Disclaimer/Author's Note: (It's a disclaimer. Think about it. ;-) )Essentially, all belongs to C. S. Lewis. The words in bold print under Peter's section is from "Somewhere in the Sky" by Kutless. Under Susan's, the bold print is from, quite logically, "The Art of Breaking" by Thousand Foot Krutch. Edmund has bold print from "Be My Escape" by Relient K and Lucy has bold print from "Brave" by Nicole Nordeman.

Since this is composed of the Pevensies' dreams, and dreams often contain memories, some of the text (especially in Edmund and Lucy's dreams) will look familiar. There is a good reason for that: there are a few sections of text where I copied almost word-for-word from the Chronicles. (I feel slightly guilty about that... oh well.) I say almost copied word-for-word because I had to of course change the tense from past to present.

Well... I suppose I ought to warn you that this fic is rather strange. (By the end you'll probably be thinking, "Darn Theophila and her infernal habit of writing in the present tense!") So, there you go. You have been warned. (What can I say? The plot bunnies hit past midnight Christmas Eve.)

Itallics (like this) is for dreams, normal print (like this) is for real life.

Please read and review! (Shame on me for not reviewing other people's stories more often. How about... if you review my fic, I'll review yours. Yes? Please?!) Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. :-) (And now I'll leave you alone and let you read the dreams.)

The Gate to Eternity

By Theophila

Peter is standing in the middle of a flat open field. He looks to his left, then to his right: All he can see is dead yellow grass for miles and miles. Peter then looks down at his feet, and notices with the acquiescence brought so often by dreams that he is transparent—just barely there. He can see through his feet the blades of grass bent beneath. The boy—man? king? ghost?—looks up again. He circles around slowly, taking in his surroundings. There is nothing but yellow grass and the wide, blue sky. Then, with a start, Peter notices something that has apparently appeared behind him, without him noticing.

It's a rock. And a very large one, at that—almost what he would call a mountain. Peter begins to walk toward it. It is very far away, and yet in a few steps he has reached it. He stands for a moment, quietly looking up at it. It is bigger than he thought, and yet not so big as to be overwhelming. Peter reaches up his hand, looking at the rock through himself. "Strong" is the word that immediately comes to his mind. Peter makes a decision and solemnly places his hand on the rock.

The grass turns green. The ghost becomes a King. Peter climbs the rock.

Another beautiful morning.
The sun seems a little brighter today.
It's my reward for stepping into the moment as I am seizing the day

O0O0O0O

Susan slammed the door to her room and, pausing a moment to glance in the mirror, flung herself onto her bed. Stupid Peter. Who was he to say that she oughtn't go out so late? She had gotten all ready for the party—she had even bought a new dress and jewelry for the occasion. But of course, big brother Peter had to interfere. And that boy she had met, dear Ralph… What would he think when she didn't show up? He probably would never speak to her again.

Sobbing, Susan ripped off her necklace and threw it across the room.

Susan is walking down the street, downtown. Smiling, she stops to admire her reflection in a highly polished shop window. Very elegant, very fashionable. A young woman of today. Smoothing her coat, Susan continues on her way.

Presently, she becomes aware of the clicking sound her heels are making on the ground. Susan pauses and listens. There is no sound. She is the only person in this city.

Susan shrugs it off and continues walking.

She marvels at the beauty of the faceless mannequins with their classy hats, forever frozen in the store windows.

Susan stops up abruptly to avoid stepping into a puddle. "That's funny," she thinks, staring into the murky water, "it looks deeper than it ought to be." And it's getting deeper and wider even as I watch. Looking closer, she notices things floating gently atop the water. Lilies, she realizes. Dead lilies. Frowning, she stares harder into the puddle—no, it's too big to be just a puddle; it's more like a pool. And now it isn't a pool, it's a mirror. There's a lady in the mirror, a grand lady, and she's looking back at Susan.

It is at this moment Susan realizes for the first time that the rest of her dream has been in black and white.

The lady is in vibrant color. She is wearing beautiful robes, and her dark hair goes almost down to her feet. Her eyes are gentle, but they are sad. They are filled with tears. Susan can't help but think that she would do anything to make this lady smile. But the lady is not smiling, and will probably not smile any time soon. She is softly waving goodbye now. It is harder to see her now, and Susan can't figure out why… The mirror is just as clear as ever, and Susan knows the grand lady is still there—she can feel her sad eyes, looking back at her. But though she is searching, all Susan can seem to see is the dead lilies.

The looking glass shatters, and now Susan is drowning in a sea of broken reflections.

Susan could not remember her dream in the morning.

This is the art of breaking.

O0O0O0O

Edmund looks around. He is standing in the snow, deep in the Lantern Waste. His breath is coming out in cold puffs, and as he rubs his arms to keep warm he notices that he is wearing his old blue robe. Examining himself further, Edmund discovers that he is 10 years old again. This must be his first time in Narnia…

The jingling of bells. Edmund whips around. He listens and the sound comes nearer and nearer and at last there sweeps into sight a sledge drawn by two reindeer. There is a dwarf driving the reindeer, wearing a red hood with a long tassel and using his long, grey beard as a sort of rug. But Edmund barely notices the dwarf—his attention is captivated by a very different person, sitting in a much higher seat in the middle of the sledge.

"Stop!" says the Lady, and the scene blows away with the snow.

