waited in London, or even Narnia, when love this strong had always existed in Stamford?

 She kissed Gracie’s hand. “I think this is something I have to do on my own.”

“Are you sure?” Gracie asked. She then made a face, and Eleanor knew exactly what she dared not ask.

“I’m sure,” Eleanor had replied, though she had not been sure at all.

The train ride to London did not concern her, and it passed by too quickly. It was arriving at the busy station that she dreaded, though she knew there would be no evidence of the accident. She disembarked at the congested platform, having to dodge and swerve from the irritable passersby, only to find herself once again searching for a familiar figure with pale skin and dark hair. Her heart was still set on impossibilities, and she kept thinking — if horses could talk and men could turn to gold and stars could descend to the earth, why couldn’t ghosts be real? Why was it only inside her head that the dead haunted her?

A distant chime made her glance at a clock on the station’s furthest wall. She noticed there were markings on the wall beneath it, and she approached it enough to distinguish them as names. Too late did she realise it was, in fact, a monument to the accident that had killed the Pevensies, and she skirted as fast as she could to take the tube out of there.

The platform at Paddington was quieter, so Eleanor took a seat as she awaited the train to Cornwall. She had barely had time to catch her breath when the train arrived, and she had to line up.

“Eleanor,” a voice called from behind her.

She turned at the same instant. Susan stood only a couple feet away, dressed in a full-skirt blue dress with a matching cardigan. She looked infinitely better than the last time Eleanor had seen her, years ago at Gracie’s apartment, when they had had tea and a disastrous conversation.

“Susan,” she said carefully.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation. It’s very nice to see you.” Susan then smiled. “Shall we board?”

Eleanor nodded, unable to conjure any response. They shared a double seat, Susan by the window and her by the aisle, and kept busy with small talk as the locomotive whistled and thrummed into movement. Susan asked her about her aunt and uncle, so in turn Eleanor asked about Leonard, who Susan disclosed was currently on a trip to America. There hadn’t been much change in either of their lives in the past two years, which meant the pleasantries soon withered into nervous silence. Susan resorted to watching the landscape, while Eleanor entertained herself by picking at her fingernails or straightening her clothes relentlessly.

When they at last reached Coombe Halt station, the afternoon had darkened behind a thick layer of grey, and they stepped out of the train uneasily. The two of them stared at the sign and at the road. Eleanor fixated on the curve where, years ago, she had first spotted the carriage which brough Lucy, Eustace and Jill, and she heard the echoes of their laughter just then. She spied Susan from the side, her gaze just as sombre, and knew she too conjured the same voices in her mind. But a thunder suddenly deafened all else, prompting the two women to run for the town centre. They reached their bed and breakfast just as the first drops of rain hit the dirt roads, and did not speak further as they each settled in their own rooms.

Eleanor slept very little through the night, tossing and turning for hours until the first rays of sunlight began seeping through the curtains. She finally gave up, opening the windows instead. The sky was already a blend of lilac and pink, though a faint haze blurred their colours. There were hills and mountains in every direction, a brisk draft still lingering from the night, and early hour dew glistening on every surface. The sight was so lovely, and so contrasting to the gloom evening that had welcomed them the day before, Eleanor had no choice but to smile. And, when she squinted her eyes at the rising sun, she thought back to the words Edmund had once told her, as they watched a different dawn from a castle balcony. Perhaps this was a day for new beginnings, after all.

She met Susan for breakfast, where their hostess, Mrs. Fields, asked them where they came from and what or who they were visiting.

“Oh, the professor,” she said, once Susan told her of the time she had spent at his house, during the blitzes. “I do remember him. Quite the eccentric man, wasn’t he? Rarely left the house, and had the habit of rambling on and on if you egged him on it. Though I do remember hearing he took a handful of children in during the war. Were there others with you, love?”

Eleanor stiffened in place, though Susan did not seem disturbed.

“My brothers and sister,” she answered warmly. 

“Oh, how fortunate of you! You must have had quite the time exploring the property. I haven’t had the chance to tour it myself just yet, but I did visit the house once or twice, back when I was a kid. It was massive, it was.”

“I thought it was as good as a fairytale castle,” Susan agreed.

Eleanor blinked. “So did I.”

Susan looked at her and smiled — the same smile she had known once, simple and genuine, bare of politeness or etiquette. It urged Eleanor with questionings, though she couldn’t ask them in front of Mrs. Fields, or in front of the hostess’ husband, who went on to give them a ride on his carriage to Professor Kirke’s old house.

The estate awaited them from its spot atop a slope, behind a curtain of leaves and branches. They were immediately greeted by a woman who introduced herself as Helena Yates, who Eleanor suspected was the same woman who had threatened to call the police on her for trespassing, when she had emerged from the wardrobe in 1949. She didn’t seem to recognise Eleanor, thankfully, and went on to take them on a guided tour of the place.

The house hadn’t changed at all. Eleanor knew every painting, sculpture, and ornament; she remembered the corridors, the shortcuts, and the endless staircases she had once perceived as part of a maze. They hadn’t even changed the library’s organisation system, and Eleanor spotted most of the novels she had read during those summer nights. The gardens exhibited the most improvement, for every shrub was now millimetrically pruned, the grass as smooth as a carpet, the stone pathways clear of dirt or grime, and the greenhouse had been turned into an exemplary conservatory of all kinds of British flora. The colours of summer surrounded most of the property, and not a petal appeared out of place.

The tour didn’t last long, for Eleanor and Susan were not the most enthusiastic audience, and responded only in nods or short sentences to whatever piece of information Helena threw at them. They took in everything quietly, and soon they were back at the house, almost at the front entrance. Eleanor noticed a tapestry of a group of philosophers discussing by a tree, chuckling at the sight of a brown stain at its bottom. She had been distracted enough by it to almost crash into Susan, who was a few feet ahead kneeling by a wooden bench.

Elenaor watched as Susan’s fingers stroked the bench’s side until they found a few subtle carvings. She crouched beside her, recognising the four initials she knew would be there, and waited for Susan to speak.

“We did this on one night we were feeling particularly naughty,” Susan whispered. “Mrs. MacReady had lectured us for hours after Lucy and I accidentally spilled tea on that tapestry. She went on about how important it was to preserve these relics of the past, so we decided to leave our own mark upon it, as well. We thought it would be funny to come back one day and find these little tokens all around.”

