So… I'm not sure how I will actually do writing fanfiction. It's my first time. Yay! Anyway, I wasn't really planning on actually writing anything, but one of my many favorite stories hasn't updated in a while and I don't think the author will, so I was like "Screw it, I'll write my own." And… here we are. The plot is based off the original (The Second Time Around, by SimplyMonkey. Great read, check it out.), but there will be many differences.

Updated: 31/10/18

Belfast, Maine (2016)

The heat pumping throughout the building started defrosting my stiff fingers as I turned the papers to the bored, bubblegum popping assistant nurse. It was fucking winter, why didn't my mom just drive me here. Cause you need to learn responsibility, Beatrice, my mother would say to me after she took a hard look at my report card. So, because of my failing grades, the lovely lady decided that a job would help me to learn responsibility, which, to be honest, would make my homework load worse. But could she have chosen somewhere better? Seriously, a nursing home? Like with old people?

"Thank you for your resume," the woman with colorful hair said with a monotone voice as she blew a bubble with her gum. Ew.

Pop.

"We should be able to get back to you in two weeks." The sticky candy popped around her face, sticking to her dull lips as she continued chewing. Please, don't. The nurse non discreetly shoved the papers into a nearby trash can. Well. Okay then. She could have done it when I left. With my rolling eyes, I turned around and headed out from the reception desk and into the sterile lobby.

It was a nicely kept nursing home; there were flowers lining the wall as they sat on dark wooden stands to liven up the place. Beautiful sceneries were hanging on the wall in the form of oil paintings; serene and still. Comfy chairs were all around the walls, inviting all to rest in their cozy arms. It benefited to live in a rich neighborhood, I'll give them that.

"Beatrice," someone called out, startling me.

I turned around to find an old man leaning on a well-used walker. The man was… familiar, to say the least. He reminded her someone. Someone she has forgotten perhaps? His eyes were powerful; they told stories of conflict, love, loss, and pain. The blue eyes were just full of so many emotions, so many experiences, so many stories that would be lost to time once the old man died. For some reason, I wanted to know those stories. "Sir?"

"Beatrice, that's your name correct?"

"Yes, sir," I responded to the man, noticing the way he smiled at the answer. I hated it, my name. It sounded so old. Whenever I told someone my name, they always commented on how old it sounded. It sounded like a name in the 40s. Like I should have been fighting side by side with Captain America. My mother said it sounded charming, however someone has yet to tell that to me. She always told me that the reason she named me 'Beatrice' was because of some old lady she met traveling in Europe said it sounded like a queen's name. Wanna know that lady's name? Beatrice. Wow, no shit she thought it sounded like a queen's.

"Lovely name," the man spoke in dreamy whisper, no doubt thinking of a long-gone woman that he had shared his life with. I could see the emotion in his eyes. It was pure love, adoration, devotion.

"I've never had someone say that to me."

"Really?" The old man tilted his head. He gave a shrug and headed off to the other patients, throwing his last words over his shoulder. "Maybe you should get used to it. Be safe!"

I blinked. That was weird. I rubbed my eyes, internally groaning at the sight before in an attempt to forget the weird encounter. It was dark. Real fucking dark, if you want to get descriptive. If the angels were painting right now, then they would be using all black with light speckles of white. I'm going to need the angels help tonight if I'm going to get home safely.

Pushing open the doors and walking out into the night, I immediately grasped my arms from the biting, icy weather, internally admonishing myself for only coming in long sleeves and an ugly scarf. I mean, at least I was wearing long pants. I could have taken that sweater Mom offered, but no! I just had to freeze. Fuck. My lips are turning blue, I could feel it.

It was already hard enough to walk when you're shivering to keep yourself alive; the flashing lights of the passing by cars didn't help, especially when they are a stark contrast from the dead, dark woods. Oh god, it was so creepy. Why did I choose this way home?

Something flashed in my eyes. It wasn't the cars; it was from deep within the woods. Pausing in the middle of the side walk, I mentally weighed the options in front of me. Ignore it or check it out. Oh… boy. Curiosity killed the cat.

