serendipity - narnia [EDITING]

chapter 12

Chapter 12
So It Ends, But Just For Now

Fifteen years into what would come to be known as the Golden Age, the five guardians of Narnia were in pursuit of a wish. It came in the form of a White Stag. The creature was known for its beauty, though none had seen it for more than an instant. Its fur was the color of frost–which Narnians had not feared since the defeat of the Witch–and its horns were said to shine like diamonds.

Their quest to capture the stag had lasted months. Each time the shimmering creature was in their sight, it eluded them. The power to grant wishes was not so easily caught. Over time, the chase became more game than quest. It mattered not if the White Stag was captured. It gave the duty-ridden guardians a chance to return to the youth in which they had found each other.

Edmund slowed his steed to a trot. His siblings rode ahead, goading each other about who would reach the stag first. Their mage brought her mare, Charlotte, in step with the king. "Alright, Edmund?"

"Always," the just king smiled breathlessly. He patted his steed's mane. "Are you alright, Philip?

The horse bobbed his head. "Just not as young as I once was."

"That makes two of you," Charlotte huffed. Dahlia sputtered her offense. "Oh not you, dear. I meant King Edmund."

The rest of the royals stampeded back into the clearing, cutting off Edmund's retort. "Come on, you two." Susan rode in a circle around them. "Dahlia, you're supposed to keep him moving, not stop with him."

"What did he say again, Susan?" Lucy smirked.

Susan puffed out her chest and deepened her voice. "You girls wait in the castle, I'll get the stag myself!"

Edmund laughed humorlessly until something caught his brother's attention. "What's this?" The High King swung off his horse. He ran a hand through his thick golden beard as he studied a vine covered post on the edge of the clearing. "It seems familiar."

"As if from a dream," Susan agreed, watching a flame dance within a box at the top of the post.

"Or a dream of a dream." Lucy's voice took on the hushed tone that meant they had lost her to thought. The queen gasped, hoisting up her skirts. "Spare Oom!" With this nonsensical cry, she took off through the trees. Her siblings dismounted to scramble after her. Dahlia, too, slid off of Charlotte's back. But that was as far as she went.

"Aren't you going to follow them, dear?"

"Not this time." She raked her fingers through Charlotte's pearly mane, watching the last leaves stirred by the Pevensies's footfalls settle down. There was something different about this parting. They had gone where she could not follow.

For a moment, all of Narnia fell silent. Birds ceased their singing. The wind did not blow. Even the ocean lay still. When the hush broke, Dahlia collapsed into the bed of leaves. The abandoned mounts circled her body. Charlotte nudged the mage with her nose, but she did not move. She was alive, it seemed, though her breathing was shallow. Her honey-yellow riding dress billowed around her.

Dahlia's coma was alarming enough. It was her face, however, that made the horses wary. Signs of middle age had vanished from her skin. Smile lines smoothed out. The sharp jawline and severe brows she had developed softened. With her crown fixed upon her head, Dahlia looked just like the paintings of coronation day.

The dryads of the forest came for the body of their beloved mage. Arms of leaves and petals enveloped her. She draped in their grasp like a perfect damsel all the way to the Stone Table. The dryads laid her upon the cracked platform. There her own magic took root. It lifted her above the sacred platform. Her dress covered her like a blanket and her conjuring hands hung limp.

In the dark days that followed the Golden Age's end, loyal Narnians built a stone structure around the table to protect their mage. Maeve overlooked the construction. The faithful caretaker spent her last years at the base of the Stone Table. She withered away with the hope that she would live to see the reopening of Dahlia's eyes. When she passed in mournful silence, as per her wishes, Maeve's ashes were scattered in the Eastern Sea.

Dahlia hovered in her quiet oblivion where neither time nor tide had any hold on her. While Narnia tumbled through its history, its mage stayed the same. The forest reclaimed her sanctuary. Though the entrance stayed clear, it was barely visible beneath the blanket of moss and ivy. Her resting place became known as Aslan's How. It was a sacred space with a solemn purpose–to wait. They waited together, Dahlia and her How, for over a thousand years.

Waited for the return of the kings and queens of old.