The Faded Portrait of a Bygone Era

Keeper of Dreams

The days ticked by, like the hands of a broken clock, slowly losing its perfected pace. Reality turned to memory, and memory, to dream. Distant and painful, Narnia lingered in her mind as time wore on. The stars above her now were silent. Dead and cold, they held no souls, no voices...

In the night, she walked in darkness. That was the worst of it all, the nothingness. There were no dreams, no signs, only silence.

Here, the trees did not dance, and the wind did not sing. The birds in the trees had simple, sweet voices, empty of words, and the beasts of the world held no knowledge. A brook may babble, but unintelligibly so, and without the careless laughter of the Golden Age.

This world was bleak and gray.

She sat in the garden behind her grandmother's house for hours on end, hoping to hear some cheerful dryad's call. But none ever came.

The diary in her hands was the most precious thing she owned. It was the Cair Paravel of this world, the shining jewel. When she held it, she could almost taste the salty breeze of that Glistening Eastern Sea. Inside, she had chronicled every detail of Narnia, from the first visit into that Witch-cursed land, till that last, fateful moment in Lantern Waste. In between the writings, detailed sketches and drawings could be found, of everything she could remember. The Lamppost, the Beavers, her family... Her compass, the stained glass behind the thrones at Cair Paravel... Aslan. Anything and everything that held a clear picture in her mind was found there. Even some of the things she had seen in her dreams... back when she had dreams.

"Margaret?"

Her grandmother's voice drew her from her thoughts.

"Come inside, dear, and have something to eat..."

The only person in the world who believed her, who knew of Narnia... Her grandmother often tried to lift her spirits, but at times was unsuccessful.

Though reluctant to leave the garden, on that off chance she might see some sign, hear some whisper of Narnia, Margaret rose and followed her grandmother inside.

Lunch was simple, but lovely. Stew, and a bit of bread. Oddly enough, it tasted somewhat familiar. Like something from a memory. Or a dream.

"Did you make any more of your drawings today?" Granny asked kindly as they finished the meal.

Margaret dabbed at the corner of her mouth with the napkin. Granny always had liked good manners, and holding to them did so feel like being back in Narnia again, at some grand feast, with Peter and the others.

"No," she said. "Not today. I'm sorry. I know you like them."

Granny chuckled dismissively. "Don't apologize, they're not for me. I just wondered."

Margaret sighed. "I just can't decide what to draw. Drawing the things that made me happy there only makes me sad here and now."

Her grandmother nodded thoughtfully as the two of them collected the dishes.

"Then perhaps you ought to draw something there that made you unhappy." She turned towards the sink, casually continuing as if she hadn't just delivered a particularly sage bit of advice right then. "Your time in Narnia held more than just the Golden Age, after all."

Granny gently took the last bowl from Margaret with a wise smile.

"Go on, now," she said. "You can show me when you're through."

Margaret gave her a small smile in return and nodded. It was worth a try.

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