The High Queen II

Up to Us Now

As they stepped into the cavern, Eleanor gently released Caspian's arm, her attention shifting immediately to the scene before her. The clang of metal against metal filled the underground space, echoing off stone walls as Narnians of all kinds hammered, shaped, and polished weapons and armor. The air was thick with determination, and despite the stuffy, closed-in atmosphere, a fire of purpose seemed to burn among them all.

At her side, Aelwyn walked cautiously, his wings drawn close to his body as he peered around with wary eyes. Eleanor reached down to place a comforting hand on his head, understanding his discomfort. She, too, felt the weight of the rock overhead, the unsettling absence of the sky, the feeling of being boxed in.

Caspian's voice drew her attention. "It may not be what you are used to," he admitted, glancing at her and her siblings, "but it is defensible."

The thought of fortifying their position in such a place sent a ripple of uncertainty through Eleanor. This was a stronghold, yes, but was it a refuge? She'd grown used to open landscapes, fields, forests, and skies that held promise. Here, the walls seemed to hold memories, and not all of them were comforting.

"Peter! Ellie!" Susan's voice echoed from up a flight of stairs made of compacted sand and mud. "You may want to see this."

Eleanor's curiosity was piqued, and as she moved to follow, Aelwyn leapt up the steps with enthusiasm. "Oh, you'll most certainly like this, your majesties," he said with a rare excitement, casting Eleanor a look of pure joy as he bounded ahead. She couldn't help but laugh softly at his eagerness, her affection for her friend warming her heart even as the chill of the cavern sank deeper into her bones.

As they climbed, Peter and Susan lit torches, illuminating the walls with a soft, flickering glow. Eleanor's gaze caught on the carvings etched into the ancient stone, and she felt her breath hitch at the sight of them. They were stories carved in rock—stories of their reign, their adventures, their triumphs.

Two girls on a lion's back, faces etched with joy and courage. Eleanor traced the lines with her fingertips, feeling the cool stone under her skin, her mind racing back to the exhilarating days of their first journey in Narnia, a time filled with wonder and discovery.

Further along, the carving depicted five figures standing proudly before their thrones, regal and determined. The sight of herself and her siblings as they had once been, rulers of Narnia, felt almost surreal. So much had changed, yet here in this cavern, their legacy remained untouched.

She moved on, pausing at a familiar scene—a faun standing by a lamppost under a gentle snowfall. Mr. Tumnus. Eleanor's heart ached with bittersweet fondness as she thought of the faun who had introduced her to the wonders and dangers of this world. How much he had sacrificed, how much he had given to protect them all.

Her fingers found the next carving—a girl wielding an axe, riding a winged creature into battle. Eleanor felt a thrill of recognition as she traced the details of herself and Aelwyn etched into stone, frozen in a moment of fierce loyalty and courage. The image captured a truth she'd always held close: they would face anything together, fight any foe, conquer any fear.

The enormity of it all settled over her like a weight she hadn't known she was carrying. These were the stories they had lived, the battles they had fought, but also reminders of the lives that had been changed because of them. Could they live up to that legacy once more? Could they find it within themselves to be the kings and queens Narnia needed now?

"What is this place?" Lucy asked, her voice full of wonder.

Caspian, seeming almost surprised by her question, glanced back. "You don't know?" He took a torch from the wall and gestured for them to follow him down a dark tunnel. Eleanor walked in silence, Aelwyn pressing close to her side, steady and protective. The tunnel opened into a large room, and Caspian touched his torch to a brazier. Flames erupted, racing around the room in a ring, illuminating more carvings—figures of Narnians in battle, faces carved in defiance, united in the struggle for freedom.

In the center of the room sat the broken Stone Table. The sight of it stopped Eleanor in her tracks. This was no ordinary temple; it was a sanctuary, a place of remembrance built around the very stone where Aslan had given his life for them.

Her mouth fell open, her gaze shifting from the Stone Table to the carving of Aslan that watched over them from the wall behind it. The sight was awe-inspiring, almost overwhelming. She could feel Aslan's presence here, as if he were standing just behind her, unseen but near.

Lucy took a step closer, her voice trembling with reverence. "I think he knows what he's doing."

Eleanor's gaze lingered on the carving of Aslan, and a sense of clarity washed over her. Aslan had always known, hadn't he? But she realized now that their choices were their own. They couldn't simply wait for Aslan to appear and save them as he had done before. This time, they had to rise on their own, to live up to the legacy carved into these walls, to fight as the kings and queens they were meant to be.

"I think it's up to us now," Peter murmured, his gaze steady on the lion's carving.

Eleanor felt the weight of his words settle in her heart, both daunting and exhilarating. Yes, she thought, it is up to us. The history that surrounded them, the stories carved into stone, weren't just memories of a time gone by; they were a call to action, a reminder of the courage they had once possessed—and could find again.

She took a deep breath, reaching out to lay a hand on the Stone Table. In that touch, she felt the echoes of the past, the strength of Aslan, the bravery of those who had come before them. They would face the darkness ahead, together, carrying the weight of Narnia's legacy with them. And as she looked at her siblings, Caspian, and Aelwyn, she knew she would fight for this land, for these people, for the world that had become as much a part of her as her own family.