Now Edmund is stumbling through the slush. He's trying his best not to slip, but his best is not enough and the dwarf keeps cursing at him and flicking him with the whip. The Witch, Edmund knows, is angry, and the Dwarf is trying to appease her by going faster. It is hard going for Edmund, though, because his hands are tied behind him and his legs are stinging and he's never been so tired in all his life. Still, Edmund knows that her winter is meeting its death, and that is what keeps him from collapsing with despair. He turns his head to look as some snowdrops peek their heads out of the ground, but the dwarf gives the rope a nasty jerk that almost makes him fall over.

"Mind your own business!" snaps the dwarf, and the scene falls apart around Edmund.

A dark valley. Edmund is by now too tired to even notice how hungry and thirsty he is. There is one difference, though, between this dream-scene and the past reality: Edmund is not too tired to care what will happen to him. He knows this is a dream and would do anything to get out of it, but he can't get himself to wake up no matter how hard he tries. Edmund has been roughly bound to a tree, and now the dwarf is undoing Edmund's collar and folding back his shirt at the neck. And now the Witch is sharpening her knife, and now—oh, Aslan—now she is putting the knife to his throat. This is when the rescue party saved me, thinks Edmund to himself. Where are they now? Where are You now, Aslan? In the seconds as the Witch prepares to pull the knife across, Edmund looks up to the stars. Suddenly strangely calm, he locates the Leopard…no, it's not a leopard; it's a lion. It's the Lion.

The Lion roars, and Edmund is carried away on His breath.

Edmund is no longer in danger. He is sure of this. He has been here before, on Ramandu's Island, near the End of the World.

Also, he is no longer alone. "What is this Knife of Stone?" asks Eustace.

"Do none of you know it?" says the girl.

"I—I think," says Lucy, "I've seen something like it before. It was a knife like it that the White Witch used when she killed Aslan at the Stone Table long ago."

"It was the same," said the girl, "and it was brought here to be kept in honor while the world lasts."

More talking. Edmund remembers this conversation.

The girl is talking again. "You can't know," says the girl. "You can only believe—or not."

Edmund looks from the girl's face, to the knife of stone, to the stars above. He has weighed the options, and he has chosen to believe.

The beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair.

O0O0O0O

Lucy is on board the Dawn Treader again. Though her dream has only just begun, she can already tell that they are near the World's End. She revels in the mysterious sensation always brought by the Silver Sea. Grinning, she turns to Caspian, who is standing beside her. "I feel that I can't stand much more of this, yet I don't want it to stop," says Lucy earnestly. Caspian laughs for joy, but only briefly. Joy and excitement are coursing through their veins, but it is not the sort that makes one talk. The stillness of the last sea is the most beautiful thing Lucy has ever experienced.

Lucy closes her eyes and inhales deeply, expecting the fresh, wild, lonely smell that comes from the lilies. But instead she is startled by a burning, poisonous stench, and she gags. "Caspian!" cries Lucy, reaching out. "Edmund, Peter, help me!" Her eyes are open now, wildly searching, but she can't make anything out. The Silver Sea, the Dawn Treader—the whole world seems to be spinning away.

Presently, the chaos stops. There is stillness, but it is not like the stillness of the last sea—this stillness is dead.

Lucy is still in darkness, but she can now tell that she is in some sort of cave… no, she is underground. Someone turns on a light. It is a sickly light that hardly illuminates anything. Somehow, this wan mockery of light is worse than the darkness. Now Lucy is sure she is underground, in a kind of huge cavern.

The trail of a venomous green dress passes through the shadows directly in front of her, and Lucy steps back nervously.

When the screams begin, Lucy turns to run.

But before she can run, she is taken roughly around the waist and thrown over someone's shoulder. Lucy takes in a breath to scream and chokes on the acrid smoke. Again, she is screaming for help but it is no good and she is thrown into the stable.

Lucy is suddenly in a smooth, circular clearing. Her fear disappears like the dew at noontime.

He is there: the huge Lion, shining white in the moonlight, with his huge black shadow underneath Him. Lucy rushes to Him and buries her face in the living gold of His mane. "Aslan, Aslan. Dear Aslan," she sobs.

The great beast rolls over on His side so that Lucy falls, half sitting and half lying between His front paws. He bends forward and just touches her nose with His tongue. His warm breath comes all round her, and she gazes into the large wise face. For a moment, Lucy stops crying.

"Welcome, child," He says. Lucy sniffs and opens her mouth to speak. "Oh, Aslan! I'm so glad You're here with me. It's been horrid, absolutely horrid. And—and—" She does not want to cry, but she cannot stop herself. Weeping, Lucy cries, "Oh, all I want is a happy ending! Is that so much to want? Oh, dear Aslan, I know things never happen the same way twice—and you've told me it would be hard—but it's so hard. I don't know if I can stand it. Everything slips away from me, Aslan, everything. Narnia—Susan—oh, even You! You told me to look for You in my own world, but I can't seem to find You and I'm lost, Aslan, please help me. Please."

There is silence, but for Lucy's weeping.

"I have always been with you. But you must follow me, Daughter of Eve."

Lucy buries her head in His mane to hide her face. But there must be magic in His mane—she can feel lion-strength going into her. Lucy half-expects Aslan to tell her that now she is a lioness, but instead He says, "Nothing is yet in its true form."

Lucy is about to ask Him exactly what He means, when she notices with a start that the stars are falling from the sky. She squints up, shielding her eyes from their brilliance.

The Lion roars, and now Lucy is awake in her bed in Finchley, squinting at the sunrise through her open window.

So long, status quo. I think I just let go. You make me want to be brave.