Helen Pevensie knew that war changed children—how could it not? But what she hadn't expected was just how changed her children would be upon their return from Professor Kirke's. When they stepped off of the train, there was a heaviness about them that wasn't there when they left. When she had last seen them, they were nothing more than scared, worried children. Although they had tried to put on a brave face for her, she could see the fear in their eyes as she waved goodbye. Now, there was wisdom and longing in their eyes, as if they had seen so much more than children their age ever should.

She wondered if she should be angry with the Professor, for the same look her children held was the exact look she sent them to the country to avoid. She had no desire for her children to witness death, danger, and misery. Yet, somehow she couldn't shake the feeling that they had been witness to those things, and so much more, although she could not imagine how.

However, their return from the countryside was not all bad. They were closer than they had ever been, the four of them sharing a precious secret that they never spoke of in front of her, but she could see it in their glances and smiles at one another. No, the children who were returned to her were very different indeed.

War changed children, yes, but she had never imagined that her children would be returned to her as strangers.

"I say, Ed, you get better at this game every day!" Peter exclaimed, upon his king being captured during an intense game of chess. Helen turned to her boys, observing them quietly. Edmund beamed under the praise of his older brother.

"Wherever did you learn to play so well, Edmund?" Helen inquired. When he left, he didn't know how to play and had never even shown an interest in learning.

"In—At the Professor's," Edmund answered quietly. "It's a great way to learn strategy."

"And you were always best at that," Peter said affectionately.

"Those two could take over the world, Mum," Lucy teased. "Edmund would plan the battles and Peter would bravely see them through."

"They'd be unstoppable," Susan said with a fond smile. The four children shared secret grins, and Helen couldn't help but feel like she had missed a huge part of their lives.

But the change in her children was more than just new interests and secret smiles; they carried themselves differently, and had an air of confidence about them that she had never seen in children their ages. It wasn't arrogance, as some children exhibit, but it was a certain confidence and trust that everything would work out.

They rarely fought anymore, as well. There were little squabbles here and there, but nothing like the all out rows they used to have. Edmund, oddly enough, seemed to be the peacekeeper amongst his siblings. He had an innate sense of justice, and she could tell that the other three looked to him to help with their dilemmas. He was so changed from the angry little boy that left her not so long ago. Then, he was the instigator, the bully. Now, he seemed so much wiser than she ever could have thought possible. He was also fiercely protective of his siblings, especially Peter, whom Helen could tell he adored. His teasing of his siblings now was good natured and jolly, and he and Peter had suddenly become inseparable.

Susan, who was so frightened and bookish when she left, came home as a confident, gentle young woman, for Helen could no longer imagine Susan as just a girl. The title seemed so much less than she was. She had always been gentle, yet firm with her siblings, but now she was much more affectionate and playful. Her gentleness morphed from a form of timidness to a virtue.

Lucy seemed the least changed out of all of her children. She was still as wide-eyed and wondrous as ever, but she, like the others, seemed so much older. Lucy behaved as though she had already found the secret to life, and was content to live with that knowledge close within her heart. She served almost as a moral compass for her older siblings. When they wavered, she would reel them back in with just a look. Susan was her best friend, and she idolized her older brothers, who were fiercely protective of her. She was the youngest, and as much as she fought against that role, she relished the attention all the same.

Then there was Peter, her first born child. Except, he was so unlike a child. He was the leader of the four, and his word, although occasionally challenged, was almost always followed. His siblings sought him out for guidance, comfort, and love, and he gave it all freely and willingly. He was so much a man that Helen could barely believe that he was only fourteen. He was fiercely protective of his younger siblings, and somehow Helen couldn't shake the feeling that he would die for them at the drop of a hat. He had lost his innocence, but gained an authority that commanded respect. She wondered if it was her fault, for asking him to look after the others. She hadn't expected him to take on the role of a parent, but that's what he was. Peter, perhaps, was the biggest stranger to her. As painful as it was for her to admit, he didn't need her anymore. He was fully capable of taking care of himself as well as his siblings, and he did so humbly and affectionately. There were times when he would walk into a room, tall and proud, and Helen could describe him as nothing short of magnificent, but she couldn't help but wonder where her boy went, and if he would ever return to her.