Eleanor smiled. “Edmund showed this to me on the first day. He seemed very proud of it.”

“It was his idea, I think,” Susan laughed. “He could be very creative, especially when it came to mischief.”

Eleanor looked back to the letter E, analysing each of its incisions as if they could reveal something further beneath. “Hm,” she muttered quietly. “I suppose I didn’t get to witness that side of him very often.”

Susan blinked a few times, then looked away. “It’s how I remember him most vividly. Though I realise I wasted my chance of knowing him well in his adulthood.”

Their eyes met again. As Eleanor tried conjuring the Edmund Susan had described — an impulsive, jesting, even resentful young boy, as opposed to the ever prudent husband she had known — she couldn’t help the turmoil swelling inside her. Was it even the same person they had loved? 

“Susan…” she began.

“Ladies,” Helena interrupted them, making them jump at the same time. She stood across the room, hands clasped together, glaring at them unnervingly. “I’m so sorry, but we do need to carry on with the tour.”

Eleanor and Susan stood up hastily, without crossing their gazes. “Of course,” they said, straightening their skirts and adjusting their posture.

Eleanor was already following Helena into the next room when Susan called them back.

“Actually,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’ve wanted to ask — is it possible for us to visit the upstairs rooms? There is…”

“I’m afraid the third floor is not open for guest visitations.”

Susan frowned, remaining still. “Right. Right. It’s only… There is this wardrobe I remember seeing here years ago. It was so beautifully adorned, with intricate carved designs. Would you happen to know if it is still stored somewhere in the house?”

Helena didn’t respond immediately, though Eleanor thought she identified a hint of recognition on the exhibitor’s expression. Perhaps a softness, even.

She glanced at Eleanor, and then back at Susan, both of them with expectant faces. She then sighed and said, “I should not be showing you this, but I suppose it would be fine, only for a little while.” She began darting through the hallways, glancing sideways, though they had encountered less than a handful of staff throughout the visit. She explained as she rushed along the way, “I do remember when we were negotiating the purchase with the previous owner. His one request was for us to keep this wardrobe somewhere in the house. We replaced it from the upstairs bedrooms when we were remodeling the interior, of course, because it did not match the rest of the original Georgian furniture, even if I do personally find it somewhat charming…”

Helena led them through a narrow corridor, and then down a staircase. She turned on a lamplight on the dark room which awaited them, revealing piles of boxes and towering trinkets all over the basement floor. The wardrobe stood by a corner, protruding for its size, though it struck Eleanor as just as glum and unheeded as the surrounding miscellany. In the faint white light, it seemed stripped of its magic entirely.

She followed as Susan made its way towards it. It was unavoidable to watch every one of Susan’s movements, wondering, hoping for a shift in her heart. But Susan said nothing, resorting instead to feeling the wooden edges with her palms. She opened both of its doors and stared at its bareness for a moment, before shutting it closed.

“Shall we return?” Helena then called.

Eleanor agreed promptly, though Susan still hovered around the wardrobe. She walked towards her, carefully placing a hand on Susan’s shoulder. “Susan?”

Susan then broke down. She collapsed on the basement floor with a heartbreaking sob, which did not cease no matter what Eleanor or Helena said, so they simply took the afflicted woman back upstairs. Helena led them to the kitchen, where she hastily prepared Susan a cup of tea. Susan took it, though she did not sip, only clutched her hand around it tightly.

She finally mumbled something.

“What was that?” Eleanor asked, crouching beside her.

Susan finally turned to her. Her lips trembled, and her eyes were huge and pleading. 

“It was real, wasn’t it?” she whispered at last. “Elle? Was it all real?”

Eleanor stared at her in incredulity, though she began nodding tardily, then feverishly, and then the two women were embracing one another, shaking and weeping and laughing. Eleanor heard Helena excusing herself out of the room, though she did not care to check. They separated only enough for Susan to gawk at her, as if taking her in for the first time. Susan’s eyes darted back and forth around her face.

“I forgot you,” she admitted breathlessly. “I forgot all of it. How could I? Wasn’t it so wonderful? Narnia, Cair Paravel, and, oh! Oh, and Aslan! And Tumnus and the beavers and Caspian and Trumpkin… How could I have forgotten it all, Elle? How could I have rejected what should have been my most treasured memories?”

Eleanor wiped the tears from her eyes. “Forgetting is easy enough,” she replied. “It’s harder to remember.”

Susan took her hands. “I think I wanted to forget. I think part of me knew I would never be able to truly live in this world when I still loved Narnia so dearly. I thought that was what I was supposed to do.” She shook her head. “But I treated you all so poorly. I left, and I found my own happiness in America, and I… And I did not bother to check whether the rest of them had, too. Though I suppose at least Edmund had you.”

Eleanor sat back at her own chair, though she brought it as close to Susan as she could. “They were happy,” she muttered. “All of them. And, perhaps, that was what you needed to do. Each of you had to find happiness in this world, each in your own way.”

Susan looked down. “But do you know what the worst part is, Elle? It’s that I can hardly bring myself to regret it. Because the truth is, I loved it there. I loved California, I loved the sun and the beaches, I loved the parties, and I loved not having my identity attached to my siblings. I liked being my own person. How terrible is it for me to say this?”

Susan stared at her anxiously, though Eleanor could find her words, for Susan’s still resonated inside of herself. She found she couldn’t bring herself to judge Susan, for she understood the sentiment perfectly. She had once left her aunt and uncle, as well as Birdie and all of Stamford for London, for her academic aspirations, for her urge for independence, for a need to prove herself, for a short marriage with Edmund. And she knew, though she might never say it out loud, that she might never have returned if it hadn’t been for the accident.

“Of course, I never would have left had I known of my family’s fate,” Susan continued. She gripped at her tea cup, trying to keep it centered on the saucer. “But then again, there is an infinitude of things I’d do differently had I known how it all would end.”

She reached for Eleanor’s hand.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you. I think part of me resented you for living the life I had deserted. I do love you, Elle, and not only because you were married to my brother. This kind of affection came before him, I think. Perhaps that was why I showed you such an ugly, vulnerable side of myself. Our souls are sisters. Are they not? They have bonded in a time long ago, in a place we will never return to.”

Eleanor held Susan’s hand, as she had that night at the palace in Tashbaan. The stars in Narnia had not forgotten, and neither had she.

