The Choice

the treasure room

As we explored the ruins of Cair Paravel, Peter suddenly stopped; "Wait- I remember. There should be a treasure room. Where all our things were stored."

Half an hour later, after tearing through weeds and stone walls, we finally found it. A hidden door covered in branches. "Don't suppose you've got any matches?" Peter asked, ripping a strip of his shirt for a makeshift torch.

"No," Edmund said casually, pulling something from his bag. "But would this help?" He clicked on a flashlight.

We all burst out laughing.

"You might have mentioned that a bit sooner," Peter said.

We all entered the dark chamber. Dust clung to the air, thick and heavy, as though no one had been there in centuries. I was still marvelling at the carved when I realized my siblings had already gone ahead, down the stone steps.

"Why are there five trunks?" Lucy's voice echoed.

I reached the bottom, and Susan smiled faintly at me. "Well...there are five of us now."

I froze. How did they know I was coming?

Drawn forward. I opened the trunk with my name etched faintly on the lid. Inside lay a pair of trousers and a blouse.

How did they know I hate dresses?

But then my eyes caught on something else—two silver daggers, gleaming even in the dim light. The longer I looked, the more details I saw.

My initials were carved into the blades. Alongside them: Once a queen, always a queen. I turned them over: Once a warrior, always a warrior.

"Look at the handles," Lucy whispered beside me.

My breath caught. The handles matched the half-shell bracelet on my wrist.

That bracelet...I'd received it during the war. I still remember the soldier bleeding out in no-man's-Land, the orders I ignored to save him, and his shaky hand pressing the shell bracelet into mine. This will change your life someday, he had said.

And now the mother-of-pearl shimmered the same way on these daggers.

"This must be a coincidence," I muttered.

"In Narnia," Lucy whispered, "there's no such thing as coincidence."

At the bottom of the trunk lay a folded note.

Dear Maria Pevensie,

I know you are new to this world and its traditions. When your siblings first came to Narnia, they too were uncertain. When they crossed my path, I gifted them each a weapon. Now it's your turn,

These daggers were designed by Aslan himself. Learn to trust them, and your instincts. Everything has its reasons. Have faith in yourself.

Kind regards,

Father Christmas

I looked up to find my siblings gathered around me. Silence stretched before Peter cleared his throat. "Let's get changed. We'll need training—pretty sure we're all rusty."

We agreed and changed into the clothes from our trunks. I couldn't hold my tongue. "Okay, but seriously—how did they know I prefer trousers?"

Lucy grinned. "Aslan knows everything about everyone."

Down on the beach, the training began. Lucy hurled her dagger at a tree while Susan strung her bow. Edmund, of course, folded his arms and declared he didn't need practice. Peter drew his sword. "Ready to learn, sis?"

"Bring it on."

The first rounds were hopeless. I overthought every move, and Peter's blade found my defences too easily. Within minutes, the tip of his sword was at my throat.

"Again," I panted.

This time, I stopped thinking. When he swung, I moved on instinct. I dodged, countered, and struck with my dagger. Peter barely avoided it, surprise flickering in his eyes. Seizing the moment, I swept his legs from under him. Before he knew it, both my blades were poised—one at his throat, the other at his chest.

"You're a quick learner," Peter admitted, smiling from the ground. "Remind me never to cross you."

I helped him up, grinning. For the first time, the daggers felt natural in my hands—like they'd always been mine.

We joined the others, and after a brief rest, Peter suggested we scout the area.