Chapter 3
For five days and nights, the sun and the moon had risen and fallen in their steady rhythm above Iwarlil, their movements punctuating her journey as she ventured further into the lands of Narnia. Each day brought with it a cascade of new sensations and discoveries, some delightful, some perplexing, but all filling her with a childlike wonder that burned brightly in her heart.
She had eaten more things since that first meal with the merchant family. Not all of it had been to her liking. There were berries from bushes whose tartness made her scrunch up her nose, and once she tried a small, green fruit that turned out to be bitter. She had immediately spat it out, her tongue tingling unpleasantly. But then there were other things—a handful of small, golden apples she had found scattered beneath a tree that were sweeter than anything she had tasted before, and tiny wild strawberries that burst with flavor.
She learned, too, that hunger could feel different each day. Some days it gnawed at her sharply, pushing her to find something to eat as quickly as she could. Other days, it was a softer ache, a dull reminder that she was not what she once was, that her body—her human body—had needs she was still learning to understand.
Iwarlil had also discovered the joy of drinking water from streams and rivers. She had crouched by their edges, cupping the cool liquid in her hands and marveling at how it seemed to refresh her from the inside out. One particular river had made her laugh when the current tickled her fingers, and she had splashed at it playfully, her laughter echoing through the nearby trees.
And oh, the trees! They had become her silent companions on the journey. Their leaves whispered to her in a language she couldn’t quite understand, and their trunks stood tall and steady, like guardians of the path she walked. She had seen earthworms wriggling in the dirt and had knelt to watch them with fascination, marveling at their simple yet purposeful movements. Once, she had stumbled upon a tiny snail making its slow way across a rock, its shell glistening in the sunlight. She had sat beside it for what felt like hours, captivated by its deliberate progress.
The shoes the merchant family had kindly given her had not lasted long. At first, they had been a comfort, protecting her feet from the rough ground. But as the days passed, Iwarlil began to feel confined by them. The leather pinched her toes, and the soles made her feel disconnected from the earth beneath her. So one afternoon, she had slipped them off and left them by the side of the road, her bare feet reveling in the sensation of grass, dirt, and stone. The earth’s textures were a language of their own, and she delighted in every word of it, even when sharp rocks bit into her soles or thorns pricked her skin.
At night, when the stars emerged, she would lay on her back and speak to them. She asked them questions, wondering if they could hear her, if they could see her. She imagined her siblings high above, whispering about her—the little star who had chosen to walk the earth. She would trace constellations with her finger, her eyes lingering on Spearhead, and wonder if he missed her as much as she missed him. Sometimes she would sing softly, fragments of Aslan’s song that still resonated within her, hoping the stars might sing back.
On the fifth day, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and painted the sky with hues of gold and crimson, Iwarlil crested a hill and stopped in her tracks. There, in the distance, stood Cair Paravel. Its ivory towers gleamed in the fading light, and its banners fluttered gently in the evening breeze. The castle sat majestically by the sea, its presence a perfect harmony of strength and beauty. Iwarlil’s breath caught in her throat as she took it in.
She could hear the distant roar of the waves crashing against the cliffs below the castle, and the sight of the sea stretching out endlessly beyond Cair Paravel filled her with both awe and a strange sense of longing. This was the place she had journeyed toward, the place she had dreamed of reaching ever since her feet first touched the earth.
Far away from Iwarlil’s gaze, in a forest near Cair Paravel, Queen Lucy the Valiant moved with quiet purpose, her bow slung over her shoulder and her steps light as a hunting lioness. She had spent many such afternoons in the woods, relishing the solitude and the vibrant life of Narnia around her. For ten years, Queen Lucy had ruled in Narnia. The memories of her time far away in the world beyond the wardrobe had grown faint, like a dream of a dream. At twenty years old, she had settled into her adulthood, though she remained a far cry from Susan’s grace and Peter’s measured authority. Lucy was obstinate and wild, more Narnian than any of them in spirit. She had begun leading armies at sixteen, her valiant heart guiding her through battle, and by eighteen, she had found her strength in command and her joy in the unbridled freedom Narnia offered.
She was the Queen of the Glistening Eastern Sea, a domain she had come to understand deeply. Over the years, she had spent countless hours aboard ships, learning their ways from sailors and befriending the merfolk who danced in the waters beneath the hulls. She had swum with nereids and sung songs with the sea nymphs, her laughter mingling with the roar of the waves. She was the youngest queen, but her rule was marked by a connection to the water that none of her siblings shared. Her golden hair, kissed by the sun and the salt air, glimmered as brightly as the waves. Her freckled skin bore the marks of countless days spent under the open sky, and her voice carried the rolling cadence of the tides themselves.
