Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia, C.S. Lewis does, you know the deal...
Notes: Message me before using any of my characters, yadity-ya-dee-yah, ya'know, the usual. Takes place one day before the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, with flashbacks in 1938. Kindly read and review!
*I'm sorry if it gets confusing, but the stuff in the italics is flashback, and when you get to the children's thoughts within Peter's memory, those are *not* italics. This is historically accurate: WWII was not happening in 1938 and Easter was on April 17 in 1938.
.: Faith of London :.
Peter picked up a broken picture frame. He could hear Mrs. Pevensie on the phone in the other room.
"There are four of them. No, they need to be together. Yes, we're in London. The raids just don't stop coming. Nearly all of our things are ruined. Shards of glass and china are everywhere. I don't want Edmund - yes, that's the young boy - getting into trouble and hurting himself."
He looked closer. A tiny Lucy was tugging on the hem of Susan's dress. He had Edmund in a playful headlock - not the harsh kind Edmund needed now - while Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie stood beaming, watching their crazy children. Baby Eustace was sucking on his binky while an exasperated Aunt Alberta chased after him. Uncle Harold was chuckling at the chaos. Peter could almost remember the day...
"Mummy, can you button my dress?"
Lucy burst into her mother's room. Mrs. Pevensie sat Lucy in a chair, stroking her hair. "Of course, darling." She buttoned Lucy's flowery spring dress and followed the little girl through the doorway.
"Susan, get your nose out of that book and help out," said Mrs. Pevensie. "Lucy, dearest, where are your shoes?" Lucy held out a leg to show the polished shoes already on her feet. "Peter, Edmund!" Peter poked his head out of another room. "Let's go, boys." Peter's body followed, clothed in his best shirt and pants.
"Mum, Peter made my tie too tight!" Edmund was too busy examining the tie to notice Peter had stopped. He collided into Peter's backside.
"Watch it!" warned Peter.
"Isn't father coming?" asked Susan, her face still covered by a book. She turned a page. Mrs. Pevensie snatched the book out of Susan's hands.
"Father is busy." Mrs. Pevensie ushered the children outside into the busy streets. "Stay with me, now." She held tightly onto Lucy's hand, and kept a watchful eye on Edmund, who was wandering near muddy puddles.
"Guess what, Peter!" exclaimed Lucy, "Only three days and one week until I turn six!" Peter opened his mouth to reply, but Lucy interrupted, "Or maybe it was one day and three weeks?"
"Three days, one week," clarified Susan. Peter shot her a questioning glance. Susan just shrugged. "It's all she's been talking about."
"Quiet now. Remember, Church is a place to be Holy, especially on Easter Sunday."
"Oh, I just can't wait, there'll be turkey and ham and cake and tea later!" babbled Lucy. Mrs. Pevensie pressed a finger to her lips. Lucy pretended to zipper her lips. Mrs. Pevensie led her children into the church, genuflected in front of the altar, and sat down in one of the pews. She made sure Susan was placed between the two boys, and that Lucy was farthest from Edmund. As Mass went on, each of the children's thoughts wandered.
Lucy's mind flip-flopped between food and her birthday. I do hope daddy can come tonight! He always brings me presents. Maybe he'll even play hide and seek with me! Peter keeps saying it's a game for kids, but he isn't that much older than a kid, either. He's only eleven. I'm turning six soon. That's older, right? Daddy says that Peter is growing up, and I mustn't bother him. Where is daddy? Will he be coming tonight? I can't wait to finally meet Aunt Alberta. Mummy says she's coming this year and the reason she didn't come before was the trip from Cambridge to London was hard. Mummy also says Aunt Alberta makes good cake!
Edmund was kicking his legs back and forth. Mrs. Pevensie placed a hand on his knee. This is so boring, mum! What else am I supposed to do? He stopped the swinging. I bet half of this stuff is just some story made up by an old man on one of those dreadful rainy days. At any rate, it isn't a very good story. If we don't get out of here soon, I'll surely fall asleep!
Susan kept busy by surveying her surroundings. She squinted against the colorful light that bled through the stained glass windows. It seemed especially strong on the crucifix. Susan's eyes lingered on Jesus. I don't get it. How is that possible? It simply isn't logical. He couldn't have come back from the dead. Once you die you begin to decompose, so logically...
Peter leaned over Susan. "Did you hear that? I'm in the Bible!" I wonder what life was like back then. There were battles to be fought and adventures to go on! All we have in London is the same old games, the same old houses to explore, the same old friends every day. No fun, no excitement. England isn't even fighting in any wars, so we can't play fight. George says if we're going to pretend, we might as well be realistic. Someday, I want to join the army. I'll get to fly planes and such.