As time went on, Helen began to hear reverent whisperings of a place called Narnia. She believed it to be one of Lucy's games, but with the way all of her children sat up a little straighter and looked as though they might cry every time it was mentioned, she couldn't be sure. And there was also someone named Aslan, who was a lion from what she gathered. He seemed to be the center of their secret, and even if Helen did eventually ask about Narnia, something in her gut told her to let them keep Aslan sacred. Lucy spoke of him with a quiet adoration that she had never heard on a girl so young before. Whoever he was, he held them together.

As with other children during wartime, eventually the nightmares started. Lucy and Susan were less affected, while Edmund and Peter seemed to have them once a week. She would rush to their rooms the minute she heard one of her children cry out, but by the time she got there they were already being comforted by another sibling, usually Peter. Once, when she heard Lucy cry out into the night, she heard Peter's footsteps plod across the hall almost instantaneously. She crept up to the doorway to listen. She knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping on her own children, but she just didn't know what else to do. She felt so lost, so foreign in her own home.

Lucy was sitting on Peter's lap, crying into his shoulder. Susan was sitting on her sister's bed, gently rubbing circles on Lucy's back, and Edmund was running a hand gently through her hair.

"What was the nightmare about, Lu?" Peter asked.

"It wasn't a nightmare at all!" Lucy cried. "It was so beautiful, and I miss it so much!"

Although Helen was confused, her children seemed to know exactly what Lucy was talking about as they all shared a sad look.

"We all do," Susan assured her.

"Why did He have to send us back?" Lucy wondered miserably. "Oh, Aslan, I wish we never went after that white stag!"

"He has a plan for us, Lu," Peter said. "That's what you always tell us, right? Trust in Aslan, and everything will be alright."

"Oh, Peter!" Lucy cried, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. "I want to go home!"

Helen started at her daughter's revelation. Home? Wasn't she already home?

"We will," Edmund said quietly. "Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia. Aslan will show us the way, you know he must have meant for us to return."

Oh yes, Narnia. Helen wondered, not for the first time, what exactly her children were talking about. Kings and Queens of Narnia? She had always assumed it was a make-believe game, something to pass the time in the country, but she couldn't help but wonder if maybe it was more than that. They spoke of it so knowledgably, so freely, and poor Lucy was so heartbroken that it didn't seem right for it all just to be pretend.

"It's not fair!" Lucy wailed. "I've tried here, but it's all so wrong. I'm so short and the trees are dead, and the animals…oh, it's all wrong!"

"I know," Peter said simply. "England will never be home anymore. But like it or not, we're here for now. You always trusted the best, Lu. If you don't believe that Aslan has a bigger plan, how should we?"

"Oh, I do," Lucy said earnestly. "It's just so difficult being someone that I haven't been in fifteen years."

Fifteen years? Helen thought, confusion etched over her tired face.

"That's what we're here for," Edmund said. "The only way to get through it is together."

"Yes," Susan agreed. "After all, there are four empty chairs at Cair Paravel waiting for our return."

"And while we wait, it's best not to forget the traditions of Old," Peter said thoughtfully. "Maybe it would be easier on all of us if we try to do one Narnian thing every day. Ed and I play chess, which keeps our minds fresh for strategy, but I know that I have been aching to pick up a sword."

"Oh, yes!" Lucy exclaimed, her face lighting up. "What a wonderful idea! Pete, you and Ed should practice tomorrow! I loved going out onto the practice field to watch you train with Oreius. It will seem so much more like home if you start again."

Swords? Oreius? Home? Helen's head was swimming with information that she couldn't even begin to comprehend.

"Yes, but what if Mum sees?" Edmund asked logically. "I don't know how we would explain to her that her sons have suddenly become expert swordsmen. Not to mention how we would even go about getting swords in the first place."

"They don't have to be real," Susan said. "After all, nothing could be as good as a true Narnian sword anyway, right?"

"Yes," Peter agreed, instantly missing the weight of Rhindon at his side. "We can use wooden practice swords, and if Mum asks, we'll just tell her that we're playing. I doubt she'll know the difference between true fighting and play fighting, anyway. It's not like people in England fight with swords anymore."

"So it's settled, then," Susan said. "One Narnian thing per day, so we never forget where we belong."

"Then when we go back, it will be like we never left!" Lucy exclaimed happily.

"Alright, then. Tomorrow Ed and I will train just like we did with Oreius. But for now, to bed with all of you," Peter said with an affectionate smile. "Otherwise we'll never get enough rest to practice properly."

"Goodnight, Peter," Lucy said, hugging him tightly. He planted a kiss on her forehead before getting up and tucking her back in.

"Night, Lu," Edmund said, giving his younger sister a kiss on her head.