Lucy’s spirit was as untamed as the sea, and her siblings took great care to preserve that freedom. She was valiant in name and in heart, and they saw the same wildness within her that lived in each of them. But she was their youngest, and they sought to shield her, to keep her joyous and unbroken for as long as they could. At this moment, the Queen of the Eastern Sea was indulging in one of her simpler joys: a hunt in the forest near Cair Paravel.
She moved silently through the woods, her bow in hand and her quiver slung over her shoulder. Though she would never rival Susan in skill, Lucy had become an adept archer, her sharp eyes and quick reflexes serving her well. The forest was alive with sound—the rustle of leaves, the chirp of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl. Lucy felt at home here, her senses attuned to the rhythm of the land. She crouched low, her golden hair catching the dappled sunlight as she scanned the underbrush for movement.
Her prey was near; she could feel it. She notched an arrow and crept forward, her steps as light as a cat’s. The crunch of leaves underfoot was faint but enough to draw her attention. Lucy turned, her bow ready, and froze. The arrow in her hand wavered as her eyes widened.
Before her stood the strangest sight she had ever seen. A girl, no older than herself in appearance, but shining faintly, as if the light of the stars themselves lived within her. Her hair was a cascade of shimmering silver, her skin luminous and otherworldly. She wore a simple dress, dirt-streaked and torn from travel, and her bare feet were caked with the dust of the road.
Her breath catched.
The girl seemed equally startled, her wide, curious eyes locking onto Lucy’s bow. For a moment, neither moved, the forest holding its breath around them. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Lucy, lowering her bow but keeping her gaze fixed on the stranger, said in a voice both gentle and commanding, “Who are you?”
Iwarlil tilted her head, her expression thoughtful as she considered the question. She had never been asked who she was before. “My name is Iwarlil,” she said at last, her voice soft and lilting, like the whisper of wind through the trees. “I am… I am from the heavens.”
Lucy’s brows furrowed slightly, though a glint of amusement danced in her eyes. “From the heavens?” she repeated, stepping closer. “Well, you certainly look the part. Though I must say, you’re handling gravity remarkably well.”
Iwarlil blinked, her expression puzzled. “Gravity?” she asked. “Is that something important?”
Lucy laughed, the sound warm and rich. “Oh, very important. It’s what keeps us all from floating away. But don’t worry; you seem to have it figured out.” She studied the girl for a moment longer, noting the faint glow that seemed to emanate from her skin and the unguarded innocence in her eyes. There was something both endearing and disarming about her, and Lucy couldn’t help but feel a strange protectiveness stir within her.
“And who are you?” Iwarlil asked, her gaze curious and unflinching.
Lucy smiled, a touch of pride in her expression. “I’m Lucy. Lucy the Valiant, Duchess of the Glistening Eastern Sea, Countess of the Whispering Plains, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, and Queen of Narnia.”
Iwarlil’s eyes widened at the list of titles, her expression one of awe. “You are… all of those things?” she asked. “That sounds very important.”
Lucy chuckled. “It does sound rather grand, doesn’t it? But really, it just means I have a lot of places to look after and a lot of people to care for.” She paused, her gaze softening as she looked at Iwarlil. “You’ve come a long way, haven’t you?”
Iwarlil nodded. “I have walked for days. I have seen so many wondrous things. But…” She hesitated, her expression clouding with uncertainty. “I am not sure what I am meant to do now.”
Lucy felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name—sympathy, perhaps, or a deeper kind of longing. She crouched slightly to meet Iwarlil’s gaze more directly, her tone gentle. “It’s all right to feel a bit lost. Narnia has a way of helping people find where they’re meant to be.” Then Lucy tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “I’m not entirely sure what one does after falling from the heavens, but…” She paused, her smile growing playful. “Are you hungry?”
Iwarlil’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of food. “Oh, yes,” she said, her voice filled with wonder. “Though it is a very amusing feeling.”
Lucy laughed, shaking her head. “Come with me,” she said, gesturing toward the path.
Iwarlil tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Where?” she asked.
“To the castle,” Lucy replied. “So you can eat and rest.”
