Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't... I also don't own the Narnian Calendar. It belongs to Elecktrum who was kind enough to let me borrow it for my story. Her own stories are awesome and you should go read them too.
Summary: War yet vied with peace and the High King was in the center of the storm.
A/N: This story is part of my A Light in the Darkness universe.
STOP! MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ALITD:OBSCURED AHEAD! If you have not read all the way to the very end of my story, A Light in the Darkness: Obscured, don't read any further unless you do not care about spoilers. In that case, feel free to read, but I did warn you. :) For everyone who read the very end of Obscured and were hoping for more of the same soon... Enjoy!
War and Peace
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A Giantess dressed in black appeared on the ridge overlooking them. Her dark hair whipped about in a frenzy as the wind caught and tugged at it. She raised a war spear and pointed it at them, no, at him. Her harsh words were not lost amidst the howling wind as she shouted, "Kill them all! Bring me the Son of Adam!"
Fear sank into his heart and froze his limbs.
No, he had to fight. For Thalia, for his siblings, for Narnia. The campaign was over and done. Morrigan could not stop him from going home now.
He gripped Rhindon and stepped forward. Morrigan was fighting two Buffins. He could sneak up on her and-
A cry ripped loose as he found himself being snatched off his feet and a horrid, stupid laugh filled the air. "Found you!"
He stared up into a face of nightmarish proportions. The gaping maw full of crooked, sharp, yellowing teeth. Bulbous nose. Small, piggish eyes alight with cruel delight as the Ettin groaned, "So hungry."
The Giant's grip on him tightened until he could feel his bones rubbing together. This was it. He couldn't move his arm, couldn't raise Rhindon in defense… Thalia…
A loud war cry filled the air and then the Ettin let out a hoarse scream of pain as he dropped him. The impact on the snow-covered ground was still enough to knock his breath away. He stared in horror as Oreius battled the Ettin only to be skewered by Morrigan's war spear. The Centaur collapsed heavily, his blood staining the snow a crimson red.
No. Oh Aslan, no. Please, no.
The Giants' laughter filled the air, pounding against him, defying his grief.
The Ettin grinned down at him as he covered him with his hand, pressing down. He flailed for Rhindon, for a dagger, anything he could use for a weapon, but his questing fingers found nothing save snow. The Ettin laughed and pressed down harder.
His body screamed for air but he could not draw breath. Darkness ringed his vision. He could not breathe. The pressure on his chest grew. Bones cracked. Giantish laughter grated against his ears. He couldn't-
Peter sat up straight, gasping for the air his lungs were convinced had been denied. Chest heaving, his gaze flickered around the dark room, searching for any sign of Giants. Nothing. There was nothing there, only the familiar furnishings of his own bedchamber. He uncurled his fingers, forcing himself to let go of the twisted sheets.
With a faint groan, he dropped his head into his hands, struggling to clear away the memories of Giants, of Morrigan, of the Ettin who had nearly crushed him to death. They, none of them, survived. He and Oreius had killed Morrigan. She had not killed the Centaur. The army was home. He was home. With Thalia.
The wild and senseless fear suddenly sank its claws into him that Thalia wasn't there. His head came up and he nearly wrenched his neck as he swiftly turned to see the other side of the bed. Just as quickly the fear subsided. His Flower lay on her side, facing him. One slender hand was tucked beneath her cheek and the other rested on the pillow. Her dark lashes fluttered against her ivory skin as she sighed in her sleep.
Peter smiled slightly at the sight but then he frowned as he studied his wife's face more closely. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes. Even relaxed in sleep, she looked exhausted. What had-
A faint sound reached his ears. Peter reacted instinctively, rolling out of bed to land on soundless feet at the same time he snatched a dagger free of its resting place on the bedside table. His entire being hummed with readiness to defend his family as his gaze darted around the room, searching for the intruder. Where were Bast and Babur? Had the Tigers been subdued? How far spread was the attack if they had been able to subdue his faithful guards? The bells weren't ringing, no alarm sounded. Where-
The sound came again. Peter crept toward the end of the bed. If an assassin thought to hide from him, he would learn that the High King of Narnia was not one to threaten. He raised his dagger as he stepped forward and turned in one quick motion, only to bite back a yelp as his left foot collided with solid wood a foot past where the bed ended. He dropped the dagger on the rug as he flailed wildly in an attempt to regain his balance. Raising his injured foot, he bit back a groan as he massaged his toes.
Thalia didn't stir, which was probably a good thing. Peter didn't really want to explain to his wife that he had mistaken a…his eyes fell to the object he had walked into and widened. A cradle. He had walked into a cradle and nestled beneath the fluffy blankets was a baby…his baby. William.
Peter dropped to his knee beside the cradle and reached out trembling fingers to pull back the covers to reassure himself that he had not accidentally brought harm to his son. His son made the same little whimpering sound he had mistaken for an intruder as he turned his head and then let out a sigh.
What a fool you are, Pevensie. Mistaking a baby for an assassin? Edmund would never let me hear the end of this if he found out.
Shaking his head at himself, Peter slowly climbed back to his feet. The last vestiges of his nightmare fell away as he stared down at the cradle and its sleeping occupant. It was the day after William's christening. No wonder Thalia was exhausted. Their son had been up half the night and in the most furious temper too. The wee lad had taken great delight in proving that his lungs were in fine working order.
Peter ran a hand through his hair, remembering all the changes that had awaited him when he finally returned home late on Christmas Day. Their William wasn't born until the following morn but the lad had certainly been going out of his way since that surprise to ensure that his father never forgot he was there. Smiling faintly, Peter started to move away from the cradle only to hear William give a squeaky whimper.
He stopped in his tracks, glancing at the bed. Thalia was still asleep. She really did need her rest. Moving carefully, Peter bent down so he could pick up his little son. Little being a relative term, of course. His William was a fat baby with chubby arms and legs, already weighing close to eleven pounds at just ten days of age according to Tuulea (although Peter could have sworn that his boy was hefty enough to weigh nearly a stone). He could have sworn that his boy had smiled at him just before the christening too. Edmund, of course, had promptly declared it to be nothing more spectacular than gas.
Cradling William against his bare chest, Peter carried the babe into the sitting room. Bast and Babur were both sleeping in front of the last embers of the fire. The Tigers' eyes opened and their heads lifted in unison as he entered the room, but they laid back down once he took William over to the settee.
Peter gazed down at his son with same wonder filling him as when Thalia had first placed the babe in his arms. He bent his head to press a kiss against William's warm, bald scalp. He chuckled and whispered, "Don't pay any attention to Uncle Eddie's teasing, William lad. You'll grow a fine head of hair soon enough. I'll just tell him next time that he was bald until he was two so he has no room to tease. It's not true, actually, but we won't tell Uncle Eddie that, will we? It will be our little secret."
William yawned in response.
Peter smiled. What joys Aslan had arranged for his homecoming, even if it had taken him a lot longer to get home than he had planned. No Fell Giant could rob him of this most precious joy as he held his son, little William Vidar Pevensie, in his arms. William whimpered. He started rocking his son and then began singing, "Lullay, mine Liking, my dear son, lullay. Lullay, lullay, lullay."
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A/N: Please Read and Review! So, I have returned with a special father and son moment for Peter and his baby. :D Aren't they cute? In case anyone was wondering, the song Peter starts to sing is a slightly mangled version of a 15th century carol/lullaby called "Lullay, mine liking." Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.