"Goodnight," Susan said to her two brothers, giving them both affectionate hugs before getting back into her own bed.

With that, Peter and Edmund retreated to their own room. Helen rushed back down the hallway when she heard them coming, so she wouldn't be seen. When she was sure that they were safely in their room, she crept back into the hallway, listening in at the girls' door once again.

"When Aslan bares His teeth, winter meets its death," Lucy said reverently.

"When He shakes His mane, we shall have spring again," Susan answered, the longing in her voice clearly evident.

Helen Pevensie was utterly, and completely lost. Her children were farther away than ever.

The next day, Peter and Edmund stayed true to their words, somehow tracking down wooden swords, although Helen had no idea where or how they got them. All she knew was that after breakfast they ran out the door, telling her that they had errands to do and returned home a couple of hours later, wooden swords in hand, beaming like she hadn't seen them smile in months.

"Oh, you got them!" Lucy exclaimed, running to meet them at the door.

"It wasn't easy, but with Edmund's skillful use of diplomacy we were able to convince a toy maker to adjust his toy swords to make them heavier and more realistic," Peter said with a smile. "Oh, and…" He pulled an archery set out of a bag and walked over to Susan. "For you, my Queen." Susan's face immediately lit up with delighted surprise.

"Oh, Peter!" She exclaimed, launching herself at her older brother, squeezing him in a tight hug. "It's not the same, of course, but I felt so lost without one. Thank you."

An archery set? Helen thought, even more confused than before. She thought that it was time she make her presence known.

"Oh, boys, you're back. What did you get?" She asked as she walked into the room, playing dumb.

"Oh, just some toy swords," Peter said nonchalantly. "You know, for one of Lucy's games." A brief look of pain crossed his face as he said that, but in an instant his emotions were masked again.

"What is that, Susan?" She asked, turning to her eldest daughter. "An archery set?"

"Just a toy one," Susan said with a shrug.

"It doesn't look much like a toy…" Helen said cautiously. "And where did you learn to use one, anyway? I'm not sure that's the kind of thing a young lady should be using."

"Edmund and I bought it for her," Peter said, "it looks real, but it's a toy."

"I learned while we were at the Professor's," Susan said. "He had a set, and one day when we were bored we decided to try it."

"She's very good," Lucy assured her.

"Unmatched so far," Edmund said, looking at his sister affectionately.

"Alright," Helen conceded. "Just be careful."

"We will," Peter confirmed, glaring at Edmund when he snorted behind him.

As Helen left the room, she could hear Edmund mutter, "High King Peter, careful?" followed by a round of laughter from his siblings.

Helen busied herself in the kitchen preparing lunch, with one eye on the window that opened up into the backyard. Outside, she could see her two boys engaged in rather vigorous combat, with Lucy and Susan cheering them on. She stopped what she was doing to watch them for a second, amazed at how graceful they seemed. They were just boys, but she had the feeling that this was not the first time that they had sparred. She shook her head and turned back to the stove, willing such thoughts out of her mind.

When she opened the window later on to call her children in for lunch, Susan was standing in the middle of the yard, rapidly firing off arrows, hitting each and every target they had designated dead on. Helen's gut instinct was right, that archery set was definitely no toy, but Susan seemed to handle it as if she had been using one for years. And really, with the smiles of joy on her children's faces from their short time outside, she didn't have the heart to put an end to it. They so rarely smiled like that anymore.

That night, she heard voices coming from the boys' room. She pulled herself out of bed and tiptoed to their door to make sure everything was alright. It was two in the morning, which meant that one of them had probably had a nightmare.

"Go back to sleep, Ed," she heard Peter say. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Don't be silly, what's wrong?" Edmund said, sitting up in bed. "Another dream?" Peter said nothing, but she faintly saw him nod. "Which battle was it this time?"

Battle? Helen thought, alarmed.

"Beruna," Peter answered quietly. "I just had to check, make sure that you're still here. It was so long ago, but…"

"You dream about it a lot," Edmund said softly.

"I can't help it," Peter admitted. "It was the closest I've ever come to losing you. There were some scares later on, but…you died, Edmund."

Helen's heart stopped at Peter's revelation. Surely if anything had happened to Edmund, she would have heard about it.

"I didn't," Edmund insisted, wrapping an arm around his older brother. "Lucy's cordial saved me."

"You did, though. I could feel you slipping away in my arms, and I just…there was so much I needed to tell you and all I could think about was how I would never be able to live without you."