For a moment, Iwarlil hesitated, her gaze flickering toward the horizon where Cair Paravel gleamed like a beacon. Then, with a small, tentative smile, she stepped forward, her hand brushing against Lucy’s as they walked side by side. For the first time since she had left the heavens, Iwarlil felt like she had found a place where she belonged.
Lucy led Iwarlil down the winding forest path that led to Cair Paravel, her steps quick and purposeful as she navigated the familiar terrain. Iwarlil, on the other hand, walked slowly, her head turning this way and that as she tried to absorb everything around her. The sky, streaked with hues of twilight, seemed impossibly vast compared to the heavens she had once known. The castle, still distant but growing nearer with every step, rose like a dream on the horizon. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.
"That’s Cair Paravel," Lucy said, glancing back over her shoulder when she realized Iwarlil was lagging behind. "It’s the heart of Narnia, the seat of our rule. Well, mine and my siblings’—though, truth be told, Peter and Susan are far more at home in the throne room than I am."
Iwarlil stopped mid-step, staring at the ivory towers glowing against the sky. "It looks like something out of a dream," she whispered, her voice full of awe.
Lucy laughed softly, though there was fondness in her tone. "It does, doesn’t it? But it’s very real, I promise. Come on, we’re almost there." She beckoned with her hand, her voice gentle but insistent.
Iwarlil didn’t move. Her luminous eyes stayed fixed on the castle as if afraid it might vanish the moment she looked away. "Did you… build it?" she asked hesitantly.
Lucy blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. Then, a laugh bubbled up from her chest. "Me? Heavens, no. Cair Paravel has stood for centuries, long before my siblings and I came here. But it feels like it belongs to us all the same." She smiled, tilting her head. "Now, do you think you can manage walking and staring at it? Or shall I carry you the rest of the way?"
Iwarlil tilted her head, confused for a moment, before the teasing in Lucy’s voice registered. Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she quickened her pace, her bare feet padding lightly over the earth.
By the time they reached the castle gates, the stars were beginning to shimmer in the deepening sky. A pair of talking badgers stood guard at the entrance, their black-and-white fur sleek and glossy in the torchlight. The moment they saw Lucy, they bowed low, their voices warm and reverent as they greeted her.
"Your Majesty," one said, his voice gruff but kind.
"Welcome back, Queen Lucy," said the other, her tone softer but no less respectful.
Lucy nodded to them in acknowledgment, a small smile gracing her lips. "Thank you, Barl, Mella. It’s good to be back."
Iwarlil watched this exchange with wide eyes, her wonder only growing as the gates swung open to reveal the courtyard beyond. Her feet faltered again as she stepped inside.
The castle was alive with activity. Talking animals of every kind scurried to and fro, their voices blending into a lively hum that filled the air. A pair of otters, carrying bundles of freshly picked herbs, paused to bow as Lucy passed, their whiskers twitching in respect. A cluster of sparrows fluttered by, chirping greetings of "Your Majesty!" as they dipped in mid-air. Even a dignified stag paused his stride to lower his antlers in a graceful bow.
Lucy moved through it all with the ease of someone accustomed to such deference, but Iwarlil was another story. She stopped every few steps, her eyes darting from one talking creature to the next. Each encounter left her looking more astonished than the last.
Lucy chuckled, though her steps didn’t slow. "You’ll get used to it soon enough. Though I warn you, some of them are quite chatty. Don’t let the magpies corner you, or you’ll never escape."
Iwarlil furrowed her brow, clearly taking the statement literally. "Corner me? Why would they do that? Do they have ill intent?"
Lucy laughed, the sound bright and full of mirth. "Not at all. They just like to gossip. Trust me, you’ll understand when you meet them."
But Iwarlil had stopped again, her gaze fixed on a family of hedgehogs who were hurrying past with tiny bundles strapped to their backs. "Do they all live here, in your castle?" she asked, her voice tinged with wonder.
"Not all of them," Lucy replied, gently taking Iwarlil’s hand to tug her forward. The moment their hands touched, Iwarlil’s heart stuttered in her chest. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever known—warm, grounding, and electric all at once. It was as though Lucy’s touch anchored her, even as it sent ripples of strange, new feelings coursing through her being.
Lucy felt it too, though she would never admit it aloud. Her fingers tightened briefly around Iwarlil’s hand, her mind flashing to the few others who had once held it. There was the merchant’s daughter, who had kissed her fingers with reverence but left her heart untouched. And Neritha, the sea nymph whose touch had been fleeting, like the caress of a wave retreating back to the ocean. But this—this was different. There was a purity to Iwarlil’s presence, an unguarded wonder that made Lucy’s chest tighten.
