My second venture into the Narnia fandom!
I really like this. I wrote it over the course of a day at school. It's a brotherfic, and is also unbeta'ed. Had a bit of a miscommunication with my beta reader, so I apologize for any spelling errors. Most of the grammar errors are deliberate and part of the style I was gong for though.
Hope you enjoy!
Shifting images, swirling behind eyes closed in peaceful oblivion. Colours, flashing, changing, in a constant kaleidoscope of hues. Shapes, vague and shadowy, begin to solidify into sharper, clearer edges. The colours stop spinning and remain stationary, forever locked in a single shade; crimson, cerulean, lavender, emerald… Sounds become clear now, as does smell, as the blurred shapes continue to sharpen, soft edges and fuzzy lines becoming harder, smoother, more defined, forming almost recognisable forms. Explosions brighten the night (because it is night) with brief flashes of whiteyelloworange light, so loud that they seem to make no noise at all. Smoke, dust, gunpowder, charred wood and the disturbing scent of burning flesh assault the olfactory sense, creating a unique smell that seems to embody destruction and terror. The sounds though… the sounds are the worst part. Screams are predominant- the screaming of sirens, of people; agony, terror, desperation, pain and hysteria blending together in some perverse sort of harmony. People yelling for water, for help, for shelter, for a loved one, weave in with the shrieking, a countermelody within this symphony of misery and pain. The roar of the fires and of the airplanes engines underlies the chaos, consistent in their heart stopping terror for those who know what is happening, for those who know what is to come, blending in a horrifyingly beautiful way with the resonating shockwaves and random staccato of the bombs.
A woman is beckoning, her nightgown a shock of life in the hellish night. The green fabric blows in the breeze, along with her hair, flowing and black. A young girl is held in her arms, wearing lavender; together, their dresses look like a flower, a lilac. The girl next to them (had she always been there?) is yelling, waving her arms wildly towards him (as he now realises, he is in fact, a person. How had he gotten here?) using her anger to mask the panic and terror she is really feeling, cerulean eyes, bright and alive like the summer sky, showing every emotion, eerily glowing in the flickering light of the flames.
The women continue to wave, and he realises that they are calling for him. A name (his, perhaps?) escapes the eldest's lips, her chocolate brown eyes widening in a sort of horror as her gaze locks on something above his head, slightly to the left. He lifts his eyes to the same place that she is looking, and sees a piece of what used to be some sort of building, on the brink of parting company with the rest of the charred skeleton of the edifice and crashing down upon him.
The reason why this worries him is baffling for a moment, until he lowers his gaze again, lower than before, to notice a body—relatively small, pale skin, wearing cream coloured pyjamas stained in soot—standing there. Shifting experimentally, he realises that this body is his own. In that moment, everything clicks together, and cold, paralyzing fear begins to gnaw away at his insides.
He is going to die.
Cease to exist. Leave this world. Pass on.
Die.
He hears an ominous CRACK! above him, and prepares for the worst.
A pair of warm arms close around his waist, and then he is on the ground, a somewhat crushing, but not entirely uncomfortable, weight resting protectively over top of him.
The body atop of his moves away, and he is looking into stormy blue-grey eyes that are so very familiar, yet not, because these eyes are colder than the ones he thinks he remembers, though he believes that this coldness might just be a façade.
The boy who saved his life stands, looming over him, looking almost angelic with the flames behind him, highlighting his golden hair, forming a sort of halo around his head. The only flaw in this image is the streak of crimson across the boy's forehead; blood.
The boy begins to yell at him, about how much of an idiot he is, but most of the words are lost, because another voice (the same voice?) is speaking to him as well, panicked in its calm, and warm, large hands are gripping his shoulders.
His eyes flutter open, his dream landscape freezing and fading as he focuses on the real world once again. In a bizarre sense of déja-vu, he finds himself staring into stormy blue-grey eyes, warmer than those in his dream, slight fear and anxiety mixing in the unfathomable depths.
And his dream, his vision of something he could swear he had seen before if only he could grasp the memory, is slipping, slipping away like sand between his fingers, no matter how hard he tries to hold on to it.
o0O0o
"Ed! Edmund! Wake up! You're only dreaming, it's just a nightmare. Hey! Ed!"
"Nngh… Pete?"
"I'm here, Ed."
"Where… where am I?"
"You're in the Healer's Ward. Your fever's only just broken."
"At the Cair?"
"Yes, at the Cair. Where else would we be?"
"Nowhere, I suppose. It's just… I had this dream…"
"Ah, yes, you were thrashing around and muttering. It gave me quite a scare."
"I'm sorry, Peter."
"Hey, none of that now. It wasn't your fault, Ed, it never is. Just out of curiosity, what were you dreaming about?"
"…"
"Well?"
"…I don't… remember…"
"Don't lie to me, Edmund Randall Pevensie. What was your dream about? Was it Beruna? The Lone Islands sea battle? Your time with Her?"
"No, no. It was… I don't know! There was a lot of bright light. And fire. People were screaming, and there were loud noises everywhere. You were there, Su and Lu too, but you were a lot younger. There was another woman… I felt like I knew her, but I can't remember her face, or where I may have met her."
"The queen of Archenland, perhaps? We met her only recently…"
"No, I don't think so. I… She seemed so familiar. Almost like a faded memory that I can't quite grasp."
"Hmm… Maybe she's from Before."
"Before Narnia? That's certainly a possibility. I only wish I could remember…"
"Why? If you've forgotten her, she mustn't've been all that special to you."
"Maybe you're right, Peter. But I just… I have this feeling that she's really important, somehow…"
"…"
"…"
"…You should get some more rest. You're still very weak."
"Alright."
"…"
"…"
"…"
"Stay with me?"
"Always, Ed."
"Good-night, Peter."
"Good-night, Edmund."
o0O0o
Eyes close, consciousness fades to be replaced by the swirling images.
And the dream begins again.
I've never written anything like this before, so any feedback is appreciated, and constuctive criticism is always accepted and usual heeded. Please, tell me what you think! In other words, review!
Until next time, lovely readers!
~JM~