“My mind is feeble and it has taken so much away from me,” Susan continued. “But my heart is solid and sturdy and it does not forget.”

Eleanor hugged her then, and when they separated they were able to talk freely once again. She told Susan of her latest trip to Narnia, and how all of their timelines connected, and how she still hoped to go to Aslan’s Country when her time in this world came to an end. They discussed the magical rings and the wardrobe and whether either of them could ever take them back to Narnia.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” reproached Susan. “Aslan told us we would not go back. And, besides… I would not want to go back without them, anyway.”

When Helena came back to check on them, they thanked her repeatedly and profusely, then set off to roam the gardens one last time. They sat by a bench overlooking the nearby woods, under the shadow of one of the property’s walls. The heat was distracting, despite the beauty of the sunlit exterior, and Eleanor found herself daydreaming of swimming in rivers and clear lakes.

“Why did you decide to come back here now?” she finally asked Susan.

Susan stared straight ahead. “Lenny bought a new piano,” she said. She then shook her head and laughed. “He used to play back in California, and he missed it. He finally bought it about a month ago, and the first thing he played was a Narnian lullaby.”

Eleanor turned to her, frowning.

“I think it was hearing it that helped me find those memories I had hidden away,” Susan went on. “And suddenly I found myself back at Cair Paravel, with the sound of seagulls, and waves, and hooves and paws and feet all dancing together.”

“But how did he know the melody?”

“He said I sing it in my sleep sometimes. I never knew.”

Eleanor smiled. She imagined visiting the Fairholme Gardens house and having Leonard play the Narnian tunes they used to dance to. She’d bet they would remember every step. “I always thought magic sounded a bit like music,” she said.

Susan beamed back at her. “So did I.”

They spent the rest of the day recounting old memories of Narnia, as well as of Edmund, Lucy, Peter, Eustace, and Professor Kirke. They had so much catching up to do on the past, Eleanor even stayed late in Susan’s room, back at their lodging, muffling their giggles so as to not disturb Mr. and Mrs. Fields. They talked until their eyelids had grown so heavy they could barely blink, until they could not speak two words before letting out a yawn.

“Elle?” Susan called, right before Eleanor left. They stood in the narrow corridor, each gripping at the doorknobs of their opposing rooms. “How… How can I stop myself from forgetting?” she murmured. “I’m afraid I might wake up tomorrow, or in weeks or years, and convince myself once again it was all a dream.”

Eleanor sighed, staring down at her feet. She leaned on the doorframe. “I suppose we have to choose to believe in it,” she said quietly. “Since we are given the chance, wouldn’t you rather believe it was all real? How wonderful, don’t you think — to find our memories so lovely we mistake them for dreams.”

Susan still seemed somewhat forlorn, so she went on.

“Besides, Professor Kirke never forgot about Narnia in all those years. Neither did Mrs. Plummer.”

Susan shifted her weight from one side to another. “How do you think they did it?”

“I think it was because they had each other.”

They only stood in silence for a while longer. Eleanor then kissed Susan on the cheek, bid her goodnight, and slept soundly until the next morning.

Chapter Text

England, December 1951 - September 1994

Snow had settled all around the city of Stamford when Eleanor left for London once again. The tracks were mostly frozen, and the train car rattled with gusts from every direction, but she found the journey more peaceful than any of her past travels. Birdie sat by her side, reading a magazine, and she and Eleanor discussed its contents all through the midlands. When they arrived at King’s Cross, Susan and Leonard were already waiting for them at the platform.

“Oh, I’m so glad you could make it!” Susan greeted Eleanor, hugging her tightly. She then went on to embrace Birdie, who had been standing unsurely behind. “And you must be Birdie! Elle has told me so much about you.”

“Thank you for having us,” Birdie replied. “Nora has told me so much about you, too. It’s a pity we did not meet sooner.”

“Indeed,” Susan said, before introducing Leonard. “Oh, we must make haste! I hope you are not too tired — I have made reservations for us at the Café Royal. But we ought to get going if we are to make it in time.”

Eleanor blinked a few times before responding. “The Café Royal?”

Susan placed a hand on her shoulder. “I hope you do not mind, Elle. I thought you might like the surprise.”

Eleanor did not know yet what to make of it, so she simply followed Susan out of the station. Leonard dropped them at Regent Street, which was as crowded as one would expect on Christmas week, and they scrambled towards the fancy hotel. The opulent interior was still just as breathtaking as it had been in her childhood, and then in her university years, so Eleanor decided there and then it was, in fact, a lovely surprise. They unwinded with the music and the velvet cushions, filling themselves with tea and scones and chatter until they couldn’t take more of any of those.

They set off to roam the busy streets afterwards, marvelling at the ribbons and pinecones which decorated storefront windows and roadside lampposts. Eleanor found she could walk around the city centre just as easily as she did back in Stamford, and it turned out she had a story for every one of the corners they passed by. They walked by a church where she and Edmund had once sought shelter from the rain, as well as Lucy’s favourite ice cream store from the idle summer they had spent in each other’s company. She recognised pubs, theatres, shops and cinemas, all to which she could hardly attach only one single memory, for there were too many to pick from. By nightfall, she had been so electrified with all of her reminiscing, she could only feel warmth when arriving at the house at Fairholme Gardens.

“I wasn’t sure where exactly to put your luggage,” Leonard explained, once they had all settled in. “We prepared the two back bedrooms.”

Eleanor understood what he dared not say, and she tried smiling reassuringly. “I’ll take Edmund’s old room. Birdie can take Lucy’s.”

Leonard eyed Susan, who nodded once. “Very well,” he said, picking up their suitcases, which had been by the doorway, and climbing up the stairs.

Eleanor took in her surroundings. It was already dark outside, and the yellowish tint of the living room’s lamps cast an uncanny feeling in the space, as if hovering it above the passage of time. There was some comfort to its familiarity, she realised. She could imagine Peter or Edmund were chatting just in the next room, or that Mr. Pevensie had forgotten the front window open, or that they might walk into the kitchen and find Lucy and Mrs. Pevensie finishing up on dessert.

“You haven’t changed it much,” Eleanor muttered. “The house.”

She faced Susan, who observed her back. Susan smiled very faintly. “How could I?”