"Keep moving," Lucy said, her voice a little sharper than she intended. She let go of Iwarlil’s hand, though the warmth of it lingered in her palm. "We’ll never make it to the dining hall at this rate."
They passed through the grand hall, where more animals and creatures bowed as they passed. Iwarlil often stopped to watch them, her glowing eyes filled with curiosity, and Lucy had to nudge her along with a smile that was equal parts amused and exasperated.
"Iwarlil, honestly," Lucy said at one point, throwing her hands up in mock frustration. "At this rate, the sun will rise before you’ve even reached the castle doors."
Iwarlil flushed faintly, her expression sheepish. "I am sorry. Everything here is so… alive. It is hard not to stop and look."
Lucy sighed, though her smile softened. "It’s fine. Just… stay close to me, all right? I can’t have you wandering off and getting lost." She reached for Iwarlil’s hand again, her grip firm but not unkind. "Come on."
Finally, they reached the dining hall, its long table set with food that made even Lucy’s mouth water. But as she gestured for Iwarlil to sit, she realized the girl’s attention was elsewhere, her wide eyes fixed on the stained-glass windows that lined the walls.
"You can sit and stare at the windows, you know," Lucy said dryly, her tone laced with playful humor.
Iwarlil blinked, her gaze snapping back to Lucy. "Oh. Yes. Of course." She hesitated before sitting, her movements awkward as if she were unsure of how to position herself in the chair.
Lucy watched her for a moment, her smile softening. "You really are something else," she murmured, almost to herself, before taking the seat across from her.
As the first plates were brought out, Lucy pushed a bowl of warm, buttered bread toward Iwarlil. "Try this," she said, her tone gentle. "It’s simple, but I think you’ll like it."
Iwarlil took a piece hesitantly, her fingers brushing the soft crust. As she took her first bite, her eyes widened, and a delighted smile spread across her face. "It’s wonderful," she said, her voice filled with quiet amazement. "Warm and… soft. I didn’t know food could be like this."
Lucy’s laugh rang out like the chiming of bells. "You’ve got a lot to learn, Iwarlil. And something tells me you’ll enjoy every moment of it."
Just as Lucy was about to take a bite herself, a familiar voice called out from the hallway beyond the dining hall. "Your Majesty! Your Majesty!" The sound of hurried footsteps followed, and moments later, Mr. Tumnus appeared, his cheeks flushed and his scarf slightly askew. He looked as though he had run the entire length of the castle to find her.
"Mr. Tumnus," Lucy said, rising to her feet. Her tone was warm but tinged with exasperation. "It’s great to find you here. Iwarlil, this is Mr. Tumnus. Mr. Tumnus, this is Iwarlil. She is a star, and she is my guest."
Mr. Tumnus blinked rapidly, his brow furrowing as he processed Lucy’s words. "A star, Your Majesty? I didn’t know we were hosting entertainers tonight."
Lucy laughed, a bright, musical sound that momentarily eased Mr. Tumnus’s evident confusion. "No, no, not an entertainer. An actual star from the night sky."
For a moment, Mr. Tumnus’s eyes widened, his mouth opening as though to protest or question further. But then his gaze flicked to Iwarlil, who sat quietly, her otherworldly glow undeniable even in the warm light of the dining hall. He seemed to reconsider his approach, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Well, that is... most extraordinary. But perhaps such mysteries are best unraveled later."
Lucy gave a small nod, already moving toward the door with Iwarlil close behind. "Quite right, Mr. Tumnus. For now, would you prepare a room for her? And a bath, please. We’ll have something to eat while she settles in."
Mr. Tumnus hesitated, clearly trying to reconcile this unexpected turn of events with his usual duties. But before he could excuse himself, he added, "Your Majesty, your siblings require your presence in the throne room."
Lucy huffed, a spark of irritation flashing across her face. "Of course, they do." She pressed her lips into a thin line, her hand lingering briefly on the doorframe. "Let me at least settle my guest first. Then I’ll see what my dear brothers and sister need this time."
As she turned back to Iwarlil, Lucy’s expression softened. "Come on, let’s get you settled. You’re going to love it here—I promise."
Iwarlil followed her out of the dining hall, her luminous gaze flickering between Lucy and Mr. Tumnus, as though trying to understand this new, strange world she had entered.