I carefully treaded down the steep hill, moving deeper into the woods as I followed after the flashing light. I was so not prepared for this. My flats were slipping over the slick, wet leaves and roots. I think a rock got in my shoe. Mud wet from the recent freezing rain, my feet flew out from under me, causing me to tumble down the hill, taking all the smaller bushes with me, as I landed into a tree.

"Oof."

Reaching up into my hair, I pulled out small twigs and leaves. I'll have to get rid of the mud later. I looked down at my clothes, groaning at the mess that I could see. Mom is so going to kill me. On the plus side though, the flashing was close to me. Sitting up, I crawled over to the small, red flashing, stepping in more mud and puddles.

The flashing was coming from deep within a hole. I rolled up a muddied sleeve and reached all the way down, not giving a shit to the things that could be in there. Feeling something hard and cold, almost icy, I pulled up the object to analyze this troublesome thing in my hands. It was a rusty fucking necklace. You couldn't even tell was it was supposed to be; it was just a rusty mass of metal. Scoffing at my luck, I pocketed the stupid necklace and stood up to make my way out of this haunting wood.

I started to make my way up, grabbing on the nearby thick branches to help pull myself up out of the ditch. This is going to kill me, I swear. I stretched for a thinner branch, thinking it could hold my weight as pulled myself out. Well, it couldn't. It snapped under my pressure, a loud crack echoing throughout the valley woods, a fear jolting sound to a young teenager trying to get herself out of the woods. I fell back, my hands not having anything else to grab onto besides air. Something did grab onto branches, however. Although if I had known what it was going to do, I would have opted to just fall back down the hill.

My red scarf entangled itself into thick branches, as my hands struggled to hold onto anything at all. I mean, I know I called you ugly, but come on! As the weight of an adolescent pulled the scarf, the clothing apparel began to tighten, stretching itself taunt around my neck. Feet struggling to support my body on the slippery ground, my hands wrestled with the red clothing. It was seriously getting hard to breath. I choked out strangled gasps as my hands weakened and my eye sight darkened into blackness.

That was a stupid necklace.

Narnia (approximately 970)

The tent was constricting. Which was weird; it had never felt that odd or choking before. The familiar crimson tent folded in on itself, creating beautiful, abstract layering to keep the heat in. I only wanted two rooms for this tent: one to meet with people in and the other to sleep in and hide the child in. I wanted to shield him from the brutality of my word. I know he'll learn someday, but perhaps not today.

Leaving my business for today, I set down the paper I was working on and headed into the room keeping my child safe. Protected with wards and runes, my son was sleeping with a gentle snore. Pushing past the red, heavy fabric, I quietly walked towards the sleeping child, gently brushing away his dark black hair. He was wrapped up in his favorite blankets, many of them gifts from his birth, and was hugging his pillow tight to his chest.

"Beatrice," someone outside the tent whispered. I paused, recognizing the voice. Leaning down, I planted a small kiss on his forehead. I turned away from my child, pushing back the fabric and letting it hang down after me.

"Come in." The tent opened, revealing a golden lion. His canines glistened in the candle light, the teeth so clean and white that it shone. He shook his mane from rain, splattering water everywhere, onto paper and into ink jars alike, as his golden strands reflected back the orange light. "Aslan."

"I need you," his deep voice rumbled back, not skipping a beat. He always only showed up when he wanted something from us. I scoffed at him, turning my back to him as I started organizing the cluttered desk. Pushing aside papers, I waited for the oversized cat to speak his mind. The lion strolled in, brushing past the desk and chairs. "And we need to talk."

"Talk?" I scoffed, thinking about the shit show a few years ago. "You could have talked before everyone died."

"I wasn't needed," the lion retorted, circling around me.

"Not need you?" My eyes flashed with red, the anger of his words over taking my rationalization as I struggled to not hit him with the books. Hands gripping the back of the chair, I sneered at the grand lion. "Years, Aslan. Years. You haven't shown your fur covered face for years."

