Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, all characters and original Roswell/Narnia (book and movie) verse settings belong to other very lucky people.
Pairings/Couples/Category: UC/Crossover. Liz/Edmund
Summary: She first discovered magic as a child years before a certain reincarnated alien King healed her in her parent’s diner. She fought, she lived, she loved. Then she was sent back and given a new destiny, a new war, but she never stopped searching for a way home.
Warnings: Contains hints of violence, a bad word or two, romantic interactions although nothing graphic, crazy crazy high angst factor, seriously, consider yourself warned, although I am shooting for a happy ending, albeit non traditionally so. Also, more of a narrative story than most of mine
She was a child when she first discovered magic, when she first fell unknowing into Destiny, long before her world was filled with aliens and powers and the bitter scent of death, both literal and figurative. They never knew that when Max healed her, it wasn’t the first time she’d been so close to death. They never knew that she always resented him for saving her life, because in those brief moments after the bullet burrowed its way beneath her skin and before his healing hands touched her, she saw the land of magic once again.
They never knew that every moment of every day she wished that none of them existed, because her heart would always belong to Narnia, and to him.
Gently closing the door behind her and blocking out the sound of the girl’s high-pitched voice as she chatted on the phone with her boyfriend, Lizzy walked towards the shelves and traced her fingers over the thick spines, trying to decide which one to look at. Did she want to imagine lush tropical islands? Or deep, mysterious forests? Or maybe a bustling, foreign city? Biting her lip, she debated with herself until she came across a gap in the row of books, and spotted something hiding in the dark shadows at the back of the bookcase. Reaching through, she pulled out a thin, dusty hardback, that must have slipped off the shelf at some point and been forgotten.
Peeking inside, she saw maps, old maps, and smiled happily as she carried her new treasure over to her favorite chair, over-stuffed and wonderfully comfortable. Tucking her feet under her legs, she curled up on the faded cushion and brushed the dust off the cover before reverently opening it to the first page. The first map revealed was the color of old parchment, with darker brown and blue and green details that sparked her imagination despite their simplicity compared to more modern illustrations. The names written out in blood-red script were unusual, and made her feel a strange chord of longing as her eyes followed the slender, looping lines.
At the top left of the map was a stretch of desert, oddly named the ‘Lantern Waste’ making her frown with curiosity at why it had such a name. Just below the desert was a large forest entitled ‘The Western Woods’, which was not too far from another, smaller forest identified as ‘The Shuddering Wood’, a name that sent goose bumps crawling down her spine. On the far right of the page, was a drawing of a castle labeled ‘Cair Paravel’ that sat on the coast of a large, unnamed sea. The sketch was fanciful, but detailed, and she couldn’t help but picture herself in a shimmering gown standing atop one of the tall towers with all the land stretched out before her.
Giggling softly, she touched the smooth paper and traced the river that led from the castle into the west, across the plains and towards the forest. She paused at a smudge that seemed more like a landmark than a blemish, and leaned in closer to see. The world suddenly began to spin and she felt herself growing dizzy; there was a strange rushing in her ears and a sudden dazzling light blinded her eyes. When her vision cleared, she found herself on the ground, feeling grass-covered dirt beneath her knees instead of soft carpet, and staring at a set of hooves that looked awfully large for a horse.
Raising her head, she followed the legs up and saw, to her shock, not a horse’s head but the top half of a very muscular man; a man who was holding a gleaming, sharp spear, and who was staring back at her with dark, amused eyes. “Welcome to Aslan’s camp little one; are you friend or foe?”