Waiting by Shadow-of the-Night35
Chapter One: The Valiant
The fire was warm where Lucy lay before it, her head resting in her beloved brother's lap. He stroked her hair absentmindedly, staring into the flames, lost in thought. She followed his gaze, but her vision blurred when her eyes filled with tears. There had been a time when she had gazed into the fire and the flames had been Fauns dancing, Satyrs playing, and Centaurs running, all to the tune of a Narnian lullaby. But that was lost to memory now.
Lucy turned away, letting the flames warm her back as she hid her face in her hands—her little girl hands, her ten-year-old hands. She missed the grown woman she had been in Narnia. Now her long glowing hair and her bright eyes were all the remained of that tall, proud adult. It didn't seem fair to her, that she had to grow up again. Here, in this cold world, no one listened to her, or paid her any attention. In Narnia, the slightest turn of her head or wave of her hand had been followed by so many eyes. Here she was nothing but a little girl, in Narnia she had been a grown woman. Here she was a child. In Narnia, she was a queen.
She missed Mr. Tumnus so much it hurt. She missed Cair Paravel, and the wild wilderness that was Narnia so much that she had begun to cry when she saw the maps of the world, names like England and Europe so familiar, so strange, so wrong. She missed the swish of her long silk skirts. She missed the responsibilities of ruling a country. She missed the weight of her crown on her forehead.
There was an emptiness in her, where Narnia had been, and she longed for the day Aslan called her home.