As they returned to the How, Margaret walked alongside Edmund. At first, they both were silent.
"Four years?" he asked at long last.
"Yes," Margaret said softly.
"You'd be seventeen, then?"
She simply nodded. She had expected him to be upset. This whole thing would have had her reeling too, had she not already spent the past few months considering various, far more morbid possibilities regarding the fates of her family members.
"We brought this for you," he said, reaching into his satchel.
Margaret was delighted to see her bow from Father Christmas, and the sword she had used in the Golden Age.
"You found them!" she exclaimed, happily donning her things.
"At Cair Paravel," he confirmed. "It... It was in ruins."
Margaret nodded solemnly. "So I heard..."
Edmund hesitated, then reached into his satchel once more.
"We also brought this."
What he produced next made Margaret's blood run cold.
The cloak, as red as blood. The cloak from her nightmares.
The one she would die in.
Of course, on this day of happiness, being reunited family, she would be reminded of her fate.
But, she forced a smile and took it from him. She hoped she didn't look too pale, but the sight had shaken her.
"Thanks, Ed."
They held each other's gaze for a moment, but looking into his young eyes made her heart ache for the time that had passed for her without him.
"It doesn't seem fair, does it?" Edmund asked, sensing her grief. "This past year, the whole time, I've thought how awful it was that we were separated for so long... only to find out just how long it's been for you. And suddenly, that one year, it doesn't seem so awful anymore. But then I feel selfish for feeling that way, thinking of you waiting so much longer..."
"I'm sure Aslan has a reason," Margaret said.
Edmund looked at her curiously. "Did he send you a dream?"
Margaret averted her gaze. She knew she had answered a bit too fast when she said "No..." but Edmund didn't press the matter.
Silence lingered between them for a while, but just as Margaret thought of something she might say to resume the conversation once more, they came to the clearing in front of the How.
Lucy gasped in amazement as they drew closer.
One of the Big Cats ran ahead, no doubt to spread the news of the other Kings' and Queens' return.
Sure enough, when they arrived at the entrance, the centaurs had lined up along either side of the path, standing at attention. They stepped up and drew their swords in salute, and just for a moment, Margaret could imagine herself at Cair Paravel, at some celebration in the days of old.
She walked forward with her siblings, relishing in their presence. In these past few months, she had all but convinced herself that she would never see them again. She certainly didn't mind being proven wrong.
Caspian, she noticed, fell behind in his gait as the five rulers of old walked down the rampart. Margaret stood between Peter and Susan, of course, glad to have them near, but she couldn't deny that some small part of her desperately wished that Caspian also walked at her side - no matter how hard she may try to deny it.
Once inside, the sound of clanging metalsmiths and crackling forges greeted the returning warriors, the Narnians hard at work to prepare for war.
Susan and Lucy went on ahead to explore as Peter and Edmund looked around.
"It may not be what you are used to," Caspian offered at Peter's hesitant look, "But it is defensible."
"Caspian has done great work here," Margaret added supportively. "He rallied the Narnians to action. None of this would be possible without him."
Caspian looked down shyly, giving a small smile.
"Thank you, my lady," he said.
Just then, Susan called out, "Peter... You may want to see this."
Margaret had a feeling she knew exactly what Susan had found. All this time she had been there, she had never even gone into the tunnel that led back to the Table. But now, with all her family here... it felt right. The time had come to face it.
Caspian followed as the Pevensies looked around the tunnel. Carved into the walls, there were images, drawings of their first venture into Narnia. In one picture, Tumnus stood beside the lamppost, clutching his umbrella. In another, Lucy, Susan, and Margaret sat atop Aslan's back. Yet another carving showed their coronation.
Margaret gently traced that one with her fingertips.
"The thrones are out of order," she murmured in amusement. The carver had put them in sequence by age.
"It's us..." Susan realized.
Lucy looked at Caspian in confusion. "What is this place?"
"You don't know?" he asked, surprised.
He looked at Margaret, but she shook her head.
"I haven't had the chance to tell them yet."
Caspian nodded in understanding, then grabbed a torch from the wall. He stepped closer to Margaret, and murmured, "Are you sure you're ready? You know what lies at the end of this passage..."
But she took a deep breath, standing tall.
"I'm ready, Caspian."
At her affirmation, he led the way, further into the How. As they drew closer, Margaret could feel the presence of the Table, as if it were a living being. Although, she supposed, in a way, it was. Its life came from the thrumming of magic that reverberated through it and filled this whole place. And she, for some reason, could sense it.
At the bottom of a set of roughly hewn stone steps, she knew. They had arrived. The strength of its magic nearly swept her off of her feet.
