Disclaimer: I would probably be rich and famous if I owned Narnia. Sadly, I don't.

Note: Revised version. One year after the events of TLTWTW, Mr. Pevensie's been conveniently sent home with a leg injury.

—viennacantabile

meditations

one - hero

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For Peter Pevensie, life has always been about what is right and what is not.

And this is why Mr. Pevensie understands when Peter comes home bleeding and exhausted, day after day, with only a mute, helpless look in his eyes to explain where he has spent the last hour and what he has been doing.

After Mrs. Pevensie's tears have dried, Susan, Edmund and Lucy take their brother upstairs to clean his wounds and whisper about secret things only they know. Once, Lucy softly exclaims something that Mr. Pevensie cannot quite hear—"If only I had my cordial!"—but is quickly shushed by the others. It is an oft-repeated ritual by now, and Mr. Pevensie is puzzled by the role-reversal. A year ago, Peter would have been the comforter, the protector. It is strange now, to see the siblings tending their older brother.

But that was a year ago.

Many things may change in a year, Mr. Pevensie reminds himself with a sigh as he wearily trudges up the stairs to Peter's room. He limps a bit on his right side, his wounded leg a souvenir of his time at the front lines and the reason he is with his family now.

There is something about his children that was not present before their father left for the war—a maturity, a self-possession that does not often appear at their ages. Mr. Pevensie can already glimpse the woman that Susan is growing to be—the grace, the dignity. And Edmund is much improved. A quieter, more thoughtful air has settled on his shoulders. And Lucy—Mr. Pevensie smiles—Lucy carries a look of wonder about her, as if she has seen something beautiful that she will never forget.

But Peter—a frown settles over Mr. Pevensie's forehead—Peter alone is unchanged. He is nothing he has not been before. Instead he is perhaps more of himself than he used to be. More intense, more present, more...alive—and more fiercely protective of his family than ever. But in one year, the Pevensie children have matured to many times their age. They are at the age of independence—and no longer in need of a protector. And this is a problem for Peter.

Of his four children, Mr. Pevensie thinks, his eldest son has always been the easiest to understand. Peter is the aptly named rock of the Pevensies—living to keep them safely together. It is his duty, it always has been, and he accepts it with a steadfast determination and a dogged perseverance.

But now that his father is home and has once more taken up the title of the head of the house, Peter does not know what to do. Susan and Edmund chafe at his attempts to look after them—"Honestly, Peter," complains Susan, "I'm only a year younger than you!"—and even Lucy seems to want to shed her dependence. And Peter is lost.

"Like a king without his kingdom," muses Mr. Pevensie suddenly. The analogy is strange to his mind, but oddly fitting. He has reached the top of the stairs, and Mr. Pevensie knocks on his eldest's closed door.

"Peter," he says hesitantly, "Peter, we need to have a talk."

Susan opens the door, giving him a tentative smile and tugging at her hair. "He's fine, Father," she reassures him quietly. "Just—just a bit banged up, is all."

Mr. Pevensie nods absently. Peter is sitting on his bed, propped up against the wall, bruises blossoming all over his handsome face. Lucy and Edmund are squeezed in on either side of him.

"Susan, Edmund, Lucy—I need to talk to your brother."

Edmund gazes at him carefully, then tugs Lucy off the bed. "We'll be in the girls' room," he announced, giving a fleeting look at Peter.

When the door is shut and the sound of footsteps retreating has gone away, Mr. Pevensie perches on the edge of Peter's bed. His son studies the cracks in the plaster walls intently.

Mr. Pevensie furrows his eyebrows.

"What happened, Peter?" he asks quietly.

"They were ganging up on him." Peter murmurs the familiar excuse almost resignedly. "I—I just couldn't stand by and watch."

"I don't mean today," Mr. Pevensie says gently. "Peter...what happened when I was...away?"

Peter flashes a quick look at him with wide, frightened blue eyes, then just as immediately stares at the floor, running his tongue over his split lip. He does wish he could answer, he does, but he just can't.

"Peter," says his father, and Peter has missed him so much that it is hard not to look at him when he hears his father's loving voice. "Tell me."

And because Peter has discovered that it is not so easy to be a hero every day, all of the time, he gives in, for the first and last time. And though he knows his father will not believe him, Peter tells his father all—how Lucy happened upon a wardrobe, how they all stumbled in, how Aslan found them, how they defeated the witch, how they rescued and together ruled the land of Narnia.

"So—now you know," finishes Peter, not daring to look up. They sit quietly for a moment until Mr. Pevensie breaks the silence.

"You know—you've never actually told me whether you've been winning these fights of yours."

Peter finally meets his father's clear blue eyes, so like his own. A grin splits his face.

"I wasn't called Magnificent for nothing, you know."

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.end.