A/N: Oh my goodness. It has been so, so long since I've updated this story. I'm really really sorry for the neglect--thank you for all your encouragement to continue this. I've just been so busy with school and work and sports, and there's been very little time to do any writing outside of that which is required for classes. Anyway, my apologies again. This story is nearing it's end--I'd say another two or three chapters, depending on how I want to split up the last little bit? Regardless, please keep reading and reviewing. It's such an encouragement to me to hear your opinions, whether negative or positive.

Thank you guys so much :).

It's kind of like flying and falling all at once, some odd combination of thrill, fear, and adrenaline, soaring and crashing, gasping for breath and sighing. She melts into him while her fingers tremble and shake convulsively, leans into him subconsciously as she rips apart at the seams. She is vulnerable and she is uncertain and she is frightened, frightened beyond belief, scared of the impact of her recklessness and the consequence and the whatnextwhatnextwhatnext.

But his heartbeat is steady and his body is firm, lean and durable, and as she listens to the dull thud through roaring ears, she knows with solidity that he will be there through whatever comes next. That thought keeps running through her head as his lips part softly and she responds, presses herself into him, trusting in him implicitly to absorb that shock.

It's an abyss off which she hurls herself, dark and bottomless, looming endlessly, a chasm of the unknown.

But he will be waiting at the end of her fall.

And so she lets herself go.

They trip gaily back into the ballroom with cheeks flushed and hair mussed, straightening themselves as they blush even deeper. It's a charming sight, the slender, pretty girl next to the tall young man, straight backed and bashful. He tucks her hand firmly into the crook of his elbow and she doesn't resist.

They don't talk, but they don't need to. When she isn't watching, when she's glancing around the ballroom nervously or trying to pin back one wayward curl to no avail, he looks at her like she is starlight, all splintered silver. There are a myriad of emotions in his face, flickering from phase to phase, each too new to this young boy-man for him to hold any longer than a second.

The girl, in turn, clings to him as if her world has re-centered, gravity redefined. Physically, it is nothing more than a slight lean of the shoulders, a tendency to shift her weight towards him, unnoticed by the unobservant. But in her aura there is a fear of judgment and a quiet desperation, comforted only by his presence at her side. He is her balm, her soothing ointment, and she cannot live this new life without him there.

They circle the ballroom almost lazily, merely observers to this bizarre new reality where the two of them stand together. In the soft glow of the moonlight, everything had seemed hazy, dreamlike. There was a mist of idealism in the air, a sort of ethereality to that stone bench draped by those languid fairy ivies, covered by the heavy tree branches and soaked in the cool beauty of the night. There, amidst the silver and the soft and the solitude, they had existed in a paradise.

This world is different, though. The band echoes lightly in the background, the click of glasses and clack of heels oddly cacophonous. Everything is brighter, too—harsher and clearer, lifting that lazy fog of romance. Here, the musicians have not missed a beat. The courtiers still idle and sniff, the chit chat still rolls and dips. She takes note of how rough the swish of a skirt sounds, the grate to the lilt of a laugh.

It's like a new world that she has entered, bizarrely familiar and jagged to her senses. She knows that if Peter weren't there beside her holding her up, she would have crumpled by now.

It isn't until later that night that Edmund finds her. The orchestra has stopped, the remaining guests are milling slowly towards their rooms in the castle, or towards the door if they live nearby. She's exhausted—it's been a long, weary night, but the kind with a quiet smile curling and wisping at the corners. She is peaceful and she is happy, so content with the world in which she dwells.

She sees him out of the corner of her eye as she steps onto the balcony, but is oddly surprised to find that her heartbeat doesn't quicken, her pulse thud and race. This isn't the same Anne Elliot that ran out of the castle in an outburst of jealousy and temper, consumed with self-doubt and pity. Something has settled and solidified, slowed and gentled. It's a small shock to realize that she's not a child anymore; that somewhere along the way she has grown up, slipped quietly into the world of womanhood.

"Hello, Edmund," she greets him first. She stands with her back to the ballroom, leaning on her elbows with fingers crossed out a window. The fresh air smells good.

"Anne," he begrudges. He shifts from leg to leg behind her, and although she doesn't turn around, she can imagine him with arms folded defensively, scowl firmly in place. The image doesn't strike her with terror anymore. She remains silent, waiting for him to burst.

"Can we talk?" He asks at last.

"Come stand by me," she replies as way of agreement. He shuffles a bit first—from one foot to other, before heaving a sigh and coming to the railing by her. He still won't look at her face to face. She gestures lightly out into the world, all moonlit and silent. "Isn't Narnia beautiful?"

His expression softens a bit at the honest admiration in her voice, and he acquiesces: "It is."

A moment. She can see him struggling to find words fitting the accusations building in his head. His very brow furrows and contorts, and he finally opens his mouth to speak.

"Anne, I think it's better to be fra—"

"I'm very lucky to be here, you know."

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the interruption, but she continues fluidly, like she doesn't notice.

"I really needed this. I needed it so much I didn't even know I needed it. Does that make any sense? I don't know if you're getting what I'm saying."

She turns her head to look at him, and he flushes under her eyes but remains quiet.

"What I'm trying to say, Edmund, is that I've changed a lot since I've gotten here." She raises her chin slightly and looks him straight in the eye, and for once, he is the one drawing back, shrinking away, unsure. "When I got here, I had no faith in anything. I don't think there was a single person I trusted, including myself."

He stares at her like he's never seen her before, and it's unnerving, but she needs to press on. She digs deep into her memory—it's kind of clouded and foggy and so hard to remember anything before this golden age, but she needs to.

"When I got here," she says quietly, still looking straight at him. "My father and my brother had gone missing during the War—the one back in England, that is. My mother was heartbroken and drank herself into ruin. She and I had just been evicted from our apartment, her into rehab, me into a charity house."

She can't read his expression, can't see how he's feeling apart from intense concentration.

It's a little hard to keep going, and her voice shakes when she says: "We used to be so happy, and it all crumbled. There wasn't anything left living for." Memories flash through her head of smiles and sunshine and laughter and love, her whole world afloat in happiness. She feels her lower lip tremble in response to this wave, this onslaught. But she has a purpose here—and she intends to follow through.

She sucks in a breath and squares her shoulders. "When I got here, I had nothing, and I hated anyone who had anything. But you gave me something worth fighting for."

She turns to him completely now, places a soft hand on his arm. "I want to thank you, Edmund."

His eyebrows shoot up and he gapes in surprise and she almost giggles at how his face blanches. "For what?"

"For the second chance."

She squeezes his arm and smiles at him as warmly as she can, and watches, heart alight, when he returns one—a genuine smile—in return.

"Thank you for helping me, milady."

She has a sudden urge to envelope him in a hug, but they're too fresh and new at this truce thing for that yet, so she settles instead for squeezing his arm again before turning around and walking back to the ballroom.

"Wait, Anne!" Edmund calls. She stops and turns around to look at him quizzically.

"Have you told Peter any of this?" He asks.

She shakes her head. "Not yet."

"You should," he says solemnly. "Peter…Peter really…cares about you."

She can't stop the smile from overwhelming her now.

"I know," she says. "I care about him too."

And she steps back into the ballroom with her heart quietly ablaze.

A/N: This is easily the worst chapter I think I've written in at least six months, but it's been so long since I've updated, and I'm so sorry. It's just really hard to get back into the swing of things, I guess. Please forgive me and review anyway? Let me know what I can work on, what was too cheesy or melodramatic, what you liked, what you didn't.

I promise with your help and encouragement that I'll update again sooner. Thank you so much for your support.