They went to bed early that first night, though Eleanor did not fall asleep immediately. Instead, she stayed up for half of a beginner’s chess book, which she found tucked away on one of the dresser’s drawers. The next day, the three women shopped for groceries and decked the house with Mrs. Pevensie’s old decorations, and at night Leonard played them tunes on the piano for hours after supper. When Christmas Eve finally came, they had become so fond of each other’s company they hardly had a quiet moment at the house, with the music and the television and the discussion of the news, and barely made it in time for the midnight service. They attended the one at the same church they used to frequent with Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie, the same church where they were now buried. As they were leaving, Eleanor and Susan only stopped by the graveyard’s fence. They could spot the Pevensies’ tombstones from that distance.

Eleanor fixated on the one she knew was Edmund’s.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered, before Susan took her hand and pulled her towards the exit.

They went back to exploring the city on the days between Christmas and the New Year. Eleanor showed them the front of Mrs. Plummer’s old townhouse, as well as the building where she and Edmund had lived. She showed them around her old campus at King’s College, walking them through the familiar hallways and peeking through the windows of her past classrooms. She delighted even at pointing at bus routes she used to ride on, smiling at the sight of each acquainted double-decker, and every underground station she recognised was as exciting as greeting an old friend. When the day of their return to Stamford arrived, Eleanor realised she did not want to leave at all.

But Birdie seemed fatigued enough, and they had promised their families they would not stay too long, so soon they were boarding their train home. Susan was reluctant to see them off, repeating they were welcome to come back at any time, going as far as proposing they traveled back for Easter. They then said their farewells, and Eleanor and Birdie rode back in silence. Eleanor took out her knitting needles, though she mostly observed the wintry view, blurry behind the condensated window.

The views of the city had long been substituted by plain fields when Birdie finally spoke.

“You know, I always found it so odd that they called you Elle instead of Nora,” she commented suddenly. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and she gaped at the yarn that sat on Eleanor’s lap. “As if they were throwing this new identity upon you.”

Eleanor turned to her, meeting her gaze for only a second. She could not lie to Birdie. Truthfully, she had once chosen to go by Elle as a way of embracing her new life in Narnia, and had accidentally ended up favoring it instead. “I did want it back then,” she admitted. “A different identity. A different life.”

“I know,” Birdie said. “I have always known it. In fact, I used to begrudge Elle for taking Nora away from me.”

She half chuckled, half scoffed.

“Last summer,” Birdie continued, “Mum cut my hair a bit too short. Shorter than it’s ever been. And I absolutely lost it, because I thought I couldn’t possibly have short hair, not when Theo and Grant had only known me with long hair. They had only ever loved me with long hair.”

“Birdie…”

“It doesn’t make any sense, I know it. Of course they would have loved me regardless of my hair’s length. It’s only — I haven’t felt much like myself lately, these past years, and I feared I had become somebody else entirely. I was no longer the girl they once loved.” She shook her head. “But that’s the thing. We cannot remain stationary for the sake of the dead. After all, were they still here, they would have grown to love whatever kind of person we became, wouldn’t they? So we must do the same.”

Birdie turned her body completely towards Eleanor, taking her hands.

“Do you miss London, Nora?”

Eleanor could not hold herself for much longer. She nodded, exhaling deeply. “I do,” she murmured. She watched as the yarn and the needles glided from her skirt to the ground, not caring for it. “I thought it was ruined forever for me after losing them. But it seems it is warmer because of them.”

Birdie smiled. She picked up the knitting supplies and placed them carefully back in Eleanor’s purse. “Then I hope you know it. It’s okay if you want to go back. We should not remain stationary for the sake of the dead, but neither should we do it for the sake of the living. Don’t be afraid to leave us behind. We will love whoever you choose to be, wherever you choose to live. And you can always find your way back to us. Stamford will always be your home.”

As Eleanor faced her oldest friend, she thought of what Caspian had once told her, when she had believed to have lost everything. He had said they could only find one person who could see them as they truly were, and love them for it. But now she saw that he had been wrong. Edmund had been her biggest love, the one she had chased across the universe, yet everyone else who had loved her had done so in spite of all of her flaws. Even if they did not know her entirely, they knew the part that was standing in front of them, and they loved it the same.

And wasn’t she the sum of their love? To love, she realised, was to grow. It was flourishing under persisting nourishment, it’s tending to them in return. It’s being part of this stemming, ever sprouting garden, and cherishing every new season they faced together.

Eleanor exhaled, counting her breaths until she could speak without trembling. “Wouldn’t you want to come with me?” she asked quietly, tentatively.

“I like Stamford,” Birdie answered. “But if you are to go, then promise me this.”

“Anything.”

“Come back as often as you can. And call, and write, and never forget us.”

Eleanor promised it. For her heart, too, was solid and sturdy, and it would not easily forget.

She spent the following months working on a graduate application, and she was at last accepted back into King’s College for a Master of Arts. Susan and Leonard offered a room in their house, but Eleanor preferred finding a place closer to campus, so she rented a flat in her old neighborhood instead. Aunt Doris, Uncle Rupert, Gracie and Birdie all saw her off at Stamford station, sending her off with presents and blown kisses. When she arrived at King’s Cross, and saw Edmund’s name by the wall monument, it even seemed to welcome her somehow. She then thought that perhaps it was for the best that his name should remain there, after they were all gone.

Eleanor settled well back into life in London. She contacted Mr. Talbot, who was willing to rehire her part-time as a research assistant, which was enough to afford her living expenses, while still granting her enough time for her studies. She called for Stamford on weeknights and visited Finchley on weekends, and after a few months she made friends out of her peers, and a life out of her routine.

She still made a habit of daydreaming of Edmund, though it happened less frequently now. On quiet nights she would stay in her flat reading detective stories or Engineering books, and on Saturday mornings she would go to the park and watch chess matches, sometimes even participating herself. She went to the Café Royal every December, and in the first year after she graduated from her program, she walked onto Regent Street to find it illuminated in its entirety with floating cherubs, snowflakes, and stars. She marvelled in it for so long she forgot about her afternoon tea entirely, and ended up returning home on an empty stomach.

In another life, she had thought, as she wandered her way back, we would be looking at Christmas lights together. And you would tell me of the wonders of electricity, and I might tell you of the contradictions of the holiday’s celebrations, and we would laugh and admire the spectacle either way.

