My first fan-fiction ever! Well, that I've been brave enough to post anyway! The song quote can be found on the "Music Inspired by the Chronicles of Narnia" soundtrack.
Disclaimer: the world of Narnia, its characters and events all belong to C S Lewis, and not me (rats!) The lovely song "Remembering You" is the property of Steven Curtis Chapman and Walt Disney Records. No money is being made from this. Oh and there's no point in suing as all you'll get is a load of books and a shelf in our refrigerator.
PS: speed wrote this at half-one in the morning, so please forgive any mistakes I've overlooked!
A Sky No Longer Dark
And I watch as the cold winter melts into spring
And I'll be remembering You
Oh and I'll smell the flowers and hear the birds sing
and I'll be remembering You, I'll be remembering You
And I'll watch as the sun fills a sky that was dark
And I'll be remembering You
And I'll think of the way that You fill up my heart
And I'll be remembering You
Steven Curtis Chapman, "Remembering You"
Peter wasn't sure when the recollections of Narnia – the land he had been exiled from, the land he had once been High King over – had stopped hurting. He only knew that they had.
For the longest time after his and Susan's last visit, the merest mention of Narnia had been enough to cause an unbearable rush of homesickness for his adopted country to flood through him, and bring a sudden wetness to his eyes. But one fair spring day he had awakened early, listening to the birds sing through his open window. He had dressed and gone for a walk, wandering through the park near his home happily, humming to himself, sometimes thinking about things at home – the holiday to the seaside that year, games of cricket with Ed, the books he wanted to read, the possibility of university – and sometimes about Narnia, about how they would be preparing a great feast to welcome the Spring, about how sometimes they would stay up all night dancing and telling stories in the woods, and voyages on the Splendour Hyaline.
And somehow, the memories had ceased to hurt.
Peter was at a loss to explain it – after all, it was a wonderful world, not merely a "place" one could revisit, but a world from which he was now debarred. He still thought of it often, or talked it over with Lucy and Edmund – Susan merely tossed her head and flounced off whenever they mentioned Narnia, to the sadness of the other three. Peter, though – he always smiled during those recollections nowadays.
Perhaps it was because increasingly, he had begun to see echoes of Narnia in the world around him.
He wasn't a king here, or even a respected and accomplished man. He was a boy in the eyes of all but his siblings. And yet so many things reminded him of being the High King these days.
"Peter, old chap," his father would remark. "I need your advice on something." Or else the boys at his boarding school: "Fetch Pevensie, he's always fair; he'll be a good referee." Or the neighbours: "Peter, can you spare a moment? We're needing some help." Or even his teachers: "Young Pevensie's a trustworthy chap. Let him be in charge, he'll handle it well."
Increasingly, people had started to come to him for help and advice – with problems to solve, or simply if they needed a sympathetic ear. Smaller, younger or shy boys at his boarding school followed him around; grateful for having been rescued from the clutches of various bullies, eager to carry his things for him or to run his errands. And the bullies themselves only ever encountered Peter Pevensie the one time. That was enough to send them running as far and as fast as they could, unwilling to risk a repeat of the incident. Peter was never cruel towards them, it wasn't in his nature, but it was just impossible to be scared of some dim-witted brute in a grey jumper when he'd battled ogres and giants.
It wasn't Narnia, but still, each year as the nights grew shorter and the warmth crept back into the daylight, he found himself feeling the same happiness that had filled him whenever Spring had returned to the country he and his brother and sisters had ruled. There were battles to be fought and won, people to advise or simply listen to, journeys to go on, books and music to be read and enjoyed. Life simply wouldn't let Peter be sad for long.
He had Mum and Dad and Ed and Lucy – and even Su. He had gathered friends around him, responsible, brave and trustworthy as he was. Increasingly girls were beginning to turn their heads as he strode past, head held high, sometimes offering him a shy smile or a daring wave. People were even beginning to address him as "Mr. Pevensie" rather than "young Peter".
In the end, Peter supposed, if Narnia had taught him anything, anything at all, it was how never to give up.
So when he was sent back for the final time, he hadn't given up. He hadn't wept or pined away the days, longing for what he couldn't have. He remembered, certainly, he loved remembering. And yet … life was flowing along, days misting into one another like drops of rain. And Peter was sailing along with it. Or rather, he'd chosen to meet the flood head on.
