Chapter 1: Spare Oom
Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia...
A/N : The second part... SQUEEEE : 2000+ views for Aslan's Will * ... bloody hell. :) Thank you so much!
Good luck for those who are sitting exams... It sucks..
'Ok, I think I have all of your details.' The man in front of him, looked back at the folder, a look of confusion on his face. The older man looked back up at him and back down at the clip board. A pained look on his face.
'I'm terribly sorry, I seem to have forgotten your name, and my secretary has done me the pleasure of not filling out some your details correctly.' He sighed, his grey eyes weary. 'What was your name again?'
The figure sitting opposite him, thought quickly his dark blue eyes darting around the room for inspiration. A poem hung upon the opposite wall: 'The Tables Turned.'
'William, William Nightingale.' he said quickly. The man looked back at his notes. He nodded.
'Of course, I'm sorry, we have your details here, I must thank my secretary for preparing this.' He made a quick note. 'Right.' The man said standing up to shake Peter's hand. 'Pleasure meeting you Mr Nightingale.'
'Thank you for this opportunity, Dr Thomas.' He shook his hand, smiling. Dr Thomas led him out of the office, past a couple of students who where on their way to and from class.
'Ladies, its one day before the end of term, remember that.' Dr Thomas smiled knowingly. The group of girls, went quite before bursting into fits of giggles after the two of them had rounded a corner. Dr Thomas led Peter through a labyrinth of Stone. Passing a groups of students, Peter's eyes went wide at the clothing and the way they where acting. The women where dressing so provocatively and smiling at him. He smiled back, clearly confused, he heard their cackling as they swayed round a corner.
Holding the double doors open for him, Dr Thomas led Peter to what looked like a reception area. A large foyer, marbled floor with a stone atmosphere, he saw the middle-aged man smile at a very pretty red-head, who was currently taking a call. She waved, and smiled courteously towards Peter, he looked away hurriedly.
'Right, I think that's it. Your parents have sent the rest of the details, and your previous universities and schools reports will be arriving tomorrow. That's if the post is on time.' Peter nodded, not really knowing what to say. He assumed Aslan had sent a fictional birth certificate and past school records. Unfortunately, he hadn't been given any more instructions, but to find Gwen. He shifted slightly, and tried to breathe, right now his brother was probably mapping out the exact plans to eliminate the army which was headed straight towards them. No to him. He was stuck here, unable to do anything, not able to help his family and the people he had swarm to protect.
'William, William?' The Doctor brought him back down to earth.
'Oh, I'm sorry, I was just thinking.' The doctor smiled:
'That's good, I would be concerned if you weren't. Now, here's your keys, there's only one, but there are spares at reception if you ask nicely enough. Now your classes down start until after the Summer Break, with your exams this coming January. Is that ok?'
'Yes sir.'
'Good, I have a map of the complex and of the surrounding city. Oxford's pretty easy to navigate, providing you know where your going!'
'Thank you.' He took the keys, and pocketed them.
'I don't think there is anything else.' His eyes were cloudy, unfocused. The only way he could exist, after all he was dead. Distorting time and the space around him, rippling, allowing people to see only what they wanted to see. Seeing a dead man – no one wants to see, their minds block out the impossible and leave only an idea of what should be happen. So to him, he was a student, nothing more. Things may seem odd, but he would soon forget it or dismiss it.
'Thank you! Bye!' Peter smiled warmly, the man smiled back. Peter left the building, watching out of the corner of his eye as the man shook his head, throw the papers in the bin and started to talk to the pretty red head.
A torrent of noise hit him, he looked up and down the street, a man pushed passed him. Peter wanted to stay something, but he knew that he had no authority here. His task was to find Gwen and from there... He shook the image of her last moments from his head, the same image that had haunted his dreams... He squared his shoulders and looked around, trying not to focus on his surroundings. The sheer mass of people for a seemingly quiet city was terrifying, the clothes had changed. Things had become shorter, some longer and some as his ears went red, where transparent. The hot sun beat down on him. Peter shielded his eyes, the sun was diluted, nothing compared to the rich, golden nectar which illuminated Aslan's Country.
Cars roared up and down the road, chasing each other like animals, the ground seemed harder, so did the people. It seemed harder and harder to pick out a smile. Ignoring his surroundings and his obvious lack of direction, he set off, glancing at his map ever so often. Peter eventually found the building. A row of terest houses, many of them in dire need of repair – is this where she was staying? As if on cue a roof tile became free, escaping from its eternal stay and tumbling with a crack to the ground. All the curtains were closed on both floors, shouldering his rucksack. Which he hadn't noticed had been there before, strode up the potholed path and opened the door.