"The Mass is ended, go in peace to love and serve the Lord."
Mrs. Pevensie stood chatting to an old friend. Lucy tugged on her hand. "I'm sorry, Francine, I need to go. I hope to see you soon." Peter and Edmund were already outside of the Church, standing on the curb.
"Peter, do you believe it?" Edmund's cheeks grew red, afraid his older brother would punish his curiosity. Instead, Peter pressed his lips together in worry.
"I'm not sure, Ed. Mum raised us to believe it, but..." His voice trailed off. "It's obvious, I think. Ever since father started working, mum has been taking us here less and less. I'd expect to not be coming here at all in less than two years. In fact, I think she'll forget about Jesus and all this by then."
"Maybe we won't have to go to boarding school, then!" Edmund was so occupied by the thought that he stepped in mud. It smeared over his black dress shoes.
Peter smirked. "Mum's going to have it with you!" Edmund held his head low. "Don't worry, I'll help you clean it when we get home. Mum said something about not bringing enough pounds for brunch, so I expect we'll be stopping by."
"Edmund, Peter, there you are!" Susan came jogging over. Her hair was curled slightly. A strand fell over her eyes, which she quickly tucked behind her ear. It would be another few years before she truly began to worry about her appearance, but Susan still wanted to be adorable. Now that Lucy's around, nobody recognizes me as the beautiful girl anymore. Little did she know that Lucy would eventually feel that Susan was the beautiful one, not Lucy.
Mrs. Pevensie was close behind, still with a tight grip on Lucy. "Come along, dears, we don't want to be late!"
"So much has changed," mumbled Peter. He tucked the photo into his pocket and placed the frame in the trash. "Ed! Get down from there!" Edmund was climbing the window of their London apartment, trying to see if any buildings had been flattened. Edmund huffed an exaggerated sigh yet clamored down and left the room in search of other mischief - which Peter was sure Edmund would have no trouble finding, for Lucy was shedding a few terrified tears in the corner and Edmund had recently taken to teasing her nonstop.
Later that night, Mrs. Pevensie tapped her foot. "Yes, I already told you earlier. The children need to stay together. Are you sure there isn't anywhere?" Peter tucked Lucy into bed with the hopes she would fall asleep and tune out their mother. He turned out the light and was shutting the door when he heard Lucy's fragile voice.
"Peter?"
"Yes, Lu?"
"Is mummy going to send us away?" Peter walked back inside the room and sat on the corner of Lucy's bed.
"I don't know, Lucy." He shook his head sorrowfully. "I really don't know."
Susan turned on the light and without looking up from the book she was reading, said, "Yes, Lucy."
He glared at her, mouthing the words, "She's scared, don't say that!" Susan didn't see; she was lost in the black letters scattered on a white page.
"Why?" asked Lucy, turning back to Peter.
"I don't know. Get some sleep." Peter placed a light kiss on the top of Lucy's head and left the room, hoping Susan had enough sense to keep her mouth shut. He sat down cross-legged on a clear space of wooden floor and could still hear Mrs. Pevensie on the phone - had she been on it all day?
"Where in the country, exactly?" asked Mrs. Pevensie. "Edmund! Why are you still awake?" She waved her hands and Edmund went back into his room. "Sorry about that. I'm afraid I don't know where that is. Oh I see. Yes, yes. Mmhmm. With a professor? That would be splendid. When exactly?"
Peter walked into the kitchen to get a glass of warm milk. Sleep was alluding him, and no steamy beverage would be able to help, so he changed his mind and sat down at the table, hanging his head in his hands. Mrs. Pevensie must have saw him from the corner of her eye, because she pressed the phone against her chest to mute it.
"Peter, dear?" He lifted his head to face her. "Everything alright?" He nodded, but did not move, continuing to listen in on the conversation as Mrs. Pevensie apologized to whoever was on the line. "Tomorrow? I suppose I could do that. I don't know how the children would feel. What's that? Oh, yes, well, wars don't last forever."
Peter leaned back against the chair and pulled the photo out of his pocket. He examined himself. George and I used to have so much fun. We always wanted there to be war. Now all I want is for it to go away. His eyes shifted from one sibling to another. Lucy was so little back then. She's grown a lot in two years. She was so young, so innocent. What is the war doing to her? He looked at Susan. I remember when she didn't care what anyone thought. I swear that I heard at least five different boy names today. Peter grimaced at a smaller, weaker Edmund. I could have beat him in a moment. But now, I'd have a bloody nose. Why does he always fight? We used to be friends. Now, he's a bully and I'm his favorite victim.