"Oh, Peter," Edmund said softly. "I know, because those same thoughts went through my head time after time whenever you'd try and be a hero on the battlefield. There were so many times that we wished that magnificence didn't have to come with so much sacrifice."

"It was the only way to protect you," Peter insisted stubbornly. "I could never let anything happen to you. Any of you."

"You silly, protective, wonderful brother," Edmund said with a soft chuckle. "In all of those years, did you ever consider how we would feel about losing you?"

"It was my job as the High King to protect you, and Narnia with my life. I had faith in Aslan that everything would go according to His plan."

"There are four chairs at Cair Paravel, Pete, just like Susan said," Edmund pointed out. "It's all of us or nothing."

"When we go back," Peter said, because the word if seemed so terrifying, "promise me that you'll stay safe."

"I'll stay safe if you do," Edmund said with a grin. "Because just as you're sworn to protect us, I'm sworn to protect my High King, and my country." Peter looked touched at his little brother's proclamation, and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.

"It's been fifteen years and we still haven't settled this argument, have we?" Peter asked with a soft grin.

"We never will," Edmund said knowingly. "We're all far too important to each other."

"But it's my job to protect you," Peter insisted.

"Well," Edmund said with a grin, "it's a good think that I am an excellent swordsman, then, isn't it?"

Peter laughed and ruffled his little brother's hair, "I would put my life in the hands of no other."

"At least you still have faith in my abilities," Edmund joked. "We were both horribly out of practice today."

"That will change soon," Peter said knowingly. "If only Oreius could see us now."

"He'd be ashamed," Edmund said with a laugh. "But in our defense, we are fifteen years younger."

"No excuse," Peter said with a chuckle and a yawn, "he'd just make us train twice as hard."

"My muscles ache just thinking about it," Edmund said, catching Peter's yawn with a yawn of his own.

"Alright, time for bed," Peter said. Edmund got up and went back to his own bed, snuggling under the covers.

"For Narnia," Edmund said softly, reciting the first part of their battle cry.

"For Aslan," Peter replied, and Helen got the feeling that it was a well used phrase, though she couldn't imagine for what. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.

As she retreated to her own room, Helen lay down and turned to the empty spot next to her, longing for her husband to return home from war and help her make sense of everything.

She lived day to day, constantly wondering if her husband was dead or alive, and missing children that didn't seem to exist anymore, living with total strangers. As tears wet her pillow, she had never felt more alone.

The next night, Peter and Edmund were engaged in yet another game of chess. Susan was reading a book, sprawled out on the couch, and Lucy was drawing, looking as if her mind was miles away. The clock struck nine.

"All right, children," Helen said quietly, sounding much more weary than she had intended. "It's time for bed."

Before any of her children moved, they looked to Peter. He nodded his head.

"I'll clean up here and be up in a second," he said, and her other three children trudged upstairs.

"Peter," Helen said. "I can clean up, I'd like to talk to you for a second."

Peter stopped putting away the chess set and went over to sit by his mother.

"What about?" Peter asked.

"It wasn't fair of me," Helen started quietly, trying to find the right words to connect with her son again, "to ask you to take care of your siblings. You're only fourteen, and I should have taken that into consideration. But you're home now, and you don't have to be their parent anymore. I'm sorry that you felt like you needed to take that role in the first place, it was never my intention to place such a burden on you."

"They're not a burden," Peter insisted. "I didn't mean to make you feel as though I was usurping your role as a parent, I just…I've taken care of them for so long I suppose I don't know how else to behave." He spoke as though he was an adult, and Helen felt tears springing to her eyes.

"Oh Peter, what happened in the country?" She asked tearfully. "You all are so changed. I feel as though you are all strangers to me."

Peter looked pained upon seeing his mother cry, and immediately engulfed her in a hug. He looked as though he had no idea how to answer her question.

"We grew up," he said finally. "We have changed, you're right. And I'm sorry, we never meant to hurt you…we just…we're just different now. But it doesn't mean that we love you any less," Peter insisted.

"I know," Helen said, wiping her tears, embarrassed. "I suppose this is an adjustment for all of us, isn't it?"

"You have no idea," Peter said wryly, and Helen realized that she really didn't, she couldn't have an idea. Whatever had happened to them at the Professor's, they held it secret and sacred, and she would have to learn to respect that, and come to know them no longer as children, but as the people they returned to her as.

She couldn't change them back into children, but she could change with them. Just as they have changed and grown, so should she. After all, a mother's love knows no bounds.