But of course in this life this was not true, and there was no use in indulging in bitterness. Time did not write fairly, and all she could do was appreciate the beauty hidden between its lines, loving the bend of every letter and the rhythm of its sentences.

Sometimes she could see the truth to its kindness. All of time was written as one, and every event of the universe was happening at the same time. Somewhere not too far from there, she and Edmund were falling in love out of order. They were meeting again in the dark shuddering woods of Narnia, they were dancing at Caspian’s coronation, they were sharing their first kiss at the castle at Narrowhaven, they were watching the sunrise at Cair Paravel. They were meeting on a snowy street at Stamford, they were lying in the gardens of Professor Kirke’s house, they were talking under the moonlight at their London flat. They were sharing a million little moments, from a glance to an entwining of hands, from a brush of the lips to a lingering embrace. 

And in those times, as she felt his presence so overpoweringly, she could not help but think — perhaps death was meaningless, but life was certainly not.

By the time Susan got pregnant for the first time, Eleanor was just starting a job as a teacher at a girl’s secondary school, though she still visited Finchley as often as she could. She helped the Porters build cribs and paint light colours on their walls, and then she helped change diapers and rock babies to sleep. She witnessed first steps and first words, terrible tantrums and the most contagious giggles, and she watched them grow big enough to make the Fairholme Gardens house shrink right before her eyes. And when the children were old enough to remember it, she and Susan told them stories of Narnia.

They always did it together, for they needed one another to be reminded of details they had forgotten. But even as the words left her lips, Eleanor doubted herself whether any of it was true. Had she really flown on dragon back, had she actually met a star? Could she have sailed to the edge of the world, could she have wielded swords? Did she use to dance with nymphs and fauns? Had she truly lived in a castle, amongst kings and queens and princes and princesses?

The children, however, were all too inclined to believe their mother a queen, and their aunt a knight. They did not hesitate to believe in magic, and so Eleanor had no choice but to follow suit.

It was easier, even, to keep those she had lost close to her heart, for she found them everywhere she looked. She could hear Lucy’s gaiety in the laughter of school girls who passed by her in crowded streets, she felt the warmth of Lucy’s smile in the summer morning light. She would see Peter in the great heroes of History textbooks, and she would see him whenever someone held the door open for her, or offered her help crossing a street. She found Caspian’s buoyancy in the smirks of boys who barely looked old enough to be in pubs, she recognized Eustace’s headstrongness in opinionated newspaper columns, she recalled Jill’s competitiveness in every athlete she watched on the television. She saw Professor Kirke and Doctor Cornelius in the old men playing chess in the park, and she thought of Mrs. Plummer whenever she drank sweet tea.

She thought of Edmund most of all, of course. She felt his resentment in gloomy storms, his restlessness in the wind, his passion in the rain. She saw him from dawn until dusk, and she heard his voice carried by the stars themselves. She welcomed the night gladly, for she felt him watching over her from the darkness which hovered above. And when the skies were clear, and the stars came out in all their might, she would sit outside and talk to him.

“Men have walked on the moon. Can you believe it, Ed?” she said one night, after they had all gathered around the television to watch it. She chuckled, until it all quieted again. “Do you think they’ll walk on the stars next? Do you think they’ll make bridges out of the dreams we send up to the heavens?”

The stars, of course, could do nothing but shine back.

Eleanor moved back to Stamford after Aunt Doris and Uncle Rupert passed. They had died within the same year, only a month apart from one another, after a lifetime spent together. Time, it seemed, was not always so cruel — or perhaps it was Aunt Doris who could scold time into not separating her from her husband, not a day over a month. And she settled back into Stamford with perfect ease, for it was her home, just as much as London and Narnia were too, just as she was Nora and Elle and Mrs. Pevensie and Aunt Eleanor, all at once. 

She left this world quietly, peacefully. Death called to her like a lullaby she had heard before. It was as safe as falling asleep in the living room as a kid, knowing her parents would carry her upstairs and tuck her into bed. It was as easy as walking around her house in Stamford with the lights off, knowing every step, every turn, every creaky floorboard. When she closed her eyes for a final time, all she had to do was roll over in the dark until she fell straight into Edmund’s arms. 

He was waiting to catch her on the other side.

Chapter Text

Edmund had only known one love in his life, and she had died in his arms.

He had first seen her moonlit, standing amidst a garden, her lovely figure echoed in the surrounding glass windows. He was not gratified by the sudden emptying of his lungs, or the feverishness of his heart upon the sight, for it reminded him of the time he had been plundered of his will by a dreadful enchantress, who had once swept him off his feet only to send him floating helplessly, the way he did in his nightmares. But the woman in front of him, though otherworldly in appearance, had a sturdiness of her own. Both his feet were grounded as they became acquainted, and he chose every step he took towards her. Through that night, he had watched her dance, and laugh, and talk, and jest, and when the sun cast its light upon her at last, Edmund understood his heart no longer belonged to him, if it ever had.

And so one night he tried holding her hand. They had been in a different country, talking of dreams and homes beneath starry heavens, and he could not deny his soul any longer. She, however, repulsed at his touch, fleeing into the night instead. The hollowness inside him shifted, though his feelings did not, because — why deny it? He was in love, and unrequitedness would not change it. To love in solitude was better than to not love at all, and he had long accepted the fate of a pious existence.

But when he saw a dagger go through her, his intended devotion was forced to become grief. Her blood, still fervorous from stolen youth, stained his hands for the remainder of his days, until fifteen years of his life were abruptly erased, and his hands were turned back to those of a boy. He was deserted in a world where she had never existed, and yet he knew the memory of her would never cease to haunt him. He would not want it any other way.

Life back in England was not gentle on any of them. They moved back to London, settling back into their old childhood bedrooms, and pretended they were still the same children who had left. Boys at school wouldn’t grant him the privilege of seclusion, tormenting him with names and jostling and snickers, but he didn’t mind it as much this time. At night, he and his siblings would gather beneath their covers, recounting tales of when they had been kings and queens, barely able to contain their longing into whispers. Their sleep was very much compromised, but none of them could find it within themselves to care about school.

Yet months went by just the same. They were treated as children, they lived as such, and, little by little, they were starting to believe it. Suddenly it was spring, and Peter was graduating secondary school, and he was being called for the army. Susan was out most nights, loitering about with her new friends, forbidding him and Lucy to come along. And on the brink of all of that change, they were taken back.