At last, Peter went into his own bed, figuring that if he couldn't sleep, he could at least pretend to. Over at the far side of the room, Edmund tossed around in his sheets and eventually, he threw them off with a violent kick. Peter tore his eyes from Edmund, forcing himself not to wonder what had caused his brother's discomfort. No, he would worry about any problems tomorrow. He unhappily stared into the darkness.
Tomorrow.
Maybe it'll be okay. Maybe Edmund and you will get along.
"Hmph, yeah right. Mum can't tell me what to do wherever we go," said Edmund. Had Peter said his thoughts aloud?
"Go to bed," said Peter.
"Yes, mum!" Edmund rolled over.
Peter allowed his eyelids to flutter closed as he drifted into a deep sleep.
"Your brother... isn't... he's..." Mrs. Pevensie choked in between sobs. Peter saw an older Susan, Lucy, and Edmund standing around their weeping mother. Peter tried to speak, to ask what had happened, but he couldn't.
"Peter's... dead?" asked Edmund. Peter wanted to reach out, tell his younger brother that it was okay, that he was standing right beside him. "I told him he shouldn't have gone to war." Edmund closed his mouth as another young man walked in.
"George, you're here," said Susan. They hugged. He took a seat next to Mrs. Pevensie.
"If it's not a bad time..." Mrs. Pevensie motioned for him to continue. "We were kids. I think it's my fault, really. We played too many war games. If we hadn't made it more wonderful than fighting actually is, maybe he wouldn't have gone."
"It isn't your fault," said Lucy.
"You're right, Lu, it's no one's fault." Edmund stormed out the door. The scenery didn't change, but Peter felt it he was yet again in a different place.
"Ed did what? First Peter, now him, too?" Lucy was in hysterics.
"Mum, why didn't you stop Edmund?" asked Susan.
"Susan, he was eighteen. It was legal. I tried talking to the general but he wouldn't allow it."
"What did he say, now?" asked George, trying to remember something. "Oh, yes. 'Your son will come home, just hope it isn't in a pine box.' But it was."
"ED!" screamed Peter. He bolted up, drenched in sweat. Edmund was standing at Peter's bedpost, rubbing his eyes. For a second, Peter swore he saw that older, caring Edmund, but the image flashed away.
"Shut up, I'm trying to sleep."
Peter fell back onto his pillow, though he couldn't sleep. What if... He shook his head. Never would he join the army. Never would he let Edmund do something so foolish. Never would he let his brother die. He allowed his eyelids to droop some. It wasn't long before he was yet again asleep, living another vivid nightmare.
An image of Edmund covered in blood, mouth gasping for air, circular wound in his stomach - not a bullet wound, something else. Peter forced himself out of the dream as soon as it came and thought to himself, you really ought to stop reading those fantasy novels, they're getting crazy thoughts into your heads. People don't use swords in battles now, so that could never happen to Edmund.
Even at least an hour after the two dreams, Peter was petrified and did not want to fall asleep again. Instead, he got out of bed and knelt on the wooden floor, and started to do something he hadn't done in the longest time.
Pray.
"God, please give me the strength to help Edmund. I want to always protect him," he whispered, the sound of the words barely passing over his lips.
Peter stood up on shaky legs. What was he doing? You and Edmund already discussed this. You really don't believe that, do you?
"My dear son," said a deep voice. Peter whipped around. Edmund had fallen asleep. Surely it was not father speaking, father was not home. It's your imagination, again. Peter was able to half-convince himself when he heard a Lion's roar, thinking that an ordinary lion could not possibly be talking, but it did feel as if there was a presence in the room. He swung his legs over the bed and onto the cold floor to go find his mother. He found her sitting in the kitchen.
"Mum?"
"What, Peter?" Peter cringed at her rough, snappy tone. "I'm sorry, it's been a long day. Bad dreams, sweetheart?"
"Yes. I'm worried about Edmund."
"You don't seem to show it. All you two do is bicker."
"Mum," complained Peter. He placed his elbows on the counter top, but Mrs. Pevensie did not scold Peter for his bad manners, a sign she was truly tired.
"Peter, you and Edmund will be fine. Everything always works out in the end. If it hasn't worked out..." Mrs. Pevensie stole a glance outside at the ruined city of London. "Then it isn't the end."
~END~