He looked at the piece of paper, feeling a grow of dread fill the bottom of his stomach. There were doors to his left, a mustered yellow covered the walls. The inside was a great improvement to the exterior. To his right pigeon holes, ahead the stairs. Glancing at the doors, then at the key. He strode up the stairs, taking three at a time. Feeling as though, if he hesitated, he would never move. The second floor was much the same as the ground floor. A door to the left and one to the right. One was a dark blue, the other a rich burgundy, a gold 2b stood proud. He collected himself, not aware that his hands where shaking as he put the key into the lock, pausing only to knock and press what he assumed to be a doorbell.
Peter ran his fingers though his hair, not wanting to search himself for the answers, to his nervousness. The the vibrations he felt out side the door suddenly revealed themselves. Music was blaring. He looked around bleary, trying to focus. He was a large room, which operated as both the kitchen and lounge. The kitchen was similar in format to what he remembered, what seemed like a lifetime ago, a mere distant memory of a dream. A dream of a dream.
A strange screen stood mounted on the wall to his left, opposite a what must be a settee. A table stood between them, a doors flanked the screen, with a third to the left of the settee. The room was very basic, nothing adored the magnolia wall except a few paintings: he placed his bag down softly, and walked over towards one of the canvases.
It was oil, he was sure of it, it depicted the High Kings and Queen's hunting for the white stag. He felt himself grow dark. A further look around the room, brought another oil canvas of the Lion. His eyes where painted with such detail, that Peter could almost feel his presence in the room.
A floorboard creaked.
Gwen was standing there, a bow drawn. He took a step back in shock. His arms immediately reaching for a sword which wasn't there and for a dagger which was imaginary. He stopped himself, and raised his fists ever so slightly in a defensive posture. Peter let his eyes take all of her in. Her face was more or less the same, full lips snarled as hazel eyes bored into his. Her hair was messy and the same mousy colour, a tad longer though as he considered it.
'Get out.' She growled. Her eyes were dark.
'I'm...studying here, the Dean told me to come here.' Peter babbled, the king inside him groaned with embarrassment. Yes, of course that sounded convincing and not at all sinister...
'Bollocks!' She fired a warning shot, passed his ear, he dodged it easily, she quickly reloaded. Peter flourished a piece of paper in the air.
'The Dean gave me this...' he began. Her face slackened, the arrow drooped slightly. 'Are you Simon?'
'He shook his head. 'No I'm William, William Nightingale.' he said emphatically.
She lowered the bow, her face went beet red. She leaned it against the wall, she smiled, clearly embarrassed. 'Sorry, introductions aren't really my thing.'
Peter smiled, he felt that he had to say something, years of politics getting the better of him. 'Doesn't matter, but if you don't mind me asking, why do you have a bow?' Gwen rolled her eyes, I've had a couple of break ins, put it this way, so much that my aim has improved dramatically.'
His face grew concerned, 'How many have you had?'
'Oh! Don't worry!' she said brightly, seeing the look on his face she added hurriedly. 'No really don't, the police have been round and everything...' again she looked embarrassed. 'I had to explain to five policemen and one judge, why I kept and arrow and why I felt it was necessary to shoot the intruder in the arse.'
'Ah.' Peter's faced relaxed slightly, his ears going pink.
'I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced properly. What with me shooting an arrow at you and what not. I'm Gwen, Guinevere Darling, don't laugh!' She added as she held out her hand.
Years of protocol do not go away in an instant, even when your dead. Peter bowed gracefully, a arm moving to the left, eye contact constant. Peter looked at her when he had finished, hoping that he hadn't blown his chances.
Her face had slackened, her eyes wide, she seemed to be clutching a pendant around her neck. She turned away from him for a moment, he could hear mutterings of 'Get a grip' and 'Its not him.'
'I'm sorry.' Peter looked concerned, his mind raced for an excuse. 'My finishing school was extremely old fashioned about introductions.' Just like that, Gwen smiled.
'Sorry, just taken aback that's all. Well, I reckon that if you can bow, I can keep a bow and shoot at you.' She grinned. Becoming him to the rooms located next to the screen on the wall.
Opening a door, she shot him an apologetic look. 'I'm sorry, I'll move all of the stuff.'