The four of them were then caught within war and revolution, swords and armour thrusted upon them, war strategies and battle cries replacing class debates and oral exams. Edmund was king once again; he had honour and respect, authority and earned wisdom. The world of Narnia might not have been the same, but he felt like the real version of himself once again, instead of the shadow he had been in England.

He had not expected to find her there, too. He beheld her like an apparition from his dreams — still moonlit and heavenly, standing amongst greenery, the same as the first night they had met. She had gazed at him expectantly, and his heart was filled with foolish, juvenile, pointless hope. But she called herself Eleanor and Nora, though Caspian called her Elle, and her story did not make sense.

The next morning, the witch came back to taunt him. He had then stabbed a sword through her frozen figure, shattering it into smithereens, yet her voice would not scatter away. Edmund, Edmund, Edmund, it sang in his mind. Did you really think you could find love? Love, dear, is not a given. And it is certainly not wasted on corrupted souls such as ours.

Go away, he had screamed back into the void, effecting no change. “Go away,” he muttered this time, though it made very little difference.

When he went to find her that day, he could barely look at her. His face hardened as he saw flashes of her wound, of her pale skin, of her bulging blood. And when she revealed, at last, that it was his fault that she had come to Narnia in the first place, and he was to blame for her fate — his past, her future — he understood how mistaken he had been, how naive, for having believed he had repented for the sins in his past. The witch’s voice hummed in his ears again, icy and cutting.

“What do you make of it?” he asked Susan later in the evening, after he had mulled on the idea for a while longer. “Could time truly be looped around itself, like a string of yarn? Are the past and future not so different from one another as we think?”

His sister did not answer immediately. She stared at Elle, or Eleanor, or Nora, who sat across the room in conversation with Caspian and Doctor Cornelius. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “I cannot dwell on the concept of time right now. All I see is the friend I still love — a friend I still believe I have lost.”

Eleanor glimpsed briefly at their direction, and Edmund looked away as quickly as he could. “It seems,” he replied quietly, “so have I.”

They did not talk much further on it, for the war, despite all of their heartache, came knocking at their door only a few days later. They wagered Narnia’s fate on their faith, and help came through at the last minute. Edmund had been so entranced by the lion and the river god and the walking trees, he realised too late Eleanor was nowhere near in sight, and the perils of the battle had not ceased just yet. He rushed back into the woods, finding her crushed beneath a man’s ire, wrestling for her life with her bare hand.

Despair turned into rage, and by the time he was finished with the attacker he could hardly find his way back into himself. He bandaged her hand, making a silent promise at every knot. And when it was confirmed that time could not be rewritten, and that the woman who stood in front of him would one day find her destiny in a battlefield in Archenland, Edmund understood there was only one path before him. When she asked him, he denied it. After all, how could he mark the woman he loved with her death? How could he rob her of hope, of purpose, of dreaming? How could he do anything but dedicate his every breath for the remainder of hers?

Every change they had left suspended in England caught up to them when they returned. Peter went away to the war front, and soon his own parents and Susan were set to leave, as well. Their move to America was as sudden as it was careless. They emptied the house in only a day, and in the next Aunt Alberta was already there to fetch them away to Cambridge. Susan and his mother came into his room to bid him farewell, but his father had left without as much as a pat on the shoulder.

“I will not have my integrity questioned by a child,” was the last thing he had said, the night before, as Edmund had confronted him at the dinner table. “Especially by one who knows nothing of war or sacrifice.” Edmund had not replied then, for none of them ever did, and only went to bed without bidding them goodnight.

If only I did not know sacrifice, Edmund thought most of the following evenings, as he tried to adjust himself to life at Cambridge, drowning Eustace’s snoring with pleasant memories. He thought of Eleanor’s smile, he tried conjuring her laughter. He thought of the nights they had spent talking on brisk balconies in Tashbaan, and of the time he had danced with her in Cair Paravel. If only I had never known utter, blissful happiness.

As the months passed, he found school even more pointless than before, for the war still carried on, and Peter’s letters told stories of courage and hardships. He took on a part-time job at a local shop, helping stock shelves and assisting customers. Most of his earnings he shared with Aunt Alberta, as a way of excusing his and Lucy’s presence, though he also saved as much as he could spare, hiding it under his bed.

One afternoon, however, he came into the bedroom to find Eustace, kneeling as he snooped under his mattress.

“You little thief,” he groaned, shoving Eustace to the side. “You have been stealing from me, haven’t you? I did notice some of it’s been missing. Admit it!”

“This is my house,” Eustace countered, in his usual petulance, though his face was reddening by the second. “I’ll take as much as I like.”

Lucy then appeared by the door. “Ed?” she called. “What is going on?”

Eustace took Lucy’s interference as his cue to leave, dodging Edmund and rushing downstairs. Edmund muffled a few curses as he sighed and sat by the edge of the bed, counting the remainders of his savings.

“What is all of this?” Lucy asked.

He finally faced her, rather shamefully. He could not lie to her. “I meant to save enough for a ticket to Stamford,” he admitted.

Lucy gazed at him compassionately, though not pitifully, in a way only she could excel at. She sat by his side, resting her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Ed,” she muttered. “But aren’t you supposed to meet later? I remembered her saying you were twenty…”

“But don’t you see, Lu? She is here! She is in this world, and she is alive, and she is an hour away by train! And she… She does not have long. Not nearly long enough. So do you really expect me to sit around and work on school assignments and waste time I could have with her?”

“But she won’t know you, will she?”

He shook his head. “I don’t care. I just… I just want to see her, and remind myself she is real, and make sure she is happy.”

“She is happy,” Lucy argued sadly. “She’s in Narnia.”

Edmund thought of the tenderness he had seen in Caspian’s eyes, and of all the times he had made Eleanor laugh. He had no idea how long would have passed in Narnia before he returned, nor what the outcome of the time they spent together would be. Eleanor had been warmer to him by the end of their last stay in Narnia, though that might not mean anything — after all, Elle had once been just as warm, and still she ran from him in Tashbaan.

“Don’t remind me,” he grunted, before dropping the subject altogether.

Waiting, it turned, was his penance. He decided not to visit Stamford at all, for he knew his only option there would have been to tend over Eleanor from a distance, or worst of all, to make her acquaintance. At least, he thought, in his fantasies he could pretend she cared for him just as much as he cared for her. And so he remained wastefully in Cambridge, counting the days of his sentence, and he registered for his conscription months before he even turned eighteen. If he were to wait, then at least he could do so while serving his country.