Lucy led Iwarlil through the stone corridors of Cair Paravel, the faint echo of their footsteps accompanied by the soft glow of candlelight. Servants and talking animals they passed stopped to bow or curtsy, murmuring, “Your Majesty,” as they stepped aside to let the queen pass. Iwarlil stayed close to Lucy’s side, her wide eyes darting around at every new sight and sound. The castle was alive in ways she couldn’t comprehend—voices, movement, warmth. It was overwhelming.
"Here we are," Lucy said, stopping in front of a grand wooden door carved with intricate vines and flowers. She pushed it open to reveal a spacious room bathed in the golden glow of lanterns. The bed was enormous, draped in silken sheets of deep blue, and a crackling fire in the hearth cast dancing shadows on the walls. A table near the window was already set with a pitcher of water and a small tray of fruit and bread. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, soothing yet foreign to Iwarlil.
"This will be your room," Lucy said, stepping aside so Iwarlil could enter. "You can rest here, and I’ve asked for a bath to be drawn. Someone will come shortly to help you if you need anything."
Iwarlil stepped inside hesitantly, her bare feet making no sound on the polished stone floor. She looked around as though afraid to touch anything, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "It’s... beautiful," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Thank you."
Lucy smiled warmly, stepping closer to gently touch Iwarlil’s arm. "It’s nothing. You’re my guest, and I want you to feel at home here."
Iwarlil’s glowing eyes met Lucy’s briefly before she looked away, struggling to find the right words. "I—I don’t know what to say," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "This is all so... much. I don’t even know how to thank you properly."
"Just being here is enough," Lucy said gently. "But I need you to do something for me, all right?" She waited for Iwarlil to nod before continuing. "Please stay in this room until I return. I won’t be long, but it’s important. If you need anything, just ask one of the attendants—they’ll help you. Can you do that for me?"
Iwarlil hesitated but nodded slowly. "I’ll stay."
"Good." Lucy smiled again, squeezing Iwarlil’s hand briefly before stepping back. "I’ll be back soon. Rest, relax, and try not to worry. You’re safe here."
With that, Lucy left the room, the door clicking softly shut behind her. She paused for a moment in the hallway, exhaling deeply before squaring her shoulders and heading toward the throne room.
The throne room was grand and imposing, its high vaulted ceilings adorned with banners of deep crimson and gold, the sigils of the Pevensie siblings displayed prominently. As Lucy entered, she immediately spotted her siblings seated on their respective thrones.
The throne room of Cair Paravel was as grand as it was ancient. High vaulted ceilings loomed overhead, adorned with painted constellations that shimmered faintly, as though the stars themselves had come down to grace the walls. Tall windows let in beams of sunlight, which fell on the polished marble floor and the four thrones set upon a raised dais. Each throne reflected its ruler: Peter’s was solid gold with carvings of mountains; Susan’s glimmered with silver and delicate floral designs; Edmund’s was dark wood, smooth and unadorned, like the sturdy trees of the Western Woods; Lucy’s, smaller but no less regal, was a blend of gold and silver with a light, airy design that evoked the open skies.
Lucy entered briskly, her boots clicking softly on the floor. Her siblings stood before their thrones, engaged in a quiet discussion.
"Lucy," Peter greeted, his warm, commanding voice cutting through the stillness. His blue eyes sparkled with curiosity, though his expression carried a hint of seriousness. "We’ve been waiting for you."
Susan turned to face her younger sister, her dark hair gleaming in the sunlight, her posture as poised as ever. "Yes, we didn’t expect you to take this long. Is everything all right?"
Lucy waved a hand dismissively, placing the other on her hip. "Everything’s fine. I was just... delayed."
Edmund, leaning casually against his dark wooden throne, arched a brow. "Delayed by what?" His sharp gaze gave away his curiosity, though his tone carried its usual dry edge.
Lucy hesitated, glancing between her siblings before deciding to come clean. "I brought a guest to Cair Paravel. She’s resting now, but she’ll be staying here for a while."
Peter raised a brow, folding his arms across his broad chest. "A guest? Who is it?"
Lucy’s lips curved into a sly smile, one that Edmund immediately recognized as trouble. "You’ll find out soon enough," she said breezily, before turning the conversation back on them. "Now, what was so important?"
Peter sighed, exchanging a look with Susan before gesturing for Lucy to join them. "We’ve had reports of a Telmarine group spotted on the outskirts of Narnia."
Susan nodded, her expression thoughtful. "And there are growing tensions between some of the centaur clans in the central plains. It seems their disputes over grazing lands are escalating."