There was irony to be found, she thought, in the notion that thousands of years ago, the Table had been at the top of a hill, with steps leading up to it, and now, it lay at the heart of an underground tomb.
Caspian touched his torch to a basin off to the side, and within moments, the whole room illuminated with fire.
The table stood, as broken as last she saw it, in the center of the room. And just beyond the archway through which the resurrected Aslan had appeared to them those many years ago, his portrait had been carved into the stone.
Every inch of the walls had decorative carvings inlaid, of all kinds of magical creatures, but there could be no mistake as to the intended focal point. Aslan commanded almost the same attention as in the flesh.
The others stood still, as if frozen by magic, watching on as Margaret stepped forward. She felt Lucy close behind moments later, but she paid her no mind. It felt as though she alone approached the table, magic hanging in the air like a thick fog. And not just the everyday magic that flowed throughout all of Narnia. No, this... this was Deep Magic. The Magic that had brought this world into being. The Magic that had brought Aslan back to life. It lingered still.
But why?
Margaret touched the Table, and was instantly struck with a vision. In that split second of white light before the vision came into being, she remarked to herself how odd the occurrence was. Never had she received a premonition in her waking moments. This must be important, she knew.
Caspian stood before a throne. It didn't look to be a Telmarine throne, and yet Margaret had never seen it before. It looked to be Narnian-made, of that much she could be certain. No, not just one throne, she realized. Two.
He seemed to be waiting on some sort of ceremony to begin. He looked as handsome as ever, in his most ceremonial garb. His hair had grown, and he had gained a beard, evidence of the years that would change him.
Two thrones and ceremonial garb...
A wedding.
Margaret felt her heart sink. She didn't understand why. They hadn't known each other that long, and there remained the rather obvious matter of their being from two different worlds. And still, it destroyed her to see the way his eyes shone, full of love, for another woman.
His joy was evident.
It served as a weighty reminder, she supposed, not to grow attached. She knew her life would end soon. If she allowed herself to entertain notions of love and life in the future, she might lose sight of her destiny.
With a gasp, Margaret sharply withdrew her hand from the Table, crashing once more into the present moment.
"Are you alright, Margaret?" Lucy asked softly, placing her hand on the Table reverently.
"I'm fine," Margaret replied breathlessly.
How her heart ached...
"He must know what he's doing," Lucy said, looking back at the others.
Aslan.
"Yes, I think you're right, Lucy," Margaret murmured. All the life and light had been stolen from her voice, and she knew the others had noticed, but she dared not meet their eyes.
A long silence lingered, until at last Peter spoke.
"I think it's up to us now."
And Margaret thought he might just be right, even if not in the way he meant it.
They all gazed up at the image of the Lion, as if its stone face might come to life to give them some wisdom, but only silence remained.
-
Days passed in a cold, dreary nothingness. Peter got to know the troops, and the Pevensies helped where they could. The most important thing, however, would be to make plans. When the Telmarines discovered them, they would need to be ready. For now, however, the Narnians devoted most of their focus to acquiring weapons.
After her mysterious vision at the Stone Table, Margaret found herself becoming withdrawn. How could she revel in her family's presence when she knew they would only lose her soon? It wouldn't be fair to put them through the torture of fully reuniting with her if she would only be snatched away.
As for Caspian, however, she had made a vow to guide him in his leadership, and she intended to keep that. He needed her help more than ever now, as Peter's stubbornness made things that much more difficult.
Still, she warned herself not to fall in love with him.
It didn't work.
He was her companion and confidant, and the two of them trusted each other wholeheartedly. It proved impossible to keep her feelings from wandering out of control, despite knowing he was destined for another.
Tonight, however, proved different than any other.
The dream had struck again, as it had every night since she had returned to Narnia. And, just as on every other night, Margaret woke, seized by terror. This night, she woke with a scream.
On this night, Caspian heard her.
"My lady!" he said, rushing into the room to kneel at her side. "Are you alright?"
Margaret pressed a hand to her brow, the other fisting in the cloth of her sleeping clothes...
Which consisted of only a spare tunic. Her face went hot.
Caspian's expression likewise went odd at the realization.
"I-I apologize, I didn't mean... I'll--" He moved for the door, but Margaret stopped him.
"No, please..." She suddenly became aware of how small her voice sounded. "Stay with me."
Caspian hesitated, but he slowly sat beside her, very pointedly keeping his gaze on her face, so as not to seem disrespectful, should his gaze begin to wander along the scandalously unlaced men's top she wore. It really wouldn't be considered scandalous in Margaret's world and time, but as a Narnian Queen, she found herself quite embarrassed. Yet she hadn't sent Caspian away.