A week before he was to depart for his training, however, the painting on Aunt Alberta’s wall leaked into the room, engulfing them with salt water until they were breaching its surface, gasping for clean, Narnian air. Edmund was then glad he had not visited Stamford, for he couldn’t help the way he ran towards Eleanor upon his first sight of her, crumbling with joy when she hugged him back. This time, his heart did not feel so conflicted by guilt or their tangling through time, and all it could do was keep falling for her, over and over again, in this infinite abyss.

And perhaps because he knew his time with her was short, or more simply because he couldn’t prevent himself from doing so, he decided he would try again. Except this time, when he reached for her hand, she held onto his. They were still attached when he fell asleep, and when morning came, despite the fact that they had crashed for a few hours at the lower decks of a slaver ship, Edmund thought it had been the finest sleep of his life. He went after her by the end of that night’s feast, ready to confess his feelings, not at all expecting her to declare them back. When their lips touched for the first time, he felt as if he had become someone else entirely. For all of these years he had been but half a soul, wandering helplessly about life — until now.

It was the calm before the storm, he knew it. But he would not stand and stare at the horizon, waiting for the skies to darken. He took to calling her his love, his dearest, his darling; he became used to her touch and her scent; he learned every pattern of her laughter, he studied the entire spectrum of her eyes. So when the time came, and they were forced to separate once more, he was not as wretched as before. He knew he would never forget her, for how could he forget his own soul?

It was not despite the war’s best efforts. Every day spent at enemy territory tore at him in a way he had never known before, ripping at his very core, challenging his own beliefs. He did not forget Eleanor or Narnia, though he doubted any of his memories belonged to him, even those of London and Cambridge. His existence was now tethered to the uniform he wore, to the rifle he carried, to the boots he marched on. He saw men lose lives, limbs, senses and minds in front of him, and he was repeatedly told to be grateful he hadn’t yet lost any of it. He found, perhaps too late, there was neither courage nor honor in shooting at others.

He daydreamed of the day he would be reunited with Eleanor. He knew he’d have to introduce himself to her, somehow, and so he pictured picking up a handkerchief she had dropped, or offering to carry something for her, or any other gallantry to be found in one of the romance novels she read. He entertained himself with the idea of simply kneeling before her, declaring undying love, and hoping she’d somehow keep her promise of falling for him on the very first day. He had scarcely prepared any sort of plan when he was suddenly dispatched back to the homefront, finding himself wandering the midlands sooner than he had expected.

The first night he had walked along the quiet streets of Stamford, he decided he would not launch himself into Eleanor’s life. How could he, when it meant putting an end to it? Perhaps, if he could walk away, they might rewrite time, and she might not meet her doom. But it seemed, alas, it was in his nature to be selfish. The moment he recognised her, as she strolled before him, he heard himself shouting her name. He felt his legs darting towards her,  his hands clasping her face, his eyes begging for remembrance. Yet her gaze was nothing but unnerved. He recomposed himself, apologised, asked for permission to get to know her. And once again his soul was complete, and he found he was still falling for her, and he knew he might never stop.

He did not regret fleeing that Christmas night, only the ungraciousness of his execution. 

Forgive me, my love, he wrote, in the first of endless discarded drafts of his apology. I know you’ll understand. One day, you will do the same thing to me. 

And though he longed to reunite with a version of Eleanor who shared the same memories as him, he would not rush it. He went to see the wardrobe on their first night at Professor Kirke’s house, nestling in its barren interior, hoping for a sensation that had now become foreign. He instructed the others not to talk about Narnia in front of her, and they cherished peace and summer instead, diving back into this perfect pocket that still remained of their childhood. Just when he thought he might get away with it, the ploy was revealed at last, and he found himself taking Eleanor to meet her fate.

She came back different. Not only different from Nora, the girl who had gone into the wardrobe, but different from the Elle he had known aboard the Dawn Treader. They were mostly equal at last, soon engaged and then married, yet with a growing distance. He could not quite make sense of what it was, though he suspected it. She looked at him the same way he looked at her.

He would never ask it, of course. He believed, of all fates, knowing one’s own might be the cruellest. So they built a loving life in London, and he catered to her every need, and they never quarrelled. The vision of the dagger did not abandon him as the years went by, as time ran out. They kept faithful to their agreement of not discussing each other’s future, choosing simply to live in each other’s present, making the most of it. So when they said what Edmund knew to be their final farewells, he did not regret anything. He met his own fate with open arms.

Do not mourn the life I have lived, he wished to tell her, as he watched her despair and grieve. I have been a king, a rebel, a private, a knight, a sailor, a husband, a scholar. I have lived more lives than most people ever will. But that is not what it is all about in the end, is it? Our lives are not counted in years, as they say, but in the people we touch. And how could my life not have been most extraordinary when I was written into the most beautiful love story of all?

He was glad she took her time, and he delighted most of all in witnessing her following her dreams, or abandoning them, or creating new ones. And when the time came for her to join him, he did not feel as if more than a second had gone by.

“Elle, Eleanor, Nora”, he whispered softly, just as she returned to his arms, never to leave again. “I love you whole”.

Chapter Text

Cast of Characters, grouped by chronological appearance (or mention)

This section contains spoilers. I do not recommend reading ahead of the time period at which you are currently in the story.

England, 1944-1945

Eleanor Harrison: orphan, lives with her aunt and uncle in Stamford.

Doris Jones (née Harrison): Eleanor’s aunt, seamstress.

Rupert Jones: Eleanor’s uncle, married to Doris, railway worker.

Julian Harrison (deceased): Eleanor’s late father, died in a car accident in 1938. He taught Mathematics at King’s College in London.

Celine Harrison (deceased): Eleanor’s late mother, died in a car accident in 1938.

Birdie Radcliffe: Eleanor’s best friend from Stamford.

Theo Radcliffe: Birdie’s older brother, the Radcliffes’ middle child. He served in the British Army during World War II.

Grant Radcliffe: Birdie’s eldest brother, who also served in the British Army for World War II.

Mrs. Radcliffe: Birdie’s mother.

Bert Radcliffe: Birdie’s father. Served in World War I, where he lost one of his legs. Owns a shoe shop in Stamford.

