A/N: So this would be my 'Left Behind' story that I've been planning for a while. It's from the point of view of Larali, who is my fictional wife of Peter. Not that I enjoy those types of stories usually, but I thought it would be neat to try one out in this type of format. There will also be a companion piece to this from Peter's POV, but I'm not quite done it yet, so you should see it either later tonight (unlikely) or sometime after Easter. We shall see.

Sunbeams and lemons -those are the two things that remind me most of my beloved Peter. I can go for hours without thinking of him, and then I step into a sunlit room, or catch a whiff of fresh lemons fresh from Calormen, and suddenly I find myself blinking back tears as the memories of him flood me.

My two most favourite memories of Peter are associated with sunbeams and lemons. The first is of the day we met – it was the tenth annual Beruna celebration, and all were celebrating at the water's edge. I was still a young woman then, only beginning to draw men's eyes. My father, the Lord Ruevin of Archenland, had given me permission to attend the celebration, and I and my cousin, the Lady Riel, were making the most of it. We were sitting on a bench at the edge of the crowd, drinking cups of fresh lemonade, when I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around to see the High King himself asking me to dance!

My second memory is of a day sixteen months later, when I was once again visiting the castle Cair Paravel. The King Peter and I had become quite close during my stay, and on the last day, he took me to a private courtyard filled with lemon trees. I remember marvelling over the trees, which I had never seen anywhere before in Narnia, and he told me that the dryads of the trees were ambassadors from one of the southern island countries. Then Peter brought me under the tallest of the trees and opened his hand o reveal an engagement ring. He proposed to me that day, there in the lemon-scented courtyard.

But now the hills are covered in snow and the lemon trees are gone, as is my Peter. I find myself often in that now-empty courtyard, standing in the place the great lemon tree once stood, and I cry. I cry for the days we stood together in this courtyard, Peter and I, and for the loneliness that comes when I feel his absence each day. Most of all, I cry for the day he left.

It was a hunting party, a merry hunting party with most of the nobles of the Cair, that left these castle walls in search of the White Stag. Most other times, I would have gone as well, but just that month I had learned I was with child – a son, we hoped. Peter bade me stay, catching my hand in his and holding it to his lips.

"Stay, my Larali," he told me, and I hear him still. "Stay, dear Larali, and take care of our child. I will return with the White Stag, and we shall feast this night!"

"Promise me you will return," I requested, just as I did if ever we were parted.

"Even if the sun were to sink into the sea and the world be cast in darkness," he said, "may Aslan guide me home to you."

Those were the last words we ever shared together, for when evening fell and the party returned, the kings and queens were gone.

It is hard for me to think back to those days, those days of desperate prayers and waking nightmares. The dryads worried I would lose the child with my fretting, but at the time I didn't care. All I wanted more than anything was to have my Peter back.

I would stay lying awake late into the night, murmuring heartfelt prayers to Aslan that my husband and his siblings would find their way home. The days I would spend on the battlements, my skirts twisting about my ankles, my hair blowing in the wind as I strained my eyes for any sign of the rulers. Search parties left each day, but there was no sign of the four, for not even the trees had found sign of them.

And then, on the seventh day, Aslan came.

It was at dawn when he came, appearing in the main courtyard as another search party prepared to leave. I was there when he arrived, and threw myself at his feet, begging him to find our royal majesties to guide them home.

"They are home," he answered gravely, and for one terrible moment, I believed him to mean that they were in Aslan's country, where all go once their life is finished, but then he continued, "They have gone back to the land from which they came. They need Narnia no longer, and Narnia no longer needs them. But they shall return someday."

Hey lay his paw upon the horn of Queen Susan, which I held in my hands, as the last link to my husband and his family.

"When this horn is blown, it has the power to call the four back into Narnia once more. But the time has not yet come, and will not for quite some time. I will take the horn with me, that it may rest in a place of safe keeping until needed again."

Then the lion bent his head down and breathed on me. "Take heart, dear one. Raise your son to be the king his father was before him, and teach him to rule Narnia as the Four did."

"Oh, but Aslan," I cried, "Shall I ever see Peter again?"

"You shall," he assured me gently.

I felt hope stirring in my breast. "When?"

"In time," he replied, before lifting his head to give a mighty roar. I shut my eyes to keep the tears from spilling, and when I opened them again, he was gone, and the horn with him.

Since that day, I have done as the great lion requested, have raised my son to be like his father once was. It is our son who rules Narnia now – King Peter II. I know the High King would be proud, were he here.

But throughout all my hardships and trials, I have not given up hope in Aslan. I believe him that I shall see my Peter one day again – it is this belief that has gotten me through these long years. But now as I lay in my bed, not knowing if I shall last the night, I wonder if the lion meant I would see Peter in Aslan's country. Indeed, I hope that is true, for the strength has left my body, and I am tired of waiting.

My Peter, if you hear me, know that I love you! Know that I have spent my entire life yearning for you, crying for you, loving you. I have raised your son to be the king you would have wanted. He has children of his own now- Arali and Admund. One day Edmund shall be kind, and his son after him, and your line shall descend throughout the ages, and shall be known forever in Narnia.

Dear Peter, I have not given up on Aslan's words, that you shall return to Narnia and I shall see you one day again. But I am tired, so I go to Aslan's country to wait for you there.

I know Aslan's promise was that I would see my Peter once again. Perhaps he meant this to happen in Aslan's country. If so, then Aslan, take me quickly to the country where time means nothing, that I may see my Peter again.

I close my eyes and pray to the lion, and in my min's eye I see him again – my Peter, the same as he always has been. Edmund and Lucy are with him, and my son and his wife and their children, and countless others. And we are together in the sunlight, with the smell of lemons in the air.

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