Homesick

Summary: The Pevensies all feel and deal with their homesickness a different way. Two-shot.

Disclaimers: I do not own the Pevensies, Narnia, or Aslan. The title of the story and both chapter titles come from MercyMe's song "Homesick" which I strongly recommend a listen to if you have the time.

If Home's Where the Heart is . . .

Narnia. Aslan. Two words, eleven letters. Eleven letters that opened a floodgate of emotion for Peter Pevensie.

It had been difficult for all of them to readjust to England, but it hit Peter especially hard. He went from being High King of an entire realm to being a gawky teenager with no more power than a carrot. But, being Peter, he put a smile on his face and tried to be strong for his younger siblings.

Going back to school had been the worst thing. He came into contact with close friends he couldn't remember. Teachers were suspicious of his rather quick gain of knowledge. Being a King in Narnia demanded some heavy schooling, and while Peter had always been a good student, when he came back knowing enough to pass grades well beyond his current one, his teachers started asking questions. One of the few teachers he didn't get along with even went so far as to accuse him of cheating.

His friends thought he went loony in the head-he was ignorant of events and memories that should have stood out clear. For months, the sound of an automobile made him jump. They claimed he said things in his sleep, planned battles, made treaties, and called himself, "High King."

Peter told them it was a game he had played to make Lucy happy. As he said them, the words stung. More than anything, he wanted to be able to tell them-all of them- the truth. About a world he had seen and known. About a great lion, Aslan, who he suspected he could find anywhere he went if he looked hard enough.

He hadn't found Aslan in England yet. But he followed the example of Lucy's faith and was content for the moment to just keep searching.

Some days, Narnia just seem like a far-distant memory. Real and better than anything else, but hazy and dream-like, as if it happened in the far distant past. Some times, it seemed as if he were an elderly person looking on the events of his adolescence- beautiful memories, but just that.

On other days, the pain of England weighed down upon Peter's shoulders like a brick. These were the days the memories seem the closest, the most real. Peter sometimes thought that it he just reached far enough, just pushed through enough, he would be able to touch the very essence of Narnia. In his heart, Peter knew Aslan meant it when he said the two oldest Pevensies could never come back. On these days, he just chose to ignore it.

The first day the homesickness truly hit had been a few months after his last trip to Narnia. The day had started off simply enough- a crisp, Autumn day in which he and a few of his friends from school had decided to go out and play around at cricket.

Peter participated rather enthusiastically, hitting the ball further than usual.

"Bloody hell Pevensie, where did you learn to hit a ball like that?"

Peter grimaced. He had been of average size and strength before Narnia, but when one's life may depend on the force one can launch behind a sword, you strengthen up very quickly. Peter never thought that something such as playing a simple game could lead to an interrogation of his differences.

"Got in a lot of practice over the hols," Peter answered casually. The game continued normally, until Peter reached down to pick up the ball.

"What else happened over the hols, Pevensie? Your arm looks like someone took an axe to it."

Peter glanced down, confused as to what the boy was talking about. His right forearm had enough jagged lines running over it to be a map. They were just battle scars and Peter forgot about them most of the time, but they did look painful and were rather obvious.

"Oh, they're just scars." Peter replied casually, hoping the subject would be dropped. He was out of luck.

"What could cause those kinds of scars?" Kevin, a boy in the year above Peter, asked.

"I Went hiking this summer, and fell from a good height onto some sharp rocks." It was a lame excuse, but the only one Peter could come up with on the spur of the moment.

The crowd that had gathered to see the scars gradually fizzled out and Peter excused himself from the rest of the game, going up to his own very empty room.

He cried. He was High King, an elder brother, and a strong person, but he gave himself the release of crying, something he never did before.

"Oh Aslan . . . " he cried, "I'm not sure I can make it."

Peter felt the warm feeling of summer and of Lion's fur envelope him. He opened his eyes, holding onto a childish hope that they would open unto the image of a golden lion. Instead, all he saw was his plain room. But it held an unusually warm and peaceful feeling. Peter knew he had to keep being strong for the others.

"Aslan . . . I'll try. I'll try to do my best here, but . . . I've never been so homesick before."

The strength of the lion surrounded Peter. He hadn't found Aslan in England, but Aslan had found him.

--

Returning to England might have been hardest for Peter, but out of the four, Susan was the one who needed Narnia the most. Susan was a logical, rational young woman, and relied on her eyes more than her heart sometimes.

Inside, Susan was always the gentle, loving queen of Narnia, but she put a band-aid to her wound of homesickness by becoming overwhelmed with England.

Soon, Susan separated her life into two categories: Now and Childhood. Narnia and Aslan belonged in childhood. School and England belonged in now, and now was where Susan lived.

Susan never talked about Narnia anymore with her family, but she still remembered, no matter what she said. Memories resurfaced, and the loss rushed back to her. However, there was one event that was her breaking point.

Susan and Lily, a school friend, had been planning the evening for the weekend. It was a rather casual party, but Lily liked to make a big deal of out everything, and Susan played along. Lily had been rummaging through Susan's closet, trying to find outfits for both of them, when she stumbled upon a dress Susan had in the very back corner.

It was a long, ankle-length flowing green dress outlined with a deep gold hem and neck-lined. Lily laughed, "Susan, what is this? It looks like something that could have come out of my grandmother's closet."

Susan, who had been reading on the bed, turned around to see what Lily had been talking about. As her hazel eyes landed upon the dress, they burned with ire. If she could, she would definitely give Lily an earful about the dress. But how could she explain to her friend that she loved and cherished that dress because it was the most Narnian thing she had found in England?

"It was a gift from my Grandmother. It would be impolite to get rid of it." Susan said calmly, feeling as if she had betrayed the dress with her lie.

"Ah, well . . . just wear it whenever she's around." Lily cast off the dress and went back to foraging in the closet. On the bed, Susan's eyes stung with salty tears. An hour later when Lily left with one of Susan's new dresses in her hands, Susan let the tears she had been holding in flood her face.

"I wish I had never went to Narnia!" Susan muttered, sounding much like a young child throwing a tantrum . . .

It wasn't true. Susan loved Narnia. That's why in her stomach she felt the call of homesickness.

Peter dealt with his homesickness by getting his younger siblings along. Susan dealt by pretending it never existed. If they had never gone to Narnia, there was nothing for her to miss.

The only problem was that no matter how much she pretending, the call of Aslan was still there. Sometimes she believed she could hear a gentle roar, but when she looked around she was alone. Sometimes she saw movement that could only be of fur racing along, but the only movement around her was that of the other people. She attributed it all to her imagination. Susan believed with her eyes. She was homesick, and for her, there was no comfort here.