A/N: This is a long overdue story. Chronicles of Narnia is my most favorite stories. Each time I watch or read about Narnia feels like light seeps right into me. I love it so much. I want to write more of stories and shorts like this in the future. And maybe I will. Hopefully. I also had Kenny Holland and his sisters' cover of Oceans replaying as I wrote this. It's a beautiful cover. As beautiful and heartfelt as the original, acoustic version. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and let me know what you think.
DISCLAIMER: Chronicles of Narnia and its beloved characters are not mine.
SUMMARY: It was beyond humbling that it took this far to realize how far Peter had fallen. A small, much-needed one-shot of the aftermath of almost, nearly bringing Jadis back to life. Prince Caspian-verse.
When Peter and Caspian have realized what they would've wroth if the ice never shattered and three drops of Adam's blood spilled onto the pale, outstretched palm, shame and horror drained all color from their faces. Both Prince and High King gaped upon the form of King Edmund the Just, arms slowly lowering to his sides, sword glinting from the flames that surrounded them, his handsome face set in a scowl. Edmund's glare was piercing and poignant. Those deep brown, doe-like eyes conveying disappointment and anger pointed directly at his older brother. Peter had seen that look often in the past year since they've been back in England. It was a look from his wiser younger brother he'd been determinedly ignoring as he buried his grief in fist fights and spiteful words. But never has it made such an impact as it had now. The sight of it now made Peter's insides curdle in disgrace.
"I know," Edmund told Peter contemptuously, eyes hard like steel. "You had it sorted."
With those words, both men stood frozen, feeling Jadis' lingering malevolent presence grasping their hearts in ice. With one last look of disappointment, Edmund turned and walked away, leaving Peter and Caspian to focus on what lay behind him. The Great Lion's stone likeness looked on in judgment as his vassal of justice had done only moments before. Caspian and Peter glanced at each other, both filled with guilt, and awkwardly looked away, each going their separate ways to find solace for what happened. While Caspian went to find his dear childhood mentor, Peter wandered deeper into the catacombs, needing to be alone.
He held a torch on one hand, mindlessly venturing in the near darkness, his thoughts muddled and vexingly racing. Murals depicting their golden reign littered the catacomb walls. He traced his fingers on one that portrayed one of his many victories against the rogue giants of Ettinsmoor. His enemies' bodies littered all around him and his army, his likeness devoid of emotion, nothing to hint of the elation of victory and the horror from the devastation around him he'd felt in every battle he'd fought, no matter how many years he'd reigned and how many campaigns he'd led. The echo of the glory of battles he'd won rang weakly in his blood but it was a hollow feeling. Suddenly, he stepped away as if burned. Staring emptily at the mural, he gritted his teeth in disgust. No war he'd ever waged was done for glory or victory. No campaign he'd led was done for power. They were fought to protect Narnia. They were fought with the blessing of Aslan. Unlike the raid to Miraz's castle…
He turned away and continued down the winding, dimly lit catacomb.
Deeper into his path, he found himself stopping again and his trembling fingers reaching for the likenesses on the walls. But this one is different. It was more profound, more important than anything that ever happened in the Four's golden reign apart from Aslan's death and resurrection.
It depicted his baby brother shattering the White Witch's wand.
The same wand that is now in the Stone Table's tomb, where he almost, nearly brought her back to life. His fingers trembled from the rush of emotions that now overwhelmed him. Edmund had bravely charged toward her to destroy her symbol of power, the Narnian's had believed. But Peter knew, Edmund hurtled himself toward her to save him. He shattered her wand to stop her from getting to Peter. She stabbed him because he succeeded. Edmund almost, nearly died that day because of him.
No, you're not listening. Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch, Peter, Lucy had warned him, and he had forgotten.
He'd terribly forgotten. And he'd terribly lost faith. The torch slipped from his hand and he stumbled back to the wall, sliding to the floor where he landed with a thump. His palms found themselves deep into his scalp. It was beyond humbling that it took this far to realize how far Peter had fallen. Behind the schoolboy façade, he was a man. A man once hailed as a great king who reigned in an era of peace and prosperity alongside those he loved the most. Now, he was barely even a brother. He was that boy at the train station again, many, many years ago, with his mother telling him to look after his family. He didn't know what to do then and he didn't know what to do now. Everything he'd ever gained from Narnia, from the years of being king, from the years of being a brother, were all wiped away in a single act of lowering his sword at the words, you know you can't do it alone.
Jadis spoke the truth yet used it cruelly against Peter's vulnerable state of needing to prove something. Peter can't even remember what it was. But the Witch spoke the truth: he couldn't do it alone. He knew this long before he faced her, long before they'd come back to a different Narnia. He just didn't want to admit it.
He couldn't do it alone. But now, he was alone.
"We don't really have time for you to properly brood, you know."
A new light came toward him and he turned his head to see Edmund standing there, with an unreadable look on his face. It was his specialty, that unfathomable look. He'd mastered it quickly as the Just, Narnia's beloved hand of justice and mercy. Peter had always thought of it as the tipping scales of his brother's personal standard. One can never guess which he portrays: justice's advocate or the redeemed monarch of mercy. His fair brother and regnant, always listening, always watchful. The one who always understood.
