narniaexchange | the girl from beyond the world’s end

Title: the girl from beyond the world’s end
Author:

caitriona_3
Rating: K+
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: An AU of The Silver Chair and The Last Battle.
Summary: Jill is the girl from another world but Narnia is the home that will always draw her back.
Author’s Notes: A couple of lines have been borrowed from LB for dialogue purposes. Many thanks to my betas!

the girl from beyond the world’s end

------------------------

Narnia drifts.

The first of autumn’s frost creeps along the tall grasses to form a patchwork blanket of white and gold. The stars are dim in the sky overhead, their songs thin despite the chill silence of the air. Rivers slow and branches droop and none stir but the nocturnal hunters.

Narnia drifts, caught between waking and sleeping.

In the distance, a bonfire glows. Catcalls and commands skewer the silence. A question of fate hangs in the air.

Narnia drifts, and a captive king dreams of far-off lands.

+++

The man appears like a ghost from her past, a memory from another world dancing atop shards of broken glass. He is pale as a watercolour painting bleached by the sun. His chin is covered in a rough beard, his cheeks are sunken, and a scar crosses his right temple where there ought to be smooth skin. He is older and different, so different.

The man’s eyes are distraught. When his lips move, no sound comes forth. Even as Peter commands him to declare his intentions, the apparition begins to ripple.

And then he is gone, leaving silence in his wake but for his name on her lips.

“Rilian,” she says again, as if to call him back, but it is too late.

When she turns, it is to Peter that she looks for council. Peter, eldest of the kings, still standing at the head of the table with his hand hovering over the ghost of a sword. Peter, who - even here in this drab English cottage - is High King over them all.

“We called to him because he was calling for us,” Eustace mutters beneath his breath. Jill looks at him sharply, remembering suddenly the words Aslan had spoken to them over a lifetime ago. Homemade decorations of the Narnian style are spread across the table, a meal in the manner of the Narnian court laid out before them. She should have guessed, should have known, should have expected -

“It wasn’t Rilian,” Eustace adds in answer to the questioning look from the High King. “A descendent, probably.”

She hadn’t even thought that the difference in appearance was because this was another man.

“But a Narnian,” Lucy says firmly. It isn’t a question.

“And a king,” Edmund adds.

Polly and Digory exchange looks but say nothing. Nor could they have anything to add on the matter, for it has been long - so very long - since either of them last laid eyes on Narnia herself. Their task is for this world.

The silence hangs in the room as Peter deliberates. “It’s clearly a message,” he says at last. “Narnia needs our help.”

+++

The council room was in an uproar when Dame Jill entered, the outrage nearly thick enough to cut through. I found it a reprieve to watch as she quietly made her way around the ring of councillors to take a seat in the chair two from mine. She didn’t say a word nor did she attempt to decipher the matter from the debate. Instead, she waited with the same poise and patience as always, lips pressed tight together and hands clasped on her lap.

This afternoon, I decided firmly.

“This means war,” Lady Fygen bellowed. I was never entirely sure whether her bloodlust was due to her minotaur heritage or simply her personality. Nor was I surprised that agreement came from the centauress, Lady Talbright, and Lord Dentor, a human from the Southridge region.

All the same, I could not allow the meeting to get out of hand. “Lords and Ladies of the council,” I said, rising from my seat. “I cannot in good conscience declare war without first looking into other options.”

My words quieted them. Those that stood took a seat - save the centaurs and beasts, who remained on their four legs as was most comfortable for them. At that moment, the doors opened again to admit Lord Vestimon, who bowed low to me - "My apologies, King Rilian" - before crossing to his chair.

“For those of you who have just joined us,” I continued, nodding to both Vestimon and Jill, “We received a missive barely an hour ago from Ashkar.”

I detailed the crisis to the council. The Ashkar government had arrested a Narnian dryad on suspicion of espionage. While Narnia did send spies to keep tabs on neighbouring countries, the prisoner in question was completely innocent. When I finished the explanation of events, I allowed the councillors to continue their discussion. At one point, I caught Jill’s eye; she gave me a brief, tight smile before standing to speak her piece.

She took a deep breath. “I propose a rescue. A highly specialized team, few in number, to make their way in and out with utmost speed and secrecy.”

