Heart of Flame

“So where exactly do you think you saw Aslan?”, Peter asked Lucy when they had come back to the gorge later that day. (It was late the day before so they couldn’t reach Beruna before the day was over.)
“I wish you’d all stop trying to sound like grown-ups!”, Lucy said, angrily, “I don’t think I saw him I did see him.”
“I am a grown-up,” Trumkin said. Edmund and Lindell smiled.
“It was right over-“the floor beneath Lucy fell from her feet.
“Lucy!” Susan shouted after her.
“Here!”, Lucy shouted. There was a ledge that she sat on. The group breathed a sigh of relief.
“You’d think we would have noticed that before,” Lindell muttered, looking over where they were before. Edmund chuckled.
The six slowly descended the cliff to the river. Now crossing on tiny rocks that poked up through the river, Lucy slipped once or twice. Trumkin caught her. Lindell, however, was a different story. She slipped only once and fell into the rushing river. Well… almost. Quickly she put her foot down into the water and found that it was only a few inches deep where they were. *Anime sweat-drop* Shaking her head, she continued that way with her boots sopping wet.
At the end of the day, the group stopped and made a camp. Lindell and Edmund went to collect wood for the fire. Their arms were full by the time ten minutes had gone by.
“Hey Lindell,” Edmund said when they started on their way back.
“What?” she asked over her shoulder.
“What was that earlier today?”
Lindell stopped and turned around. “What do you mean?”
“After you killed those soldiers, you looked like you’d start crying or something,” then Edmund realized something. “You’re afraid of killing aren’t you?” Lindell froze.
“What are you talking about?”, she stuttered. “You saw me today; I’m perfectly fine with it.”
“You’re a horrible liar you know that?”
Lindell sighed. “Yes,” she said, “yes, I am. I hate killing innocent people!” she spat. “All of those soldiers are going to die just because of one man, and I’m sick of it!” Tears again rimmed her eyes. Edmund set his wood on the floor and walked over to Lindell.
“It’s all right,” he whispered and hugged her. The wood slid out of Lindell’s hands and she began to sob into his shoulder.
It was strange, ever so strange. Here Lindell stood, crying her eyes out to someone she had only met the day before. She had hardly said a word to him since that morning! Why would she do this now? Why would she do this at all? Lindell hardly cried at all, let alone in front of someone.
Finally, she pulled away. Tears still tracked her face. “Thank you,” Lindell whispered and picked up her wood once more. Edmund stood, shocked for a moment but nodded finally and picked up his wood as well. They made their way back to the camp.
“Ed what’s that wet spot on your shirt?”, Peter asked when he saw them.
Edmund saw what he was talking about and racked his brain for an excuse. “Um,” Lindell said, also trying to come up with one, “let’s just say that birds apparently don’t like him very much.” The group laughed.
“Maybe you’re not such a bad liar,” Edmund whispered. Lindell giggled.
“It’s called practice,” she said and made a peace sign with her fingers. With that she walked over and began making the fire.
Okay maybe I said that wrong. Peter attempted to make the fire, but failed miserably. However, he refused to let anyone help. Lindell offered, but was brutally refused. An hour later, the group was extremely cold, and Peter was still unwilling to let someone else try. Finally Lindell gave up on asking. She flicked a finger at the pile of wood and a spark flew from her tips. It landed on the wood and the fire sprang up.
Peter turned to Lindell with a triumphant smile. “See?”, he said, “I told you I didn’t need any help.”
Lindell rolled her eyes along with Trumkin. “Yes, I’m sorry for completely forgetting your legendary skills with fire,” she said sarcastically. Trumkin and Lindell began chuckling under her breath.
“What’s so funny?”, Peter asked, a bit perplexed.
“Nothing, nothing,” Lindell assured. The Pevensies ignored them then. Well, that is, most of them did. Edmund could have sworn that he saw the spark from Lindell’s fingers. And he was determined to ask her about it the next day.
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Lindell had a hard time sleeping. The fire was going out by the time she decided to go out for a walk. She had heard Lucy and Susan talking about being back in Narnia. It wasn’t a very pleasant talk to listen to if you couldn’t understand what they meant. Silently, Lindell walked away from the camp site. Little did she know that someone else was following her.
…Okay she did know. “I can hear you,” she said and turned around. Edmund slipped out from behind a tree. “What are you doing awake?”
“Can’t sleep,” he answered as he strode towards Lindell, “you?”
“Same,” she answered and continued walking. “What are you doing following me?”
“I thought that if I took a walk I might fall asleep later, and then I saw you get up so I decided that it would be better with two instead of one,” he shrugged.
“And?”
“…Well, I did want to ask you something,” Edmund admitted.
“I thought so.”
“What was that thing with the fire earlier?”
“Oh that,” Lindell said and stopped with a laugh. “Is that all?” Edmund blushed, and thanked God that it was dark so she couldn’t see. “Well,” she continued, “you see, we elves have this thing in our race called mages.” Edmund was confused but nodded. “Mages can control things.”