"I know."

His words pissed me off, but it was his tone that broke me. His monotone, almost understanding tone of the pain we had— have— been enduring for the total of the past seventy years, most of them being carried and endured by Alexandra. I choked out my next response; it being the first time I had actually spoken the events out loud. "He died."

"I know," the lion's heavy thumps as his paws touched the ground stopped. "I know of their deaths. I needed them to pave a way for the future Kings and Queens. They completed their duty to Narnia. They knew of the prophesies and what they meant. Theirs deaths were not for naught."

"You always need something," I breathed out, my voice shaking as the realization of his visit started setting in, "whenever you visited. What do you want? To take my child away from me?"

"The child?" Aslan raised his brow, a curious expression on his face as he stood silently.

"Surely you knew about him?" The bastard child born of a dead King of Narnia, a child that would never know what a childhood was like outside of war and a battle camp.

"Of course," the lion scoffed, "but I'm slightly insulted that you would think I would harm a child."

"I don't want to get into that conversation now," I sneered, thinking on all the children harmed by the war he brought with him. "Just tell me why you're here. You're giving me a head ache."

"I need you to guide the new Kings and Queens here, mainly the High King," Aslan returned without skipping a beat. "He will need your wisdom and knowledge of the people. The people trust you and you will guide the people to trust him. You will stay by his side and teach him how to rule."

"Alright, where do I need to go?" I sighed, defeated, as I started pulling out maps to plan the trip. "You know, I'm getting really tired of your errands."

"You won't need any of those maps for where you're going."

I paused in my search, my heart quickening as I sensed something dark radiating from the golden lion. I pushed the crinkling papers back into their former places, my hands shaking as I slowly came to the realization of what he was saying. I couldn't speak; the words were stuck inside my throat like a sticky substance keeping itself stuck in your throat as you tried to eat it. He was going to kill me.

"My child?" My eyes were wide in shear panic for the boy.

"The child will be fine. I'll personally look after him, in the—"

"Like that means anything!" I shouted back at him, my brunette braid flinging around as I turned to the lion. "You said you were looking after us but look at us now! The three of them are dead!"

"Beatrice," the lion said in a harsh whisper with his gravelly voice. His steps traveled behind me, the small thumps sounding from over my shoulder. The warning Alexandra had told me popped up in my head: you can tease the lion, but don't anger him. "The child will be fine, but you will be gone in the morning."

"What?" I whipped my head around, my eyes widening further as I saw the empty space Aslan had left in his dramatic exit. He didn't just mean gone in the morning; he meant now. "Aslan?"

William. My baby.

I pushed against the desk, boosting myself from the center of the main tent into the fabric doors of the side tent, twisting and pulling the offending clothe aside. With small gasps of panic and harsh tears, I yanked down red clothe. Two men stood before— two men— me, shredding through the bed Will and I shared, tearing and stabbing through the blankets. Instinct taking over, I grabbed a nearby weapon— a metal staff— and swung the weapon around to slam into one of the men's head.

A sickening crunch was met with my blow. The other man abandoned his partner with a foreign string of words, opting to attack me instead of helping his friend. A wire found itself around my throat, constricting itself tighter as the man pulled. It cut itself into my skin, leaving a warm liquid trailing down. My lungs stung as my hands grew weaker around the staff. I reached back, attempting to hit or pull or do something to the man currently behind me as I kicked around, fighting for my ending life. My eyes started tearing up.

Dark chuckling came from behind me. I gasped, an involuntary response to the lack of oxygen resting in my burning lungs. My eyesight darkened and that's why I knew that I wasn't going to make out of this. My legs weakened as I clawed the wire, my fingers slipping on the red liquid seeping out of my delicate skin. The man dropped to the floor as I collapsed, the weight of my body dragging the assassin down as I feebly pushed into the unidentifiable man. My vision grew dark and my body felt numb.

At least William is safe.

Whelp. I hope you guys liked it. Comments and constructive criticism welcomed, no flames please. Those don't help anyone.