A clamour of responses arose at her suggestion and Jill sat down, lips pressed tight together once more.

No, not now. Why now? If I were to deploy a team, it would have to be soon. Even worse, I already knew that Jill would demand to be sent along.

But this afternoon, protested the weak, human side of me. The part that was a king, the part with the blood of stars, had no choice. I ignored the whimper and started to think rationally about the logistics of the deployment.

At last, I rose to my feet. “I have come to a decision.”

+++

“Rings,” says Eustace again.

They are seated in the Professor’s garden, her and Eustace, struggling to come to terms with the decision made earlier by the High King and his siblings. And, as emotional as the decision has made her, Jill is also still shaken from the apparition itself.

“He looked like Rilian,” she says softly, tracing a finger in the earth. Perhaps she would say more, only her throat closes up in a sudden well of emotion.

It is Eustace who voices the words. “I miss him.”

She’s had years to come to terms with the notion that she might never see Narnia again. And now, the feelings resurface once more - hope combined with a horrid fear of disappointment.

“Rings,” Eustace repeats, “All this time, and we could have used the rings.”

“He wouldn’t have liked it,” Jill responds somewhat sensibly. Yet, she can’t help the bit of guilt that suggests Aslan won’t like it this time, either.

+++

Jill was at the top of the Western staircase, engaged in conversation with Eustace, when I caught up with her. At my approach, Eustace greeted me politely; Jill was curt.

“We’ll need a gryphon,” she said, continuing her train of thought, “Perhaps Qwenifer. And a flock of messengers for constant updates.”

Given how she chose to address Eustace, I was forced to conclude that she was still sore over my earlier decision. I’d thought it was reasonable to appoint Shadd as the head of the rescue team while assigning Jill to work logistics from Cair Paravel. Unfortunately, it seemed that Jill did not agree.

She was tying her hair back from her face as she spoke, a clear indication of her sour mood. It should have been a sign to leave her alone. Instead, I reminded myself that I’d set this afternoon as a personal deadline.

“If I may have a private word?” I asked her.

She paused mid-breath, looking between Eustace and I with unease. Eustace was frowning, his eyebrows drawn together in suspicion. “I’ll speak to Qwenifer,” he said, before he bowed low to me and strode back down the hall.

“You can’t send Shadd into Ashkar,” she said immediately. “He’ll flub it up.”

“I trust him,” I responded.

Jill’s chin tilted up at that and she abruptly started down the steps. A beat passed before I realized my mistake. “I do trust you!” I exclaimed, rushing down the steps to block her path. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” she replied, and although her voice was still chilled, she looked mollified. “But I want to go.”

How could I explain all my reasonings behind the decision? And why should I, King of Narnia, have to? Regardless, this was not the conversation I intended. I shifted position, looking up at her from my lower step.

“Dame Jill,” I began, trying to sound grand but feeling a fool. It did not help that Jill had raised an eyebrow. I pressed on. “The Feast of Spring Dawning is a week hence. Would - would you accompany me?”

“I -” For once, she was struck speechless. I looked up at her, wondering if I’d lost the chance with my poor timing.

She slowly regained her composure, studying me intently. A sly grin slid across her face. “Would you send me to Ashkar?”

+++

There is a green wood that grows around a pattern of silver pools stretched in every direction. It is a silent wood, a waiting wood, a knowing wood.

The only beings stirring in this wood between worlds are a never-aging guinea pig and a never-aging lion. The guinea pig nibbles on grass and sleeps; the lion paces about one of the pools and watches.

And when the time is right, he bends his face to the surface and breathes softly.

+++

She doesn’t remember the rickety wooden bridge in the woods behind the Professor’s cottage. Nor can Jill recall the bubbling creek that runs beneath. She’s about to suggest to Eustace that they’ve taken a wrong turn; better to head back and join the others before it’s time to leave for the train station, anyhow.

The wind is too crisp here, the leaves too bright. A soft hum rises from the stream and the forest sighs around them.

“We’re not lost,” Eustace realizes.

It is as though his words are the only confirmation she needs. Suddenly, it is the forest that is natural; she and Eustace are the oddities here. Ecstasy threatens to overwhelm her when Eustace holds up a hand, brow creasing with unease. “We’ve been called for a reason,” he reminds her, and his head tips to the right. “I hear axes.”

