First you see nothing. Then the sea glitters and blinds you for a minute, the scene changes and Susan appears in the waves. Her hair is shimmering and coiffed and her eyes blue and hard. Her stature is tall and stiff and she's looking at someone. You turn your head and the image changes; Edmund appears standing beside Peter. His shirt is rolled up to his elbows and he looks so very tired. His hands are dug deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched over, he doesn't look happy. Peter's face is blank and his arms are crossed. He's wearing some kind of uniform and his eyes are sad. Susan frowns and turns. You wonder where she's going and you wonder why you aren't there.
The days are long and the sun only sets for a couple of hours every night. You don't sleep any more, but neither does anyone else. A silent hush has descended on the entire ship, and nobody raises their voice any more. The ship is sailing on its own now, and there's nothing to do. But neither you, nor anyone else, is bored.
Everything you do is more profound here. The sounds are sharper, and you notice every detail of everything you see. You see every stitch in the purple sail, and you see the paint chip off the sides of the boat, and you can count every grain of sand at the bottom of the sea as you sail past it.
You drink it all in, every last detail, because you know, deep in your soul, that this is the end. As the light turns brighter, and the water clearer, and the silence is so deep it almost has its own tune, you know that you are reaching the end of your journey. As the edges of the world draw nearer, you know you will never come back here again. You are too old.
You know. You've known since the Dufflepud Island. You've known since you said the spell you weren't supposed to say and you remember Aslan's angry eyes and you just know. When this is over, there will be no more Narnia. You are Too Old.
The sea is cool and calm, and everything is silent. Then you see what could have been. You see yourself, older than you've ever been, dressed in stunning gowns, with brightly lit colours and your crown on your head. You see your siblings, in love, prosperous, and happy. Narnia, growing and expanding. You wonder what would've happened had you not chased that White Stag. What if you had listened to Susan? What if you simply hadn't gone? What had been so important about catching that stag anyway? You sigh and look away. You can't handle the happiness you see in the water, the future that never happened.
Edmund doesn't know. Not like you do. He thinks you have more time, he thinks you will get to go back to Narnia. He thinks he'll be allowed to walk the sacred earth of his beloved country once again. But he won't. You know this. Just like Peter and Susan were told they were too old, so will you. You and Edmund are older now,- than they were then, and it's only logical.
Too old. The two most horrible words you know. Too old. Before this, before England again, back when you were a queen for real, the words you hated the most were "too young". No one ever said you where too old; no, little Lucy was always too young to go to war, too young to have suitors, too young, too young, too young! But now, you'd do anything to be too young again. Anything to stay a little while longer.
But the Dawn Trader keeps sailing east, the light gets brighter and the ocean more clearer, and you can't even bear to close your eyes should you miss something. If this is the last time then you will keep watching until there's no more to be watched.
The silence is so very thick now. You are slowly reaching your destination, and your visions turn to the future. You see Eustace, cold, somewhere in Narnia, with a young girl you've never seen before. You vaguely recognize the stony landscape; it's up north where Peter spent months on war campaign against the giants. You wonder what Eustace is doing there. The lighting changes and so does the scene and you see Caspian and the star's beautiful daughter at his side. You know she will make him happy.
Then you see yourself. It's you, but you look nothing like the versions of yourself that you already know. You are grown up, but this is the grown-up Lucy who grew up in England, between tarmac, dust and war.
…You turn away before the lurking shadows can tell you things you don't want to know.
No one is talking to each other anymore. Out here it seems like communication isn't needed, only looks and nods. They've all changed, too. Like they've grown older, taller and wiser. You have never been this tall before, and in another life, you used to be pretty tall.
You spend your days looking out into the sea and at the horizon. You can see something approaching, but you don't let your thoughts linger on it, because the end of the horizon means the end of everything.
You all know it. You can see Edmund's eyes turning back to the way they used to look a long time ago. They are deep and wise, and know way too much. He's finally caught on. He's finally understood. He spends more time staring into the ocean now and you wonder what he sees. What does he know about you? What has the sea told him? You don't ask, because you don't want to know.
The sea turns into flowers and you marvel at the beauty of this world. Just before the ship emerges into the sea of lilies, you see one more thing glimmer in the sea; you see fire, you see smoke, you see Susan crying, and the most beautiful garden you've ever laid eyes on in your life. You see peace, and laughter and joy, and you have absolutely no idea what any of it means.
But the sea is no longer the sea,- but flowers everywhere and you can't wait to see what the future will bring. Because you know this: your last adventure will be something to remember.