It was raining heavily outside; lightning cut the sky and thunder roared. Big, heavy raindrops splattered against the window. Upon looking at it, Peter faintly remember a small fly once lay dead on that wooden windowsill on a day many years ago not much different than this night. The golden boy sat silently on the clapboard floor enveloped by complete darkness; the warm, flickering light from the small candle he held now long gone. The room was empty, bare, save for a wardrobe –the wardrobe- that lay covered by a long linen cloth and by a thin sheet of dust. For how long he had been sitting there he did not know, the ringing bells of the grand clock located a few rooms down the hallway but a faint sound in the background.
Taking a deep breath he dared to summon the memories he had kept confined in the back of his mind for so long; closing his honey, enticing eyes he dared to remember. Visions of another life slowly seeped through his mind like water trickling from a small river. Visions of rich woods and far-reaching valleys that seemed to spread out endlessly and tall mountains and a sky more blue that he had ever seen, of crystalline rivers and grand waterfalls and of the vast, beautiful eastern sea. Visions of wood nymphs and river nymphs and centaurs and dwarves and of fauns twisting and whirling around the fire at the dancing lawn, their hooves moving in synchronism in an untamed dance almost as old as that world. Visions of great wars and swords and armor glistening under the sun, of wounds and pain and blood and sacrifice, the wild clashing of weapons and the sounds of men and beast alike giving their lives for their lands flooded his ears. Visions of four golden thrones and beautiful crowns and of a gigantic, stupefying castle facing the eastern sea glistening under the setting sun, of balls and conferences and of the golden years of Narnia. Visions of a lion so wise and noble and good that once gave his life in exchange for his brother's, even if Edmund had betrayed Narnia and all its creatures in the worst way possible. Visions of the creator and true king of Narnia and of his deep, all-knowing, compassionate golden eyes. Visions of Aslan.
Peter let out a shaky breath he did not know he was holding and languidly opened his watery eyes –when did he start crying?- letting the sounds brought forth by his memories fade into darkness until all he heard was the rain and his own beating heart. Getting up he haltingly made his way towards the wardrobe, pulling the cloth away to reveal the intricate designs that carved its wooden door. Shakily, hesitantly, he ran his fingers over the creatures portrayed, beasts of all kind, remembering old friends and comrades that now lay in the past, dust gathering on his fingertips. Raising his gaze he laid his eyes upon the insculpted face of Aslan, blowing the granules away with the care an artist would have with his masterpiece. The wooden eyes stared at him and peter leaned his forehead against the figure, more tears flowing hotly unto his cold cheeks, his golden hair falling over his face.
He knew he could never return to Narnia, never lay his eyes upon the most beautiful place he had ever known and breathe in the fresh smell that rich soil held. He had thought it would be easy to go back, to live again in world he belonged to, yet his heart yearned for Narnia where he was not only Peter Pevensie who was but a schoolboy, but High King Peter, the Magnificent, Lord of Cair Paravel, Emperor of the Lone Islands, and Knight of the Most Noble Order by the Lion. He wanted to ride his beautiful achromatic horse through soft slopes and through the tall, green grass, feeling the wind blowing against his features as he playfully raced his brother and Oreious, his general. Wanted to go dancing with the fauns and drink Baccahus' strong, blood red wine, to feel as happy and free as he felt in that world. The dullness of this world suffocated him. There was no magic, no talking animals, no dancing stars, no Aslan.
Sliding down the length of the wardrobe he sat down again, his back leaning against the wooden door as he covered his face with his hands, weeping silently.
"Peter Pevensie" a voice softly reached his ears, so low he could barely hear, yet at once he sucked his breath and dared to hope, his heart beating wildly against his ribcage.
"Aslan?" he whispered, afraid it was only another dream. He slowly opened his eyes and found that standing before him, bigger and brighter then he remembered was Aslan, with his golden mane and soft paws and gentle gaze. Light seemed to seep from his mane, casting the room in an ochroid glow.
"My dear son" His voice was deep and bland. "Tell me your sorrows"
And the boy from Finchley did. And the mighty creature listened with incommensurable patience.
"Aslan, I feel so lost. I miss Narnia, I miss the creatures, I miss you. Please…"
"Do not cry, my child. Not all is lost. You were called into Narnia for a purpose. You have ruled with kindness and justice, and fulfilled your purpose in that world. You must now stay. In time you will come to learn to live, love and laugh again in this world. In order to learn what you need to carry out your mission in this world you had to presence all that you did while in that world. You, Peter Pevensie, have seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, battles and know what harm evil does to one's heart and mind. Trust your memories and thread carefully in this new path that now lies before you."
Peter looked down at his knees, not wanting to meet Aslan's eyes.
"How can I survive in a world without you?" he whispered, closing his eyes once again, feeling his heart break into countless pieces.
"But you have me. You shall always have me" the Lion answered, and tenderly placed his paw on the boy's chest, directly over his racing heart. "here." He finished, his voice but a breath of wind. The golden young man raised his honey eyes and met the golden gaze, fresh tears beginning to well in his orbs. "You shall always have Narnia within you."
"I'm not strong enough to do this alone, Aslan. I… I am so scared" he confessed
"Do not let fear take over your heart and make your forget. You were, and will always be a king of Narnia. Stories about you will be told until there are no more stars in the Narnian skies and the land becomes barren and eternal darkness falls over that world. Stories of your kindness and righteousness and bravery."
The lion stepped forwards and touched Peter's forehead with his nose. "Do not grieve, dear heart. For you have what many desire and few are given: a new beginning."
"Will I ever return?"
"That I cannot say, Son of Adam. But soon we shall meet again"
Joy immediately invaded the boy's heart, and hope flourished like a flower on a riverbank.
"How soon?"
"I call all times soon" came the answer, low and gentle. Then, Peter slowly hugged the Lion, tightly, not wanting to ever let go, and buried his features in the golden mane very much like his younger sister did many times before.
"I shall give you one parting gift" Aslan said, and breathed over the boy, who bathed in the unique, sweet, comforting warmth only he could give. "Be healed from your wounds, be released from the torments of your heart and mind, be strong in your weaknesses, and be brave in your fears. Take my courage, dear heart, and learn to live again."
The words seemed through Peter's very being, through each vein and into his blood, and etch themselves eternally unto his heart. He kissed the Lion's face tenderly, relishing in the feel of the soft fur. He remained like that for a long time, burning the moment into his memory. When Aslan pulled away he seemed even brighter, bigger, nobler. "Do not forget, my son. I will always be with you." And then, before the boy could answer the luminosity increased to the point where he had to shield his eyes and, suddenly, it was gone. Peter was once again alone in the empty, bare room. Yet it was not the same. The sweet, golden smell of Aslan's breath still hung in the air, and the colors seemed stronger. He smiled as strength, courage and peace flooded his heart until it almost burst and looked up, towards the carved face of the Lion on the wooden wardrobe. "Thank you" he whispered, and stood up, not as Peter Pevensie the schoolboy, but as High King Peter, The magnificent, and silently left the room, failing to notice that the candle he had brought was now lit and that its flame flickered tall and steady.