Edmund sighed when Peter said nothing and continued to stare emptily at the mural on the opposite wall. He deposited the torch on one of the holding rings hammered to the wall and sat next to Peter. Silence descended on them for a while, just looking at the mural and thinking of nothing else.
Peter didn't know how much time has passed when Edmund spoke. "Peter, I understand."
"Understand what?" He asked. Knowing Edmund, Peter would not surprise if his brother could deduce every thought that had passed through his head since the incident. Edmund was clever and empathic like that.
"What it felt like, when she said those words," Edmund answered. Peter shut his eyes, trying to conceal the shiver that went through him, an ache gripping his chest tight.
"I never told you, what Aslan told me that day when they rescued me from the Witch."
Peter's eyes opened to look at his brother. Edmund has little secrets from Peter that he can probably count on one hand the events in his brother's life that Edmund hasn't shared with him, and that conversation with Aslan was one of them. "Aslan said what's done is done. There's no need to tell me, Ed."
Edmund sighed. "Just listen, you great lummox." Peter nodded, letting the teasing insult pass.
His little brother continued when Peter didn't say anything else. "Up to this day, the memory of that moment has never dulled. Each time I recall it, it's still vivid as if it happened just yesterday." He nearly whispered that Peter had to look at Edmund's lips to ensure he heard the words correctly. "Aslan waited for me atop those rocks we stood on. I was terrified and in pain from the ordeal that there wasn't much time to dwell on my fears when He called me to come forward. After welcoming me, I began to apologize for my stupidity. That I was stupid to believe her, to trust her words. That I was stupid to forsake my family for sweeties."
Edmund had nearly spat the last word in contempt. Peter held his breath and exhaled slowly, knowing that particular word had always disturbed his younger brother. But the hard glint in Edmund's eyes faded away to love and sorrow that it made Peter inch closer to him, knowing that whatever his brother will say next is what Aslan had given Edmund to become who the man and brother he was today.
"After I was done, He breathed on me and I have never felt so relieved, like a great weight was lifted from my shoulders. If not for that day, I'd have never known I carried so much burden with me." Edmund said, smiling faintly, eyes a little glazed, shoulders relaxing as if he was reliving the memory. "I looked up in surprise, feeling freer than when they undid the bounds on my wrists, and He told me that the beginning of wisdom is to seek out wisdom. And that, though it may cost me everything I have, I must understand."
Edmund turned to Peter, eyes bright and shining. "And I did understand. It took a lot of brooding but I did. When I saw the wisdom in my mistakes, I understood."
"Understood what?" Peter asked almost desperately, wanting to understand, too. Edmund smiled at him.
"That we are not alone, Pete." Edmund told him with a light shrug. "That whether in this world or the next, Aslan will always be with us. Even if it will cost us everything we have, He is with us. He is all we'll ever really need." Edmund turned back to the mural. "Back then, I was a frightened child who had his life upturned and his family separated by war, and instead of turning to those who loved me—to have faith—I turned my back on you and the girls. I thought you didn't like me, that you thought I was weak. I felt I was alone. And Jadis, she preyed on my fears and my weaknesses. She baited me with what I thought I needed: to have power and force my siblings to love me. But I understood that wasn't the case at all."
Edmund turned to Peter again, his wise eyes penetrating his older brother's wide blue ones. "You, and Susan, and Lucy. You're my family. You're all I'll really need. And I may have lost my crown, my kingdom, my authority—everything—when we came back to our world, I held on to the one constant I had all my life; the one thing I'll always have: the love of my family. And even if I lost sight of that in my darkest moments, I held on to Aslan. To grasp both, I can never feel lonely again."
Peter looked in astonishment at his wiser, younger brother, wonder and awe swirling in his eyes. Edmund smiled at him one more time before pushing himself against the wall and pulling himself upright. He dusted his trousers and held a hand to Peter, his strong, older brother still looking at him like he'd given him the grandest revelation. Edmund nearly chuckled but he held his loving expression toward his brother firm. Peter was never alone for Edmund belonged right where he's always been since they've reunited in Aslan's camp a thousand Narnian years ago: by his side.
It took a few moments until Peter grasped his outstretched hand and he was hoisted up and held steady by his baby brother's hands, unwittingly saving Peter again from something of his own making yet may be just as terrible as Jadis.
"Come on, you've already brooded enough. There's a war going on out there and we need to figure out how we'll win against these staggeringly overwhelming odds." Edmund turned to leave but was stopped by Peter.
"Ed, I'm sorry for—"
Edmund cut him off. "Peter, I understand. And I forgive you."
Peter exhaled. "Just like that?"
Edmund rolled his eyes. "What's done is done. There's no need to speak of what is past."
This time, it was Peter who rolled his eyes. "The Just King outwits me yet again."
Edmund smirked. "You should've played more chess."
Peter grimaced, biting back a smile. "You would have trampled me every time. Your head would've grown too big for your crown."
Edmund chuckled good-naturedly, his steps quicker and—dare Peter say it—chipper than when he'd come to find his sulking older brother. "Now, come on, you great lummox, I want to shatter Jadis' wand again."
Peter laughed and felt lighter than he had in the past year, a weight seemingly lifted from his shoulders by a breeze seemingly out of nowhere in these winding catacombs, finally beginning to understand.
"The beginning of wisdom is this: Get wisdom. Though it cost all you have, get understanding."
— Proverbs 4:7