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"I've seen Father Christmas gift it to her, the horn."

Birdie's fingers trace along the walls, her fingertips grazing the figures carved into stone. It's all there, she thinks, following the gentle movements of her hands with her gaze. The camp, the battle... It causes her chest to compress at every single memory that is rediscovered underneath her touch. Most of the events she has only heard about, beginning with the image of a tree sprouting from a girl's body - her body - but they seem no less familiar.

For a few seconds, her fingers hover over the figure carved next to the tree, kneeling with slouched shoulders and anguish so very clear she can almost feel it herself.

And she lets her eyes remain closes for a bit as she blinks, suddenly too fearful of becoming overcame with emotions to keep watching.

A part of her wishes to dig her nails into the firm surface, until the skin of her hands turns red with blood, and tear the carvings out; it's a carnal need, as though she could collect the remains of her past life to hold onto.

The proof that she had once been a part of Narnia - not as a story or a spectre, but a body of flesh and bone and a beating heart.

"It must have been thrilling, I imagine," Caspian's voice rings behind her back, both gentle and laced with curiosity, "being a companion to future rulers of Narnia."

She scoffs. "From what I can remember, most of the time I used to be cross with them because of how much they insisted on throwing themselves into danger. Susan has always been the most sensible one, there were much things we agreed on. But they were all extraordinary people."

"The stories tell that much. I remember longing for them since I was a little boy, wishing so desperately to believe them to be true. Back then, my nurse used to teach me about the Old Days of Narnia. Miraz," Caspian spats the name of his unlcle as though it burned his throat, "was furious once I foolishly told him about it. I have always mattered little to him, compared to his own daughter, yet twice a week he would walk with me for about half an hour, talking to me. Those were the only moments when I felt seen by him, and eventually I grew too reckless... She was removed from the castle the very same day, my nurse."

Birdie can tell, by the slightest of trembles in his voice, by the twist of his lips, that Caspian loved that woman he speaks of, and that he loved her very much. She already knows he was forced to grow up without his parents, with only the ghosts of them somewhere in the back of his mind; it doesn't come as a surprise, that the love he would have had for them had eventually coloured his relationship with his caretaker, creating a bond that remains wrapped tightly around his heart even years afterwards.

She cannot exactly figure out why, but it causes traces of a similar feeling to arise inside her own chest.

"But my new tutor, Doctor Cornelius..." he continues meanwhile, "I was fortunate enough, and in secret he would tell me much more about Old Narnia. He used to be close to my mother once, both of them being fond of each other."

There it is again, Birdie notices. That familiarity awoken by his words, as though they were something she herself could have once said. Or felt.

But it's confusing, and unnecessary, she decides now. After all, she has never been one to follow the sudden whims of her heart; dwelling on an imaginary nostalgia wouldn't serve her well now, she's sure, when there are much more important matters to occupy herself with.

"Oh, stories..." she says instead. "I don't doubt the intentions of your caretakers, and I am grateful that something has remained of the Narnia I once knew." It brings some warmth into her chest to think that she herself has been made a part of this legacy, however small and inadequate it seems compared to the kingdom's former glory. At least her death didn't erase her previous existence. "Still, legends tend to glorify their subjects, I venture. You mustn't imagine the Pevensies to have been any different from you or me. Like all of us, they possessed both virtues and vices, and yet knowing them you could see clearly that the former overcame the latter tenfold, most of the days."

₁.₀     YES TO HEAVEN; peter pevensieWhere stories live. Discover now