“Like a wizard,” Edmund concluded.
“Wrong,” Lindell shook her head. “Wizards can control whatever they want, but mages have only one specific thing. Wizards also have only a tidbit of a connection to what they control. They usually use their powers for personal needs. Not to mention they’re all evil.”
“Really?”, Edmund asked, surprised.
“Yes,” she answered, “or at least they are here, just as all witches are evil. The only difference is the gender.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, mages control one specific thing and they have a connection with that one specific thing. The most common kind of mage is an animal mage,” she explained. Edmund was listening as hard as he could, but was only getting even more confused. “They get extremely overprotective of animals (In fact it’s pretty irritating sometimes.) They couldn’t care less about what kind of animal it is either, they make friends with it, talk to it, keep in touch with it, and take care of the sick animals. I’ve even see one take care of a sick dragon ten times their size before! (That was not the most comforting thing in the world). And the elf was five foot nine too!” Edmund laughed. He understood a bit now.
“Is that it?”, he asked.
“Not even close.”
“Great.”
“There are mages for practically everything.”
“Cooking?”
“Exactly.”
“Cool.”
“Anyway,” Lindell ignored that last thing, “the most powerful and rare are the light and dark mages.” She looked at the ground sadly. “There were only two ever to exist, and they were the very first elves in the world. But we don’t know what happened to them.”
“I thought you said that the elves that were at the beginning were still alive,” Edmund commented.
“They are,” she answered. “We just don’t know where.”
“Then how can you know?”
Lindell stopped walking and sighed. “We don’t,” she admitted, “but we all believe that they are… we have to.”
Edmund stared at her. “Why?”, he asked.
“We don’t know that either. We just do,” Lindell smiled. Edmund shook his head. It seemed that he was getting more questions then answers. That was irritating.
“So what are you?”, he finally asked. Lindell smirked.
“You know how I said that the strongest and rarest were the light and dark mages?”, she said. Edmund nodded. “Well, the second rarest are the elemental mages: Elves that control earth, water, air, or fire!”
“You’re a fire mage,” Edmund realized. Lindell nodded proudly.
“Exactly,” she said. Edmund began laughing.
“Next time,” he said and patted her back, “let’s not let Peter near the fire.” She laughed, but suddenly, a yawn escaped. Edmund would have laughed more, if he didn’t yawn right after. (Yawns really are contagious.)
“Well I’m tired finally,” Lindell concluded.
“Yeah,” Edmund agreed, “we should go back.” She nodded and they turned back to the camp.
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That morning, Lindell, Edmund, Trumkin and Susan awoke to find that Lucy and Peter were gone. Lindell noticed tracks in the mud and pointed them out. The four followed them to find Peter fighting a boy about his age and Lucy standing by watching.
“No stop!”, Lucy shouted. Peter and the boy did as she said. Suddenly hundreds of Narnians came from behind trees, bushes, and rocks.
“Prince Caspian?”, Peter asked.
“Yes,” Caspian answered, “and who are you?”
“Peter!”, Susan shouted. Lindell winced. It was far louder than needed. Edmund, Lindell, Susan, and Trumkin showed themselves. The boy looked down at the sword he was holding. It was Peter’s and had Aslan’s symbol at the top of the hilt.
“High king Peter,” he realized.
“I believe you called,” he said.
“Well, yes, but…I thought you would be older.” Lindell chuckled.
Apparently, Peter took that as an offense. “Well, if you like, we could come back in a few years,” he said.
“No!”, Caspian said quickly. “That’s alright. You’re just not exactly what I expected.” He looked over at Susan. She smiled and shifted her weight. Lindell noticed this and smirked.
“Neither are you,” Edmund said. A minotaur smiled. Lindell chuckled.
“A common enemy unites even the oldest of foes,” said a badger.
“We have anxiously waited for your return my liege,” said a mouse, Reepicheep to be exact, who pranced up to them. Peter smiled at him. “Our hearts and swords are at your service.”
“Oh my gosh, he is so cute,” Lucy whispered to Susan.
“Who said that?!”, Reepicheep demanded, yanking out his sword. Lindell looked down with a smile gracing her face.
“Sorry,” Lucy stepped forward.
“Oh, your majesty,” he said and bowed, “with the greatest possible respect, I do believe that courageous, courteous, or chivalrous, would better fit a knight of Narnia.” And with that, he put his sword away. It would have been funny, had Reepicheep not been so serious about it.
“Well,” Peter started, “It’s nice to know some of you can handle a blade.”
“Yes, indeed,” Reepicheep agreed, “And I’ve recently put it to good use securing weapons for your army sire.” Lindell looked uneasily toward the centaur. He didn’t look at all pleased. She had known many centaurs in her days, and she was sure that he and his brothers, sisters, and children didn’t swear an oath to King Peter the Arrogant.
“Good,” Peter said and turned back to Caspian, “because we’re going to need every sword we can get.”
“Well then,” Caspian hissed, “you will probably be wanting yours back.” He handed the sword to Peter and he took it.
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