"Typical," Edmund muttered. "The centaurs have always been particular about their territories. But Telmarines? I thought they’d finally learned their lesson."
"Apparently not," Peter said, his voice low and steady. "We need to decide how to handle both issues. The Telmarines might just be scouting, but we can’t ignore it. And the centaurs... well, that’s going to require some careful diplomacy."
Susan crossed her arms, her gaze turning inward. "I could speak with the centaurs. They respect logic and fairness, and I’ve dealt with them before."
"I’ll handle the Telmarines," Peter said firmly. "We can’t let them think we’re weak or distracted."
"Well, seems like you have everything in order here. I’ll just—" Lucy said as she tried to back up.
"Not so fast, Lu," Peter interrupted, his tone turning mock-serious. "You just came back from sea. It’s only fair we give you a few chores to settle back in."
Lucy groaned, throwing her hands up. "I just got here! Can’t I have one moment of peace?"
Peter ignored her, his grin widening. "We’re hosting Archenlander royalty in a few days."
Lucy’s groan grew louder. "Again? Do they not have their own palace to enjoy?"
"They seem to enjoy ours more," Susan said, her voice laced with humor. "And since everyone else will be busy, you’ll host them."
"Me?" Lucy asked, her face a mask of disbelief. "That’s so much more of a you or Edmund thing!"
Susan’s smile widened. "Consider it a challenge, Lucy. You’ll be a wonderful host."
Lucy turned to Edmund. "What about you? Why don’t they give this to you?"
Edmund smirked and shrugged. "My chores as Head of Justice keep me occupied. Besides," he added dryly, "you have a talent for charming people as of late."
Lucy groaned again. "This isn’t fair. My guest isn’t—"
"Isn't what?" Peter finished, raising an eyebrow. "This will be good for you. I’m horrible at diplomacy, and still, I dabble. You must show that you’re more than the Wild Queen."
"Unbelievable," Lucy muttered, though there was a spark of amusement in her eyes.
Susan leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "If it helps, we’ll all be too busy to meddle. It’ll be your chance to impress everyone."
Lucy groaned again but relented, flopping dramatically into her throne. "Fine. But if this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming all of you."
The siblings laughed, their earlier tension melting away as they shifted topics. They talked of the sea—Lucy regaling them with tales of her voyage, the strange fish she’d seen, and the endless horizon. Edmund shared a story about a mischievous fox who had tricked a group of dwarfs into giving him their entire haul of apples. Peter described a sparring match he’d had with a faun, admitting, to his siblings’ great amusement, that he’d nearly lost.
The hours slipped by unnoticed until a yawn escaped Lucy. Susan, ever the practical one, noticed and stood, stretching gracefully. "It’s late. We should all get some rest."
Peter nodded, though his gaze lingered on the maps spread across the table beside his throne. "Tomorrow will be busy."
As the siblings dispersed, Lucy made her way through the quiet halls of Cair Paravel toward the guest chambers. The stone corridors, lit by softly glowing lanterns, were silent save for the faint crash of waves against the cliffs below. She stopped outside the room she’d assigned to her guest, Iwarlil.
Pushing the door open softly, Lucy stepped inside. The room was simple but elegant, with a four-poster bed draped in airy, cream-colored linens. A large bath had been drawn and scented with lavender, the steam still curling lazily into the air. Yet the bath sat untouched, and Iwarlil lay sprawled across the bed, sound asleep.
Lucy’s lips twitched into a smile as she approached. The young woman’s face was smudged with dark stains—berries, Lucy realized with a chuckle. Iwarlil’s hands clutched the edge of the blanket as though she’d collapsed mid-thought, too tired to even clean up.
Shaking her head, Lucy gently pulled a soft throw blanket from a nearby chair and draped it over her guest. "You’re an odd one," she murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from Iwarlil’s face.
As Lucy stepped back, she turned toward the door, pausing in the frame to glance at the sleeping figure one last time. Outside the room, she lingered in the corridor, her gaze distant.
"Aslan," she whispered, her voice soft but steady. "I know you can hear me." She clasped her hands in front of her, tilting her head as though expecting him to answer. "Who have you brought me? And why now?"
The hallway remained silent, but a gentle breeze stirred the air, carrying the faintest hint of warmth and the unmistakable scent of wildflowers.
Lucy smiled to herself, her heart settling with quiet trust. "I’ll do my best," she said softly, before making her way toward her own chambers, leaving the question unanswered but the feeling of Aslan’s presence lingering behind her.