"Was it a dream?" Caspian asked softly.
Margaret hesitated. Then...
"The same on every night since I returned," she admitted quietly.
Now, Caspian looked worried, but she couldn't be sure if he worried for Narnia's fate, or for her sake, for having to see this thing that had just woken her, screaming, every night for months on end.
"What did you dream of?"
She knew he would ask. His curiosity couldn't be avoided, not with the circumstances being what they were, but she couldn't bring herself to answer him.
"That is my burden, I'm afraid, Caspian," she said instead. "One I must bear alone."
Caspian seemed as though he wished to press further, but he didn't.
"As you wish," he said simply.
Silence lingered, for a moment, until Margaret spoke her thoughts aloud.
"I used to bear so many scars on my skin," she murmured, absently running her fingertips over where they would have been. Should have been. "I was wounded in the battle at Archenland. An arrow here-" she gestured "-in my shoulder."
Caspian listened intently. The stories she had told him of the Golden Age thus far had been pleasant memories, of being with her family, the defeat of the White Witch, and encounters with Aslan. Nothing so grim as this. But she trusted him, and she wanted him to know these things. Perhaps her mind still lingered in sleep, but it was important to her that he know.
"Other than that," she continued on, "There were few wars among nations. The rest of my scars came from..." She shuddered, and paused, taking a breath, before she found the strength to continue.
"The remainder of the White Witch's minions came out of hiding after about five or six years." It had happened after her eighteenth birthday. After the first time she'd had that dream. "They were attacking our people, bringing strife in an age of peace. Lucy and Susan and Edmund were busy with diplomatic dealings in Archenland, so Peter and I went out together, with a few of our most trusted soldiers. We were able to slay the last of the violent uprisers, but..."
Margaret looked into Caspian's eyes, full of concern for her.
"There were so many of them, Caspian... I was separated from the others, and... I was overrun. I suffered severe wounds, and almost died. I thought that was the end for me... But Aslan came to me, in the darkness, on the edge of life and death. I'll never forget it... he said to me, It is not yet your time, dear Oracle. And I awoke in my chambers in Cair Paravel, having been saved by all the skills of the Fauns and the Dryads. That was the day I told Peter that... if ever I were to die, I wanted to be laid to rest on the Stone Table."
She sighed, tracing her fingers down her sternum. Her hands came to rest just below her left rib, where the near-fatal blow had been dealt.
"I carried those scars for a decade. They served as a reminder of my Fate. That I had been saved to die another time."
"Or simply saved to live," Caspian countered softly.
Margaret smiled sadly, but he did not know what she knew.
"Those scars vanished when I returned to my world, suddenly placed back in the body of the young girl who had first set foot in Narnia, untouched by battle and hardship. It felt as though my very identity had been stripped away. They were horrid scars... and part of me was relieved to be rid of them. But... it was as if my old life had been stripped away alongside them."
Caspian's hand found hers, and she didn't protest.
"Margaret," he said, "Will you not tell me what you dreamt of?"
She wanted to tell him, so badly she wanted to tell him. But instead, she did something reckless.
Caspian was so close to her. She leaned into him, gently cupping his cheek.
And he met her halfway, pressing his lips to hers in a sweet, lingering kiss.
Margaret felt all the more selfish for it, but in that moment, she found a happiness that had been lost to her for far too long.
"You are destined for great things, Caspian," she whispered, eyes still closed, their brows still touching. At some point, her hand had moved to rest over his heart, and she could feel every thrum of his life beneath her fingertips.
"You'll be a great king, remembered by all who come after..." Her voice broke lightly as she continued, "You will wed a wonderful woman, and your kingdom will prosper for the grace of your Queen."
"Why are you saying these things?" he asked, his words nothing more than a breath. He could tell something was wrong.
Neither of them had yet moved.
"It cannot be me at your side," Margaret, her voice wavering more than she could bear. "No matter how I wish it to be so."
Caspian began to move away from her at last, and she shut her eyes tightly to keep her tears from falling.
"Margaret--" He was going to try to reassure her. To dissuade her of what she knew to be heartbreakingly true.
"We're from two different worlds, Caspian. Aslan would not allow that."
"He did not tell you this."
It wasn't a question, it was a statement. He refused to believe it. Dear Caspian...
"Please, leave me," she begged softly.
"Margaret--"
"Please."
Silence.
"As you wish, my lady."
And he said nothing more.
When he had gone, Margaret found her heart more empty than ever before.