Lifeline ⤞ Peter Pevensie [Chronicles of Narnia]

xiii

Only a few days later, and Fallon was flying over Cair Paravel, Ayron skimming through the clouds, twisting and turning as he closed his wings, dropping straight down into the trees and back up again, raising him and the girl just before they touched the ground.

Needless to say, the huntress and the griffin had bonded quite a lot throughout their short time together, sharing stories of their lives after they got separated and after Fallon's parents were killed.

In another time, the thought of her parents brought the girl nothing but sadness, and grief, but now, at the single thought of either of them all she could do was smile, because she was proud to call herself their daughter. They had both been avenged, and, though most would consider the act dishonourable, she was glad she'd inflicted the Witch with her own dagger, in the same spot her mother had so many years before her.

"Fallon!"

The girl and griffin came to a halt, hovering a few hundred meters above water, just away from the cliff on which stood one of the hunters she'd gotten to know.

"Uh, I mean, Your Grace," he corrected himself, embarrassed by the mistake he made every time he saw the girl.

Fallon laughed, shaking her head before speaking.

"Felix," she said, "I've already told you not to call me that. Your Grace, all that stuff. It's for royals. Just call me Fallon."

"Right. Sorry–"

"And stop apologizing."

Felix let out a huff, dropping the respectful and shy act, crossing his hands in front of his chest and rolling his eyes. "Move your arse, Hunter. Aslan's waiting for you." He then gave the girl a mocking bow, chuckling along with the Huntress, who was nearly falling off of Ayron due to how hard her body was shaking from laughter.

"Oh, and Fall?" Felix called over his shoulder. "You still need to change."

Fallon's eyes widened when she realized just how right the boy was. She was supposed to have been ready ten minutes ago. Ayron seemed to sense her panic, because he moved swiftly towards the balcony that led to the girl's window.

"Thanks," Fallon breathed, rushing inside her room before shutting the windows and pulling the blinds. "Dress, dress, dress," the girl muttered under her breath, throwing anything and everything she found in her wardrobe out.

"Your Grace?"

Fallon jumped, dropping the bundle of clothes she had in her arms to the floor and let out a shriek.

"Margaret!" She said, staring at the sweet maid who had been assigned to her. "You scared me half to death!"

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," Margaret replied, giving her a small courtesy, though still smiling lightly at the Huntress.

"I wish everyone would stop calling me that," Fallon muttered, reaching for the pile that had fallen to the floor.

Margaret giggled before heading to the girl's bed, reaching for the dress that had been laid out for her. "Well," she started, "you are on a higher social ranking than I am–"

"But I'm not," Fallon interrupted as Margaret stepped towards her, helping her out of her training clothes. She was being treated like a royal, and she hated it. Well, not hated it, but most definitely disliked it.

"I serve the Kings and Queens, just as you and everyone else."

The maid gave her a soft smile, stepping away so Fallon could step into her dress. "I understand, Fallon," she said. "But you're still quite important. Especially since you must protect their lives. We all carry plenty of respect for you." She then finished tying the strings around Fallon's waist, looking at her for a moment and simply smiled, shaking her head. She then moved on to her hair, Fallon feeling her working around her head. After a few minutes, Margaret stepped away, admiring her work, and then spoke with a satisfied tone. "All done. Call me for anything, Your– Fallon," she corrected, before giving her another small courtesy and leaving the room.