The room was similar in size to the one he used to share with Edmund, it was the same yellow as the sitting room with a single bed in a corner, a large wardrobe, complete with several canvases the room was pretty bland.
'I'll leave you to sort your stuff out. I've got to go and give a paper to Dr Caspiar, he's head of Art, I wont be long. Would you like anything? I was going to get a take-away tonight since it was a Friday. Is that ok?' She looked quite nervous.
Peter smiled, 'That sound lovely.' Having no idea what she was talking about.
'Don't' you have any classes today?'
' I don't think so..' Peter replied
'What subjects are you taking?'
'History and Politics.' Peter rambled off.
'Lucky sod, you haven't got any classes until September! I wont be long, I hate to have to do this, but he needs my essay in other wise he'll kill me.. I'm sorry.' Help your self to anything in the cupboard and to the TV.' She called as the door slammed.
He dumped his rucksack and fell on to the squashy mattress, pulling a paint brush under the covers almost immediately after lying down. He felt sleep over come him and his eye lids suddenly were like dead weights, dragging him down to sleep.
Noise hit him, a wall of chaos and panic. He looked around, spotted Edmund, he was pouring over a map, figuring representing armies dotted over the mat, whilst fauns and centaurs carried armour to and fro across the courtyard, Griffins flying to and fro relaying information.
Edmund looked up, pained expression on his face, he smiled when he saw Peter, but it didn't fully reach his eyes.
'You've changed. Has modern air done something, I've lost my big brother.' Peter smiled, but it immediately changed into a furrowed brow as he began relaying instructions.
'How many forces do we know? What are the logistics? Estimated time of arrival? Orius, what are we up against, I want Griffins and Phoenix patrolling all of Aslan's country, all of the levels, all times, all places: The Lone Islands, Archenland, even Calormen. Espically Ettismore, unfortunately the place where the castle stood festers with dark magic. Even here. I want Dryads and Naiads exploring their territories, I want all dimensions checked. Leave no stone unturned, I will personally reprimand any being which does not search every corner of Aslan's country!' The centaur nodded, needing no more encouragement.
As Aslan's country was the true place for all Narnians, and for all of those who had stayed true to Narnia, no matter what race or being. There were goblins which had fled after the battle, wishing forgiveness from Aslan, renouncing any other false idols. He granted them passage.
The structure of Aslan's country was similar to a tiered wedding cake, which was then squashed. As it was heaven, the beings could exist could exist in whichever time zone they wished to, it did make event planning rather difficult, since many of your guest where living 100 years in the future. However all the tiers interlinked, the pillars holding up the cake, acting as passages and ways of communication. phoenīcēs could travel near the speed of light, thus passing time. But then again, each time zone existed on their own. The High Kings and Queens ruled over all, Aslan of course ruled over the High Kings and queens. However not many people saw him, he was even more isolated in his own country, leaving it to be exactly how Narnia should have been. Free from harm and worry, all evil gone from the world.
Peter looked at Edmund, he could still see his little brother, time after time he had seen him grow into a fine and Just man, only to return to a boy, unable to fit in or understand the lack of maturity in his peers.
'How long?' Peter asked,his mouth dry.
'We don't know, I'm sure we've got some time to prepare... but..' He tailed off, the possible words fading into a terrible silence.
'We have about six months, and being generous. I estimate that she will be here during the summer solstice, when the suns highest. Aslan only knows the numbers.' Peter put his hand on his brother's shoulder.
'I trust that you will be properly prepared.' Edmund nodded. Looking down, his eyes revealing his true emotions.
'I trust in Aslan, we will be fine.' Edmund looked at him.
'I don't understand, why are you there and not here, we need you here, Lucy and Susan are going out of their minds with worry. Not even Mr Tumnus can console Lucy. Susan has just shut her self away, refusing to see anyone, my guess is that she's hand making arrows again, and you know she only does that when she's deeply troubled.' Edmund sighed, clearly frustrated, the bubbling anger, apparent in his body language.
The Just King was famous during the Golden age for his anger, although the high king was quicker to anger and to express his emotions. A steep learning curve for any diplomat is upset the just king. In complete opposite to his youth, hot headed and frustrated. Edmund had mellowed, and his wrath, when exposed was to be more feirces it was rumoured than even Queen Lucy's.
'Keep, your anger in check Ed.' Peter warned. 'Your people need you to be strong, I need you to be strong.' He smiled grimly, turned away... as he woke up back in the sparsely furnished room.