Author's note: Many thanks to Elecktrum for beta work!
Repentance
Peter never would have thought that a mere carving of Aslan could bring him to his knees in shame...
"Just one drop," the Witch crooned at him.
When he had bolted into the Stone Table cavern the first thing he had thought upon seeing Caspian with his hand outstretched to Jadis was ,'What on earth does he think he's doing?!'
He barely noticed his own desperate battle with the hag as he attempted to stop Caspian. How could he? After everything that had happened this horrible, bloody night, how could this Telmarine dare turn to the one enemy who nearly destroyed Narnia more throughly than Miraz ever could?
He swung his blade mightily into the hag and struck her with such force that she flew crushing into one of the boulders littering the cavern. He darted forward and caught a glimpse of Caspian's face. Realization shot through him then.
Caspian wasn't doing this willingly. The prince's eyes held only horror of what his body was doing, as if against his will. Peter's rage redirected itself to the fiend suspended in a wall of ice before him.
He barreled into Caspian, sending him flying out of the drawn circle that Peter hadn't before noticed.
"Get away from him!" he shouted at the Witch in defiant fury.
She pulled back a little, and spoke as if she were an aunt addressing her beloved nephew, "Peter, dear. I've missed you." His stomach churned at the sound of her sticky voice.
Too late then he realized that knocking Caspian out of the circle had brought him into her sphere of influence. Suddenly the sounds of battle around him dulled and the only thing he could hear was her voice. The only things he could see were her black eyes, unblinking, boring into his. She leaned forward, extending an all too-real hand.
"Come, just one drop," she crooned at him. "You know you can't do this alone."
Simple words that stabbed through him like a sword. All the pain and guilt from the night's disastrous raid flowed through him, and he felt the soul deep grief of betrayal. Not from Caspian's deviation from his plan. Peter knew that the prince had only done what he had out of shock, fury and pain. No, the betrayal that hurt the most was Aslan's. Ever since he had first sat at the Beaver's little table and heard the name of Aslan Peter had instinctively known that the Lion would help him whenever he needed it. During his reign, Aslan was a comforting presence, rarely physically there but still helping to ensure that no matter what mistakes or failures Peter had, everything would eventually turn out right. When he had come back to find his castle destroyed and his people slaughtered or in hiding the first thought was 'How could Aslan have let this happen?' He had felt such a gut-churning rage both for the invading Telmarines and the Lion who he knew could have stopped it all if he had so chosen. Ever since, he had been lashing out at everything in his path. If Aslan wouldn't help fix things, than he would!
Peter could only see the Witch in front of him, offering him the aid that he desperately wanted. Something deep inside him was still screaming a warning, but without volition his sword slowly lowered. Jadis smiled in triumph, then a sound of cracking ice rang through the chamber. The tip of a sword appeared through her belly and she convulsed. With a cry from the Witch, the ice wall shattered, and Peter instinctively ducked and covered his head to protect himself from the flying shrapnel. In the sudden silence he raised his head to see Edmund, standing in the space behind the pillars, sword outstretched. Peter blinked dazedly at his brother, who looked at him with a gaze so filled with disappointment that Peter nearly flinched.
"I know," Ed said in a tone that would have been termed sarcastic if it hadn't been so soul-weary. "You had it sorted..." Then with a slight stagger, he walked away to check on Lucy. Behind him the stone carving of Aslan was back lit by flames.
Peter never would have thought that a mere stone carving of Aslan could nearly bring him to his knees in shame. The carved face seemed grieved and the eyes shone with what Peter thought to be disappointment and sadness. Unable to meet the stone gaze, he turned to look at Caspian who had risen to his feet to stand beside him. Peter's look of disbelief and self-loathing was mirrored in the prince's face and the thought ran through both of their minds, "What did we nearly do?"
Peter was still in a daze as he helped clear the bodies from the sacred place. Susan wouldn't meet his eyes and Lucy seemed confused. Caspian slipped off somewhere and Edmund ushered Lucy and Susan away, leaving Peter alone in the chamber. He desperately wanted to leave as well, but instead turned and raised his eyes to the stone table and the lion carved into the wall behind it. All the horrible events of the last night came rushing in on him, complete with his own guilty part in them and he fell to his hands and knees in a corner and vomited. He was only bringing up bile, but each heave seemed like he was somehow purging himself of his pain and grief, and most importantly, his pride.