She can hear them, too, if she strains her ears. She exchanges a look with Eustace before they begin to pick their way through the forest.

Jill’s the first to the crest of the hill, first to see the sickening sight that waits below. She claps a hand to her mouth, turning away in horror, the pattern of brown stumps and fading dryads already imprinted on the inside of her eyelids. Eustace chokes beside her.

“But why?” she moans. The sound of the axes hacking and mutilating is all she can hear.

Eustace takes too long to reply. “No good to rush in,” he says at last, “Not without weapons.”

She knows that, of course she knows, but she takes a weak comfort in the knowledge that she isn’t the only one contemplating the notion. “Called for a reason,” she reminds him, and together they stumble back into the cover of the woods.

+++

The first bird arrived the eve of the third day, bearing news that the Archen border had been crossed without incident. It was just after noon on the fourth day when word came that Jill and Qwenifer had made it through to Ashkar. The messages were both short, hidden beneath code that only a select few knew how to crack. Yet, I could not help but wonder whether there was anything else Jill had wished to tell me - something that could not be hidden beneath even the toughest of codes.

I was being absurd; I knew that. I sat long into the night at my desk, shuffling papers aimlessly as I tried to imagine the rescue. They’d have crossed the borders under cover of darkness, swift and silent, and would make camp in the foothills outside Ashkar’s great city. Jill had allotted a single day to accomplish her mission; guiltily, I wondered whether this was to ensure she’d be back in time for the feast.

I was about ready to turn in when there came a knock at my study door. I gave leave to enter and Eustace was the one to step into the room.

“Has there been any word?” he asked.

I showed him the two slips of parchment. He scanned the carefully penned words and the decoder’s notes that danced along the margins.

“She’d only planned to be in Ashkar a day,” Eustace said as he passed the paper back. “They’ll be out by now.”

“If all went well,” I confirmed.

“When do you expect the next bird?”

“Tomorrow midday.”

He nodded and moved to leave, only to pause with his hand on the knob of the door. When he turned back, Eustace had an odd look in his eye. “Why did you change your mind and send her, then?”

How could I explain to him the exchange Jill and I had made? At the least, Eustace would laugh - but I feared he might question Jill’s motives in accepting my invitation. So I shook my head and merely told him, “The lady can be very persuasive at times.”

+++

“How much motivation do you need?” Jill asks. The blade of her pocketknife flashes as she brings it to the man’s throat. He gulps nervously.

The Calormene is a merchant, judging by the tools and clothes stripped from him and his fallen companion. The outfit is too loose on Jill but she’s had worse; she’s rolled up the sleeves and cinched the belt tight around her waist. Neither she nor Eustace will be mistaken for Calormene traders but these clothes will raise less notice than their own.

“She’ll slit your throat and let Aslan have his way with you,” Eustace comments idly from behind.

The man gathers the last of his courage to spit in her face. “Tashlan take you both.”

The saliva doesn’t bother her but the words do. Jill exchanges an uneasy look with Eustace, the unspoken question hanging between them. How long could it have been since Rilian’s reign if even the names of the gods have changed?

+++

The horses limped as they entered the gate. One was riderless; the rescued dryad rode pillion behind Jill on the other. The large shadow of a gryphon cut across the bright disk of the setting moon before dropping down into the courtyard at their side.

Jill waited until her companion was bundled into the waiting arms of the dryad healers, who whisked him off to the orchard for recovery. She turned to share a word with Qwenifer before, at last, swinging down from the saddle.

“My king,” she said, dropping a curtsy as I approached, “I am sorry our return was delayed.”

Their arrival was a full two days later than anyone had anticipated, even after Jill had sent word that injuries would slow their travels. She, at least, appeared to be unharmed. I silently thanked Aslan.

“It was Rochell who was wounded in the escape,” she continued, “And then our other mount strained a tendon half a day back.”

“That you are safe returned is a blessing,” I assured her, and added with the hint of a smile, “Although I feared you would miss the feast.”

“I, as well,” she admitted, awkwardly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Before my nerves could get the better of me, I continued, “I shall see you tonight?”

She smiled and told me she would be honoured, before asking my leave to retire. As she walked away, I noticed her uneven gait for the first time.

