A/N: This is the first fanfiction I've ever written, as well as the first real story I've ever written (unless you count drabbles done for school in grades K-5). I would really appreciate any reviews! If people like this, I may continue it. Please review! I need some feedback.
A year.
It had been one year since Peter Pevensie and his brother and sisters had found themselves emerging from a wardrobe in a near-forgotten world.
As children.
Simple, reckless, rule-breaking, forever agonizing children. If they weren't to be reprimanded and scoffed at, they were to be mollycoddled and lied to, the truth being too harsh for ears so delicate; looked down upon either way.
It was cruel.
Peter had lived fifteen years in a land where his every word would strike a note of reverence in the faces that surrounded him (perhaps fear or hate, in those of his enemies). But even in the darkest of foes who loathed him so and would have been brought immense joy seeing his head on a pike, he was regarded as nothing less than equal.
He had been thrust from such respect into a harsh London society, yet those fifteen years were not lost to his demeanor; though only Edmund, Susan, and Lucy could see it for what it truly was, occasionally, the slight shift in his gait, or the glint in his eyes, or an inexplicable change in his presence spoke plainly that he was once again High King Peter the Magnificent, Lord of Cair Paravel and Emperor of the Lone Islands. He was once again the man who had been bloodied in battle countless times, had sought adventure and conquest. Had killed Maugrim and fought at Beruna as a teen, thus playing part in the end of Jadis, whom had single-handedly destroyed one world and immersed another in a winter that had lasted for a century.
Sometimes, it would speak for none to recognize. For a moment, he would look upon a war chamber and discuss matters of state when they debated in History class. His mind might wander when he was summoned to the Headmaster, and rather than a desk and heady stare, he would face a rival king who sought to challenge his or his siblings' rule.
Or how he would gaze at the stars and see not the dull, alien flecks that adorned Britain's heavens, but the Narnian sky, its jewel-bright ones telling of past and future in their dance.
In these things also, he was High King once more.
But then his proud, noble gait would fade; the light in his eyes would be gone as a candle snuffed out in wind; his presence would once again be insignificant and unintimidating (in comparison to that of the King he was); the moment would be gone and he would be in a classroom speaking of wars and kingdoms which neither existed nor really mattered; he was facing a fat old man who sought only to give him lines for an apparent misdeed; he saw only the skies of London; he was but a boy in a world he had forgotten how to live in.
Oh, how very cruel it was.
"Peter! Peter, dear, dinner will be ready soon!"
He cursed under his breath when he realized his bittersweet musings had carried him from midday to late afternoon. He placed the book he'd made no progress in haphazardly on a shelf and glanced outside, wondering truly how long he'd been lost to his thoughts. When he saw that it was dark save for the now-lit streetlamps, he recalled a conversation (he snorted that he might think of it as a "conversation") he'd had with Susan.
"Peter, don't lose yourself to daydreams. This isn't…" she whispered the next word as though afraid to say it out loud, "Narnia. This is England."
"What, and you expect me to pretend as though the former never existed? As though I didn't live a life there, too?"
"No, I expect you to accept that we live here now, and brooding over that fact isn't going to change it."
"Oi, Pete, are you coming, or are we going to have to drag you down here?" came a shout from downstairs.
"Now, Edmund, that is quite enough!"
The rest of the incoherent conversation likely consisted of his younger brother mumbling an apology and blaming his behavior on hunger. Smirking slightly at the dark-haired boy's antics, Peter left his room and swiftly descended the staircase, putting on a grin more for his family than himself as he approached the table and took his accustomed seat between Susan and their mother, Helen.
"You all right, Peter? You haven't left your room all day."
"Yes, Mum," he reassured her, "I was just… reading." It wasn't a total lie.
Susan, Edmund, and Lucy shared knowing glances, then looked in concern at their elder brother.
Helen only looked at him sadly for a moment, stroking his hair. She then wore a smile that looked too false not to notice, but not enough so to comment on it.
"Let's tuck in, shall we?
A/N: This was going to split off before the dialog part and just be a short, not-so-sweet rant on Peter's mental state, but I decided to go for something I'm not used to: Actual dialog! I also realize that I really didn't do anything with Lucy; I'll fix that if I write more of this. It was quite fun. Please review!