Disclaimer: everything in Narnia belongs to C.S. Lewis, some things possibly to Walt Disney Pictures, Walden Media, and 20th Century Fox. I'm just borrowing. Not making any money. Don't sue.
Chapter I
Lost
By chimère
The soldier who was not a soldier any more sat on a low wall and looked out across the eastern sea. His crutches had been carelessly, or perhaps angrily, thrown on the ground beside him.
One who would be lame for the rest of his life could no longer serve in our army. My brothers, for all their understanding and respect and sorrow, could not make such an allowance, charged as they were with the protection of this land. The soldier who was not a soldier knew that, but it did not make the truth any less cold. My sister's compassion and attempts at cheer had failed just as my brothers' grave words of honour. They did not make the truth any less bitter.
I did not know if I would have any success, but like my siblings, I had to try.
That he barely made a token attempt at rising before I waved him down showed me how far he had fallen. Injured or not, our subjects almost always gave us the utmost respect, but his attitude bordered on resentment.
I decided not to waste time on an introduction. "Good my lord, you can no longer serve us with your physical prowess," I stated the truth. His eyes hardened. "However, your military prowess is only diminished in that one aspect," I continued, and he looked confused. "According to my brothers, you excel at strategy and tactical planning. Therefore, with the glad leave of my siblings, I would hereby appoint you to the War Council that could greatly benefit from your wisdom, and give you the added responsibility of helping our chief librarian organise and catalogue the old military maps that have been giving her no end of grief. Will you accept?"
His face crumpled in shock, shame at his behaviour, gratitude, and joy. He struggled to his feet and bowed deeply. There were tears in his eyes.
"Thank you, Gentle Queen," he whispered.
Do you see why I hold that memory so dear? Perhaps not. To me, that small scene represents the beauty of our reign. It was my idea to give the broken soldier another purpose. I saw suffering, I thought of a way to help, I had the power to put that thought into action, and I could relieve the suffering. That day, I knew what it was to be Gentle and Queen.
And then it was taken away from me, from us, so abruptly and unceremoniously that it demeaned all the glory of the Golden Age.
Worse yet, I was allowed another glimpse of the land I had loved, changed and diminished and alien, no longer my home.
I couldn't bear it anymore and drew away.
My siblings thought I had forgotten, and well that they should, after all the effort I put into making them believe that. They did not understand. I could not blame them. And it hurt, the growing distance between us, almost as much as memories of Narnia.
How could I forget? I have kept them, the memory of the broken soldier and all the others. But I tried with all my strength to let them go, even as I knew it was futile. At least I succeeded in pushing the memories back into the farthest reaches of my mind, where they hurt a little less. I threw myself into parties and clothes and flirting, things I had liked before but now wanted to make into my entire world. They were the strongest painkillers I could find.
Peter, Edmund and Lucy thought that I no longer cared about Narnia. I know, though I haven't always admitted it, that I cared, and still do, too much. Not that I cared more than they did. The difference was that I was weaker.
I was too weak to bear the weight of my own love, and I let it turn into a feeling of betrayal, into bitterness, and finally, into haughty disdain for what I started to call 'children's stories'.
Unlike my siblings, I could not relinquish my role as a queen with grace – not in my heart –, or bear my exile from my home with fortitude and hope.
And although I kept my memories, I did lose something else. My faith. In Narnia, in Aslan, even in my family.
I betrayed Narnia. Instead of honouring it by remembering, like a queen should, I resented my home for welcoming us in only to throw us out again, for being so wonderful and yet out of reach.
I betrayed Aslan. I lost my trust in him when he sent us back to our own world, an act which I perceived to be cruel and like unto a player moving his pawns.
I betrayed my siblings. I pushed them away, I made Lucy cry and Edmund look at me with hurt and confusion and Peter sigh in disappointment and sorrow.
And I didn't even realise how wrong I was before it was too late.
I was weak. I wanted to forget. I betrayed what I loved and denied what I believed and hurt my family only to save myself from pain. I was neither gentle nor queen nor truly a sister any more.
And so I deserve to be left behind, the last of my family, standing on the ashes.
Don't I?