+++

The stable sits at the edge of the forest, just as the merchant had described. It is old and worn, the roof beginning to cave and one wall grown over with moss. The surrounding area is deserted though the sun is already high above; Jill looks over her shoulder, half-expecting an attack from behind, but none stir.

Ahead and past the stable there is a tree, and bound to this tree is the king of Narnia. Her breath catches in her throat at the sight of Aslan’s appointed treated to such shame. “Eustace,” she chokes, and he squeezes her hand in support.

Their path takes them around and behind for fear of hidden guards. As she nears, Jill begins to realize that there are none - what has befallen Narnia that her enemies do not fear a rescue?

The king’s head has fallen forward, the ropes that bind him cutting through the skin at his wrists. “This is not right,” she mutters, and breaks cover to stride across the open grass. Eustace scrambles behind her, his knife raised in defence. He needn’t worry; none jump out to meet them. Only the king takes notice, his head snapping up at their approach, eyes wide in disbelief at the sight that awaits him.

“Aslan’s blessings,” she says to him, and sets to work on the rope with her thin, English pocketknife.

Eustace joins her barely a moment later. “I’m afraid this will hurt,” he apologizes as the first cord snaps apart. The king winces and massages his wrists as the blood returns to them. The manner is so similar to Rilian that she almost cannot stand it; Jill turns her eyes away and slices through the next rope.

“My thanks,” the king says, his voice hoarse and dry. “I owe you my life.”

“We can talk about that later,” Jill says briskly, and snaps her pocketknife shut.

—

Four riders emerge from the sacred garden at the westernmost point of the world. The first rides a unicorn of purest white; he travels south with a host of plagues. A phoenix carries the second eastward, and in her hands is the burning sword of war. To the north goes the third on a flying horse whose coat is black as night; famine spreads below.

Death watches its companions depart. It sits atop the green-shelled back of its mount and begins the slow, inevitable crawl across the land.

+++

While I did not remember the first time I met Dame Jill, I could recount the events clearly. The story had been told to me by Eustace and Puddleglum both, and Jill as well - although she was kind enough to spare me the embarrassment of the boy I had been. Frozen in time, a prisoner of enchantment, I had been rude and patronizing. I’d been interested only in serving the queen of the Underworld, unaware or uncaring of the witch's plan to wage war upon my country.

The first sight of Jill that I could recall was when I was bound to the enchanted chair. She’d been just a slip of a girl, standing anxiously between her companions. Her lip was caught between her teeth, a lock of hair twisted about her finger. She’d clenched her hands as I entreated their assistance, her eyes bright with the determination to hold to her word.

I had not the time to spare to ask who these strangers might be, consumed only by a desperate hope that I might be freed. But even as I swore in the name of the Lion and heard the gasp that escaped Jill’s mouth, I could not help but wonder.

+++

“Jill and Eustace, sire,” she explains as the trio picks their way across the bed of rocks in order to hide their trail. “We were here once before - we rescued King Rilian when he was only a prince.”

“Sir Eustace,” emphasizes the boy behind her.

She glances over her shoulder and wrinkles her nose at him cheerfully before turning back to the king. “And you, sire? I gather you are related to King Rilian - you have the same face.”

This man has a habit of pausing before answering any question. “It has been a good many generations since Rilian’s reign,” he says at last. “But yes, I am his descendent. I am Tirian, King of Narnia - for what good that has done.”

His words tug at her. Jill fingers the knife at her belt.

“If you don’t mind,” Eustace asks, “What exactly did happen?”

“Murder of the holy trees,” King Tirian explains grimly, “And a false Aslan paraded about by an ape. These are dire times for Narnia.”

+++

The trees were whispering when I entered the orchard. Dryads blinked at me from the cover of their branches, falling silent as I passed. One slender willow bowed low to the ground, a scattering of twigs and leaves falling from her hair. “You do us a great honour, my king,” she said. “Let me show you to the nursery.”

The dryad orchard, located close to the castle and within the city walls, was like stepping into another world. The trees were close pressed, their canopies blocking out the sun to create a perpetual twilight. Their trunks kept out any wind, leaving the air heavy and dank. Dryads and hamadryads kept to themselves; few outsiders were invited in. The orchard wished to be left alone and had methods of protection from unwanted intruders.

