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Lucy used to dance to the songs of Narnia.
It didn't matter if it was a fast song, that carried her feet all throughout the dance floor, dress twirling and shimmering; or if it were a soft, quiet song, danced beneath the tall trees in the middle of the forest.
But she always danced.
It wasn’t that she was good at it. Not at all. That was more of Susan´s charm, who knew how to glide and count the perfect time to twirl; charming all of the courts in Archenland and Calormen. No, she wasn’t a perfect dancer.
But she always liked to think that there was always more to dancing than just knowing the steps.
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She had always been like this.
When she was little, her father would turn on the radio, and she used to dance clumsily while standing on his toes, barely reaching his hands as her sister would sing and her mother would always try to get her brothers to dance.
As she grew up, she continued to dance to the soft melodies of life. To the soft summer breeze and the sound of the birds, even as she lived in a world gray and quiet city. Her teachers were always calling Helen Pevensy, yet again for finding a little girl dancing in the hallways. And yet again Mrs. Pevensey had to reprimand her for skipping class.
The war struck their homes, her father left. they too had to leave. Eventually, she forgot to dance. Of course she still did it, but not as freely or as often as she used too. Little girls in wars have no time for silly dances.
It wasn’t until they got to Narnia that she felt something shift inside her. It wasn't apparent, just like a little tugging inside of her. A soft melody in her heart made her stop and gaze at the white forest. Then Mr Tumnus started playing on his flute and everything changed. It was like everything had shifted into a new light. The colors were not the same. The fire danced and she longed to dance with it.
Tumnus helped her escape. Her siblings did not believe her. But how could she have imagined it when there was such a strong pull inside of her begging her to move.
She returned to the white forest. They all did. And the first thing she did as they came through the door was twirl around as she laughed. And it felt like the trees and the earth and the sky all danced with her. But then Tumnus was taken. And Edmund… Edmund left.
And there she was again, A small and weak girl with too much to carry and no more time to dance.
The beaver took them to Aslan. Yet the most peculiar thing happened. The more they moved forward, the more the land seemed to sing. the more the trees seemed to move. And the more she longed to dance. It all made sense when they met Aslan. Of course the land wanted to sing. Of course it wanted to dance. He was here and everything seemed right.
Her brother was returned to her, only for Aslan to be taken. And when he died, the earth died with him.
But he rose back to life. And with him, every hope and dream and music came to life. Everything would be okay.
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It probably wasn’t until they were crowned that she truly took back to dancing. It would take a while for her to relax. To remember that she was safe, that Edmund was safe, that the witch was gone.
So slowly, she started to dance again. A little twirl here, a small set of steps at the base of the stairs. Nothing too big. Nothing that would distract her, or cause her to fail to see an attack. But slowly, surely she started to dance again.
It wasn’t until one late night when she and Tumnus went out to a faun circle in the middle of the forest. The campfire flickers in the clearing, the fawns wearing elaborate flower crowns and collars, surrounded only by dancing trees. Faintly she thought she heard the heavy footsteps of a lion.
And then the music started, fast and joyful, and the fawns started dancing, and the first time in so many years, Lucy danced. Truly danced. She danced with her whole body, twirling and arms flailing, not graceful at all, but she didn’t care. She danced until her braids loosened up and her feet couldn’t hold her anymore. The fauns crossed arms with her and in the middle of the night she felt alive again.
She didn’t stop.
Everywhere in the kingdom, her subjects knew of the dancing queen. There wasn’t a single opportunity the girl could waste. She danced loud and wild in the formal events in Cair Paravel, goofing off with Edmund. She organized dances in the middle of the town, with street performers and anyone who would want to join. She went to the beach and danced to the rhythm of the waves with the mermaids. She danced with the trees and with the rivers, and with the stars and with anyone who would join her.
The pain didn’t stop, but she would not stop her dance for it. The pain didn’t make her weak and she would never give up herself for life.
As she grew she never stopped, even when other people would think of it childish. It was such a strong part of herself and Lucy knew in her heart she didn’t need to be miserable in order to grow up. And so, the 30 year old danced to her heart's content under the rain and the wind and the music only she could hear.
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They went back to England. Once graceful and tall was back to her small and weak body. Lucy spent weeks stumbling and hitting herself against the walls in a body she no longer understood.
She cried for days for what once was.
But even through everything, even through the tears and the bruises she kept on dancing. It would take her weeks to feel comfortable while doing it, but dancing helped. Reminding herself of who she was helped.
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The stars were not as bright, the wind not as strong, and the trees were miles away from their small home in Finchley, but Lucy was still herself and that was all that mattered.
Once again came the reprimand from teachers catching a young girl dancing wildly on the hallways; and once again would the dances with her father came back. Sometimes, she would dance with Edmund or with Peter. But late at night, under strange stars and in a familiar yet alien world, she would dance on the backyard, to the echoes of songs once known. To a world that once was hers. To a girl that once was her.
And in the dead of night, unaware of the family watching through the windows, she promised herself to never forget the dance. It didn’t matter if she was 10 or 35, if she was Lucy Pevensie or Queen Lucy. She would dance to the joy and the sadness, to happiness and pain, to clear skies and to dark storms. This was a part of her she would never forget.
And she would dance until the day she died, for the world that still was inside of her.
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Susan came to the police station. They had called her to identify the bodies on the train. She walked quietly, the sharp rhythm of her heels echoing in the hallway.
She wanted to scream, to run, to do something, but she kept her stance and continued to walk. The officer walked her into the room.
She didn’t need the police to uncover them. She already knew. She could see the shoes.
Her father’s big leather boots, and her mother’s red, colorful heels. Peter’s leather shoes that he always kept clean. That he had cleaned so much that morning. And Edmund’s, with the ugliest socks she had ever seen, that he somehow thought were funny.
They were ridiculous. So damn ridiculous on the clean, white office.
She saw Lucy’s feet at last, with her soft, embroidered shoes. Her ankles were broken.
Legs didn’t bed that way. Her ankles were broken. If her ankles were broken, she wouldn't be able to dance.
A tear fell on the ground.
The blood stained her shoes and she would sleep on the blood and her ankles were broken and she wouldn't be able to dance. Lucy loved to dance. Why? Why were her ankles broken?
The officers held her as she cried and screamed and raged.
Her whole family was dead, and the blood was soaking her shoes and Lucy’s ankles were broken…
And she would never be able to dance again.