I don't know about this, but I am going to try to delve a little bit into how the Pevensies might have felt adjusting to life back in England after their first Narnian adventure. Because fifteen years is a long time to be gone. Others have made much nobler offerings of this sort, but here I try to do my part. All characters belong to C. S. Lewis, a man of great wisdom - for he knew who the Voice belonged to.


Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken…

Hebrews 12:28a

Peter Pevensie stood in the doorway of his bedroom, suitcases in hand. He hadn't seen his room in Finchley for three months, but it seemed like it might as well have been a lifetime. He smiled ruefully to himself and shook his head. It had been a lifetime, hadn't it? Picking up his bags, the boy walked over and placed them on his bed before turning to open the window above his desk. A warm August breeze blew through the room, carrying a faint smell of smoke along with it. Peter sighed. Though the Pevensie home had come through the air raids unscathed, much of London carried deep wounds from the war. No matter where you went, you couldn't escape it, not even at the Kirke country house miles from the city, where he and his siblings would cluster around the wireless to catch news of the first attacks on London. The Professor said that he suspected the attacks would only grow worse over the coming months, and that it was a good thing that the four Pevensies would only be in London for a few weeks before heading off to their respective schools. Even Lucy, who wasn't quite old enough to leave home yet, would be going to stay with their mum at an elderly relative's house. London just wasn't home anymore.

Peter sat down at his desk, glancing briefly at the pile of school books stacked to one side. Then he gave them another look and laughed to himself. At the end of last term when he had gotten the fall book list the texts had seemed huge. Now, however, they looked tiny in comparison to the giant volumes of military strategy and conduct he and Ed had poured over hours on end in the library of Cair Paravel. Peter ran his hands absentmindedly across the top of his desk, a motion that had become habit after years of chronicling each and every military action he took. Lucy found him in his study on more than one occasion gazing off into space, pen laid aside, one hand moving across the smooth wood of his desk. She always told him it looked as though he was playing an invisible instrument. And he supposed he was, in a way. Playing the instrument of his thoughts, because even though Edmund was hailed as the pensive, thoughtful king, Peter too relished his time alone.

Like now. In England, it seemed as though he was always surrounded by people. At least when he was still called Magnificent he could ask to be left alone and his subjects would understand the needs of their king. But the past three months he felt smothered constantly. Susan and Edmund and Lucy knew him well enough to give him privacy often, but people who would come and visit the Professor just couldn't leave him alone, always asking questions about his family and his home and his plans for school and any other number of pointless information. And now Mum just couldn't stop asking questions about their summer and telling him how grown up he was and saying that no one would be able to recognize him anymore, especially Harold and Alberta and Eustace. Mum didn't understand that he didn't care, how after organizing great military forces and negotiating difficult treaties with foreign nations, comparing himself to his cousin just didn't really matter anymore.

Peter blinked, trying to clear his head. Gazing out of the window, he stared at a sparrow sitting on a high branch of the tree outside. A sparrow that would never be able to converse with him quite the same way the Narnian birds could. Fifteen years, and Peter had never really gotten over the shock of having a bird fly through the window, land on the bedpost, and begin a long discourse on the habits of the Northern giants. But even now that he was back in England, he still half-expected the little sparrow to speak, to start chattering away about the mess roads had become since the spring or some other such nonsense. But it didn't happen, of course.

Fifteen years. Peter rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired. Going from twenty eight to thirteen in a few short seconds could take a lot out of a person. But it left a lot there, too. You can't erase fifteen years of living, no matter how much of a dream those years seem to be. Fifteen years of wars won and wars lost, of friendships made and vows taken. Fifteen years of growing up, of ruling a nation. And now he would have to grow up all over again. He didn't mind, not really, about growing up again. At least not as much as Su did. After all, growing up happened in every world, no matter if you are a king or a schoolboy. And having gone through it once, he could most certainly do it again. But what he did mind, what did cause him to lose sleep at night and become unable to concentrate at the most inopportune times, was the fact that so much was left behind.

Not the individual people, not his subjects. He cared for them, but he hoped that whoever would rule after him would be able to care for them in the same way. And it wasn't even Aslan, strangely enough. For some strange reason Peter had a feeling that Aslan hadn't really deserted them, that someday on the way to the train station or in the back shelves of the library or even just while sitting at his desk, like now, he would hear that Voice just behind him, calling him back. He had an inkling that Aslan was able to be found in more than one world. In fact, he was rather sure of it. No, it was the kingdom that weighed on Peter, the kingdom that he felt he had failed by leaving. The land, from Cauldron Pool in the West to Glasswater Creek in the East, Ettinsmoor to Mount Pire, even Galma and the Lone Islands. The people as a whole, those who had relied on him, trusted him from the beginning. Those late nights with Ed, discussing how to best word a letter of support to Rabadash once he changed back into a man, dancing with Lucy at her annual birthday balls, helping Susan decline the endless marriage proposals she received. Riding his mount down to Anvard to consult with King Lune on matters of state. In short, he missed being a king.

He had tried to talk with Ed about it, but the problem with the new-and-improved Edmund was that while he had become a far better listener, he would ponder his thoughts for a very, very long time before offering any advice. And as far as Peter knew, Ed was still pondering this one, trying to sort out his own feelings as well as those of his siblings. Susan, when approached with the subject, would give a wistful smile and say dreamily, "Why, Peter! Of course I wish I was still a queen – all of those lovely gowns and dances and men always running after me…" It took a great deal of restraint for Peter to not retort, "All of those men who were about to wage war on us, don't you mean!" He did not quite understand Su's view, but when had he ever? Lucy was his best bet on commiseration, but she had cared most for each subject individually and was not quite at the same level of despair. When they had first gotten back, Lu had checked every closet, every door, every cupboard she laid eye on to see if she could somehow return to her beloved friends, but when met with defeat, she simply looked at Peter with shining eyes and said, "I know we'll go back someday. I just know it!" And while Peter wished he had the faith of Lucy, it just did not make sense to him that they should be taken away from that which they loved.

"Peter?" He turned, noting that the sun had begun to set outside and that the sparrow had gone. He shook his head as if to clear it of all thoughts, any thoughts. He wasn't in Narnia anymore. Time to think about England.

"Yes, Lu?" She had entered the room quietly, like she used to do at the castle.

"I think I know now. Why we couldn't stay." The little girl who had so recently been over twenty had a small stuffed bear in her grasp. She was smiling.

Peter knelt down next to her, giving Lucy a little, sad smile. "Why? Why do you think we are here instead of there?"

The eight year old gave her big brother a look of understanding. "Because we don't need to be there, Peter. Narnia needed us to sit on the thrones, but we did our part. We know our story, as Aslan would say, but only ours. Not that of our kingdom, not that of the future. Ours. And our story is here now. Now, Peter. We need to be here."

It wasn't really a concrete explanation, Peter thought to himself as Lucy gave him a hug. There was no grand statement of why or how or if. But with Lucy's words, his heart changed just a little. It was as if he had finally come to the point of acceptance, of knowing that there might not be a going back. Instead, there was an immense sense of joy. Of thankfulness.

Of knowing that he had done all he could for a kingdom that he loved.