As king of Narnia, I was always welcome in the orchard although I did my best not to disturb the dryads unnecessarily. I was here today to seek out the dryad Rochell, still recovering from his escape from Ashkar.

The nursery was located deep in the orchard and was a place where dryads could recover in safety. Rochell was resting against the trunk of an ancient elm. “Greetings, sire,” he said as I approached, “Forgive me, but I have not yet the strength to stand.”

And so it was I who knelt in the grass beside him. “The trees carry the tale of Dame Jill’s rescue,” Rochell told me. “Listen, if you will.”

But although I strained my ears, I could not understand their language. When I admitted this to the dryad, he translated a few lines before breaking off. “Dame Jill is very brave,” Rochell said.

“She is,” I agreed.

The dryad shifted, his sigh like the sound of wind through leaves. “We are lucky to have one such as her in this world, however long or short her stay may be.”

+++

“Welcome friends,” says Tirian, “I fear this is the best palace that the King of Narnia can now offer to his guests.”

Even from the outside, the tower looks drab and dank and not at all the sort of place anyone would wish to spend the night. Jill exchanges a look with Eustace. Politely, she tells the king not to worry, they’ve slept in worse conditions.

“So long as it doesn’t smell terribly,” Eustace mutters behind her, and then the door swings open. The room is musty and Eustace wrinkles his nose but, even so, they’ve had worse. At least here, there is a collection of weapons and armour.

The armour that Tirian pulls out, however, is a much different fashion than either of them are expecting. “A heavy Calormene influence,” Jill notes, running a hand along the chains, “So much has changed.”

“It is Calormene armour, my lady,” Tirian responds. He finds a vial filled with a dark brown dye that she recognizes even before the king starts to explain.

“I do love disguises,” she says.

When Tirian asks if she has any skill with a bow, she wonders just what he thought she did all those years before.

+++

The blue and silver sails of the Tisroc’s empire fly over sea and under moon as twenty great ships slide into the harbour of Narnia’s golden city. The attack is swift and without warning.

Cair Paravel falls.

Soldiers die on the cobblestone streets and innocents flee into the country. The flag of the red lion is torn down and in its place rises the banner of the Tisroc.

Victory, crows the Commander, Victory is nigh!

+++

I could see Jill on the other side of the ballroom, chatting merrily with a trio of dwarves. She looked resplendent in her ivory gown, the cluster of pearls I’d gifted shining about her neck. Tonight, I’d promised myself. I would ask her tonight.

My nerves were less certain. I lifted a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing server and took a desperate sip.

“You look as though you plan to invade Calormen singlehanded,” said Eustace wryly as he drew near. “I thought the objective of the feast was to enjoy yourself?”

“I’m going to ask her,” I said. It was almost a relief to confess my plan to someone.

Eustace followed my gaze to where Jill had just started to dance with one of the dwarves. “I thought you’d already asked her here,” he commented.

Her steps were uneven - an indication that her ankle was still sore. I swallowed the remainder of my champagne. “Courting,” I gulped.

“Courting,” Eustace repeated. He did not sound very enthusiastic, I noted. Perhaps my nerves were distorting my perception; perhaps he was nervous on my behalf. The server was returning, so I took the opportunity to exchange my empty glass for another drink.

“I have a speech,” I told him, “I’ve just never done this before. How do I broach the subject?”

I looked over my glass to find that Eustace had an alarmed expression on his face. “You’re asking for my advice?”

I remembered that Eustace had never formally courted a woman before, either. “Look at us,” I said glumly, “The king and the man from another world. Hopeless.”

Eustace plucked the half-full glass from my hands before I could take another drink. “My advice,” he said uncertainly, “is to stop procrastinating.”

“Now?” I wasn’t ready. My hands were still clammy.

Eustace rolled his eyes heavenward and downed the last of my champagne. “Now.”

+++

The night is dark and Jill glides through the trees like a spirit. Tirian murmurs something to Eustace and she hisses at them to be silent. The surprise Tirian expresses whenever she displays any skill has become incredibly irritating, and she resolves to have a talk with him about it later. This, of course, is neither the time nor place.