How could he have fallen so far? Once he had been Aslan's greatest champion, offering his life and freedom to any cause the Lion asked of him. The memory of burying his face in the Lion's mane and feeling the warm breath bathing him in strength was what caused the first pain-filled sob to come.
Memory flooded his mind of his time as High King. He had been anything but perfect, but he had always tried his best to act with honor. His actions since he had gone back to England through the wardrobe had been less than his best... His many schoolyard fights and bitter, brittle behavior ran through his head and another sob followed the first.
Narnia had always brought out the best in him before, but now it seemed to have brought out the worst. He dragged himself away from the pool of vomit, and slumped on the dirt floor to lean his head against the Stone Table. His mind automatically shied away from judging his behavior since entering Narnia again, but his own shame and the gaze of the Lion carved into the wall before him would not let him chose the coward's way. He felt sick again at the realization that his every action since arriving in Narnia had been steered toward himself. Whether by his rudeness to Trumpkin, or his dismissively putting aside Lucy's claims to have seen Aslan, his every word and decision had been geared to helping him feel more like the High King Peter again. Not a thought had passed through his mind that it might be more important for Narnia to be saved than for the High King to be back in all his glory.
Shame-filled tears slipped down his cheeks as he finally let go of all pride. How many good soldiers had died tonight for no more reason than his stubborn, willful pride? Susan's accusing words "Exactly who are you doing this for, Peter?" echoed through his mind and joined the lion's piercing eyes in driving swords through his soul. He had been trying to salvage what remained of his 'wonderful' plan and his stubbornness had cost lives. If he had simply called off the raid when he knew it had gone sour those soldiers would still be alive. He remembered the look on Glenstorm's wife's face as she saw that one of her sons had not returned. Peter dreaded seeing her and having to confess that her child had died for nothing. This hadn't been the first time that Peter's poor decisions had cost lives, but before it had been because of ignorance or a simple mistake. Never had he sacrificed others for the sake of his pride and it made him want to curl up and die of shame.
Faces drifted across his mind's eye of each of his troops that he had left behind to die. He didn't even know most of their names... Tears streamed down his face with greater speed as everything around him faded to nothing. The only thing he could feel was the blood on his hands and the fire lit eyes of Aslan gazing down on him.
"Forgive me," he sobbed, raising his eyes to the Lion's. "Please... I'm sorry, forgive me!" But the only reply was the crackling of the flames lighting the room. The stone stayed silent and absolution was withheld.
Near to despairing, Peter buried his face in his hands and for a few moments the only sound was that of his sobs and the broken whispers, pleading for forgiveness. All false pride had been washed away. Slowly the tears stopped and he pulled himself up from the floor to the steps of the Stone Table and he sat gazing at the carved Lion on the wall. He didn't feel the comfort that forgiveness bestowed but he was calm again at least.
He could hear soft steps come into the cavern and he knew without looking that it was Lucy. He almost expected her to berate him or at least look at him with accusing eyes. Aslan knew, he deserved it! But, she simply sat at his side, folded her hands in her lap and joined him in staring at the murals.
"You're lucky, you know," Peter said, sadly.
She looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"To have seen him," Peter replied, still heartsick. Aslan was still missing, and in a few moments he would have to leave the room and try to piece together the tattered remnants of the army. Doubt flooded his mind. If his previous decisions led to such disaster, how could he trust the choices he would make in the future?
Peter sighed. "I wish he'd just given me some sort of proof." Proof of what he wasn't sure. Proof that the Lion was coming, proof that his judgments wouldn't lead to disaster again... Lucy turned to him and he met her gaze.
"Maybe we're the ones who need to prove ourselves to him," she said, simply.
Lucy's wise words struck home. What right did he have to demand proof of Aslan's devotion, if he wasn't willing to prove his? Though still grieved and heartsick, he gave a small nod and the bent shoulders straightened. For the first time that night, he felt like he could meet the Lion's gaze. He had been foolish, prideful and arrogant, but that would change. Aslan would bring aid in his own time and in his own way, as always. In the meantime, Narnia's High King would do his part, standing as protector, ready to bleed and die in service to the Lion and Narnia. At this realization something inside him slid into place.
When Edmund hurried into the chamber saying, "Pete, you'd better come quickly," it wasn't Peter Pevensie who rose from the step to follow, but the High King in all his true glory.