Gracie Bradbury: Eleanor and Birdie’s childhood friend.

Albert Muncaster: Gracie’s fiancé.

Mr. O'Conry: Eleanor’s secondary school teacher in Stamford.

Mr. and Mrs. Taylor: owners of a grocery store in Stamford.

Timmy L. Keeffe: Edmund’s friend from the British Army.

Officer Barrow: lance corporal of the British Army, Edmund’s superior.

Cooke: private at the British Army.

Mrs. Sloane: Eleanor and Birdie’s neighbour.

Willie Norton: Eleanor’s classmate at secondary school.

Billy Lynch: boy from Eleanor’s neighbourhood.

Peter Pevensie: eldest son of the Pevensie siblings. He ruled the Golden Age of Narnia as High King Peter, the Magnificent.

Susan Pevensie: eldest daughter of the Pevensie siblings. Ruled as Queen Susan, the Gentle.

Edmund Pevensie: youngest son of the Pevensie siblings. Ruled as King Edmund, the Just.

Lucy Pevensie: youngest daughter of the Pevensie siblings. Ruled as Queen Lucy, the Valiant.

Christopher Pevensie: father of the Pevensie children. He served in the British Army from 1939 to 1942, when he was dismissed to accept a teaching position in California.

Helen Pevensie: mother of the Pevensie children.

Eustace Clarence Scrubb: cousin to the Pevensie children. He lives in Cambridge with his parents.

Alberta Scrubb (née Pevensie): Christopher Pevensie’s sister, Eustace’s mother.

Jill Pole: Eustace’s friend from school. She lives in Cambridge.

Diggory Kirke: professor who took in the Pevensie children when they were sent away from London. Lives in a historic house in Cornwall. 

Mrs. MacReady: Diggory Kirke’s housekeeper.

Polly Plummer Scott: Diggory Kirke’s childhood friend, who accompanied him in his adventure in Narnia. Lives in London with her husband.

Uncle Andrew (deceased): Diggory Kirke’s late uncle, who travelled to Narnia with him and Polly.

Narnia, Telmarine Dynasty

Caspian X: king who united narnians and telmarines during the Narnian Revolution. Later became known as Caspian the Seafarer or Caspian the Navigator.

Doctor Cornelius: royal tutor at the Telmarine castle. Following Caspian’s coronation, he was granted a lordship and became a political advisor to the king.

Lord Miraz: Caspian’s uncle, who ruled Narnia after his brother’s (Caspian IX) death.

Lady Prunaprismia: Miraz’s wife, daughter of Lord Scythley.

Lord Scythley: Telmarine lord, favourable to Lord Miraz.

Lord Donnon: Telmarine lord.

General Glozelle: general to the Telmarine army.

Dante: soldier of the Telmarine army.

Marco: soldier of the Telmarine army.

Adelina: kitchen maid at the Telmarine castle.

Mistress Valencia: chief maid at the Telmarine castle.

Doctor Gaius: physician at the Telmarine castle.

Glenstorm: centaur and star gazer, one of the leaders of the Narnian army.

Wimbleweather: giant, who acts as one of the emissaries from the Narnian army.

Reepicheep: leader of the mouse knights. He later joins the crew of the Dawn Treader to explore the eastern sea.

Trumpkin: red dwarf. He later acts as regent in Caspian’s name.

Daulis: river naiad.

Aslan: creator of Narnia, also known as the Great Lion.

The Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea: Aslan’s father, creator of the Deep Magic.

Narnia, Age of Exploration

King Rune: king of Archenland, resides in the castle of Anvard.

Queen Malva: queen of Archenland.

Prince Ravi: prince and heir of Archenland.

Princess Prunella: youngest daughter, princess of Archenland.

King Nicodemus: king of Galma, an island to Narnia’s eastern shore.

Lord Drinian: captain of the Dawn Treader.

Nausus: faun, part of the Dawn Treader’s crew.

Cruikshanks: red dwarf, part of the Dawn Treader’s crew.

Pug: slave trader in the Lone Islands.

Governor Gumpas: governor of the Lone Islands who is later dismissed by Caspian for his leniency for the slave market.

Lord Bern: one of the seven lost lords, friend of the late Caspian IX. He later became governor and Duke of the Lone Islands.

Lord Octasian: one of the seven lost lords. He died at Dragon Island.

Coriakin: magician, lives on an island with Dufflepuds to the east of Narnia.

Lord Rhoop: one of the seven lost lords. He was found stranded at Dark Island.

Ramandu: retired star, lives on an island to the east of Narnia, near the World’s End.

Lilliandil: Ramandu’s daughter. She later marries Caspian and becomes queen of Narnia.

Rilian: Caspian and Lilliandil’s son. He becomes king of Narnia after his father’s death.

Taltuft: talking rabbit who lives near Cair Paravel.

Drusus: faun and friend to Taltuft.

England, 1945-1949

Harry Maitland: owner of a post office and general store near Professor Kirke’s estate in Cornwall.

John Keatings: Christopher Pevensie’s lawyer.

Mrs. Todd: Eleanor and Edmund’s landlady in London.

Leonard Porter: Susan’s fiancé. He lives in California and manages a pencil factory.

Julia Armitage: Eustace and Jill’s colleague from school in Cambridge.

Margaret Hartley: English student at King’s College.

Doctor Keplan: doctor at the hospital where Lucy works as a nurse.

Ellis Talbot: author and Eleanor’s employer.

Narnia, Golden Age

Sallowpad: talking raven, who often counseled the kings and queens of the Golden Age.

Mr. Tumnus: faun and friend to the kings and queens of the Golden Age.

Prince Rabadash: eldest son and heir of the Tisroc of Calormen.

King Lune: king of Archenland.

Prince Corin: prince of Archenland, son of King Lune.

Cor/Shasta: Corin’s lost twin, eldest son of King Lune. He later becomes king of Archenland.

Aravis Tarkheena: runaway from the Calormen nobility, who eventually marries Cor and becomes queen of Archenland.

Lord Peridan: lord at the High King Peter’s court in Cair Paravel.

Thornbut: red dwarf.

Gwyn: talking horse of Narnia.

England, 1950-1994

Mrs. Fields: hostess at a bed and breakfast at Liskeard.

Mr. Fields: Mrs. Fields’ husband.

Helena Yates: administrator at Professor Kirke’s old house.