The stable waits ahead, the clearing deserted but for a sole Calormene guard who appears to be half-asleep. “Wait here till I come again,” Tirian instructs. “If I miscarry, fly.”

When they had planned their excursion back at the tower, Tirian had disregarded Jill’s suggestion to investigate the stable. Before he leaves, she asks again, “Oughtn’t we to look inside?”

“Nay, dear one,” is all he says. “I only ask that you trust me, as you once trusted my ancestor.”

She and Eustace watch from the shelter of the brush as Tirian approaches the guard with all the swagger of a Calormene Captain. “He’s not very good at the role,” Eustace critiques softly.

She can’t help but agree that he’ll give everything away with his bad accent, but then Tirian has drawn his blade. Guard and king disappear around the side of the stable.

Tirian’s patronization still rankles; Jill decides it is time to prove her worth. Without a sound, she slips into the shadows.

+++

She stood out on the balcony, a champagne flute clutched tight in one hand. The breeze tugged at her skirt and threatened to unravel her hair but she took no notice. I approached softly, folding my arms on the railing beside her as I looked out over the ocean.

“What do you see?” I asked at last, for I could make out nothing beyond the harbour but the setting sun over waves.

A sigh escaped her. “Nothing,” she answered, “It isn’t there.”

But I knew then what she searched for. It was said that Aslan came from the East - but he was not the only one. Jill was the girl from beyond the world’s end, the girl who’d stepped through a door into Aslan’s Country and ridden to Narnia on the breath of the Lion. When she looked into the East, she searched for a glimpse of her home.

At that moment, I forgot all my grand plots. I took her free hand in my own, turning her towards me, and bowed low. I’d had an eloquent speech planned but instead all I could say was, “My lady, allow me the honour of courting you.”

The champagne flute slipped from her other hand to smash into pieces at her feet. Jill barely noticed. Her mouth was parted, her brow creased. I waited impatiently as she pulled herself together.

“Rilian,” she sighed, and her hesitancy made my heart sink, “I don’t - I don’t know how long I’ll be here. We’ll someday go back, even the Pevensies went back. I - I don’t think I -”

Desperately, I entreated her, “But even if it were for a short time, would that not be better than to regret a missed opportunity?”

Her face was pained as she drew her hand away. “Rilian,” she said, and her voice was heavy with finality, “I can’t.”

+++

Jill expects condemnation for her disobedience but the king’s rash anger startles her. When she hears the rasp of sword on sheath, Jill throws herself in front of Puzzle to plead for the donkey’s life.

“He is a traitor to Narnia and to Aslan,” Tirian declares, “Step aside, maiden, and let this Beast meet his due reward.”

“Do you know nothing of second chances?” she cries. “He’s sorry, he didn’t know what he was doing, and he won’t do it again. Spare his life, I beg of you.”

Yet, it is only when Eustace adds his voice to hers that the king steps back again. “It matters little now in these end times, in any case,” Tirian says gruffly.

“End times?” Eustace repeats.

“Can you not see?” Tirian asks, the words bursting forth like a secret he has been holding for too long. “We have not the hope of success. The end of Narnia is upon us.”

His voice is dead and it strikes Jill then that he has lost hope long before this night. This is a king who has had his heart broken by his people, a king who has no more strength to fight. She sees now that his last true act of resistance must have been his call beyond the world’s curtain. Since she and Eustace have arrived, Tirian has not been fighting the invasion; he has led them merely to avoid dashing their hopes.

“You asked that I trust you,” Jill says at last, “But now I ask, sire: Do you trust me?”

The king does not answer. She carries on regardless. “Because I have lived in another time and known many conflicts. I have watched your ancestor, King Rilian, as he rode into battle to protect the freedom of his people. I have learned to never back down, no matter the strength or size of the enemy.

“You have the blood of kings and stars running through your veins. Your closest friend at your side. You are followed by Sir Eustace and Dame Jill, brought from beyond the end of the world to assist you in your darkest hour.

“Now I ask you again: Do you trust me?”

+++

In another world, a train crashes.

Time blows his horn.

+++

End.

Original Prompt that we sent you:
What I want: Jill/Rilian - Jill & Eustace don't leave Narnia at the end of Silver Chair (for whatever reason)
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: “Without trust, words become the hollow sound of a wooden gong. With trust, words become life itself.”