No difficulty was too great, no problem so insurmountable it couldn't be overcome – not when remembering all he'd fought and overcome in Narnia. Edmund and Lucy had teased him at first, saying that he still thought he was High King charging flat out into battle. Gradually however, teasing had given away to admiration. They still called him King Peter, jokingly, but their tones were always laced with respect these days.
That spring morning when the memories had ceased to hurt was a couple of years past now, and on another fair spring morning Peter found himself outside in the garden of Professor Kirke's country house. He was visiting the Professor's house in order to be tutored for his university entrance exam, and had applied himself with the same determination he applied to all barriers in life. But on this morning he found himself outside, smiling, humming to himself again at the thought of university in the autumn. So much to learn, so much to do! He sighed gently, feeling the wind brush his face and watching the clouds drifting past.
"You, Peter, are happy," someone observed from behind him. Peter turned to find the Professor standing behind him observing him critically. Peter nodded.
"Yes, I am." He sighed suddenly. "I am – and I can't quite make up my mind why. Nothing special in particular is going on. I mean, I'm working for an exam! And, well, Professor, I've been thinking about Narnia a lot recently –"
"Oh yes?" the Professor remarked, one eyebrow raised quizzically. Peter flushed slightly. He hadn't meant to blurt that out about Narnia. The Professor was the only adult he and his brother and sisters had even told about their kingdom inside the wardrobe, but Peter had never quite made up his mind as to where the Professor stood on the whole issue. He had seemed to believe them, though.
"Yes. Professor – on our last visit, Aslan – the great Lion – told Susan and me we couldn't return, because we were getting too old. And – I was upset at first, to think I'd never ever get back. But for a long time now I can remember without it hurting. And I'm happy here, like I never thought I would be."
"Hmm," was the Professor's only response at first. Then: "Are you quite certain you'll never return?"
"Well –" Peter stumbled; the Professor's narrowed eyes making him doubt his statement. "Aslan himself said –"
"Oh, yes, that counts for a great deal. But you forget what you were told on your first visit: one a king in Narnia, always a king in Narnia. But actually, Peter, you've never truly left it behind." The Professor paused and surveyed him again, waiting for his comment. But Peter could only stand and think, think furiously.
"You see," the Professor continued, after a silence of some minutes, "you have not returned unchanged. Everything that made you High King in Narnia has returned with you. You are still King Peter, you understand. Oh, you don't wear a crown or command armies over here, there are few who do. But all the lessons learned, all the battles fought – you lived a long and full life over there, you see. A life with purpose, with a task to see through. And you've carried it on over here, my lad. I should think that Aslan will be very proud."
Peter flushed red again. For a long minute they both stood there, listening to the birds' sing, the scent of the trees' blossoms drifting down to where they stood. Peter thought back to their very first journey to Narnia – about how winter had melted magically away, and Spring leapt up and burst out for the first time in a hundred years.
"You see, Peter," the Professor continued, very softly, "On your first visit to Narnia, you took Hope there with you. And now you are bringing it into the lives of those around you. And that is surely a great purpose – one fit for a king, in fact. Honestly, what do they teach young people these days?"
Another long silence followed, this time broken only by the wind blowing through the branches, shaking the leaves, ruffling Peter's hair. Peter and the Professor stood, watching the signs of spring all around them, as the sun climbed higher in the sky that grew ever bluer towards its centre. The last few clouds scurried away to the horizon, leaving only brightness behind them.
"It was Narnia gave me that hope – that strength, Professor," Peter said at last, confused no longer. "As long as I remember, I'll never loose it."
"Nor shall you ever forget," the Professor replied, smiling wryly, "because I shall make you remember! Dear me, there's no logic in the world whatsoever anymore!"
Laughter startled a thrush that was bobbing on the nearby apple tree. Peter watched it take flight into the fresh, clear morning – much like he felt like doing. "Thank you, Professor. Thank you for – well, understanding."
"It's the very least I can do, my lad," was the answer, as the Professor placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Do you think you could spare me an hour or so from your studies? There's something about Narnia I am long overdue in sharing with you. Forgive me, but it was a very precious, valuable experience – the greatest one I ever underwent, in fact. You see, when I was young boy, my mother was very ill and I was living with her in London in the house of my aunt and uncle …"
Finis