A/N: I wasn't intending to write more of these; but the chapter before made a difference during some dark days for a few friends, and I wanted to see if I could write more that would make a difference. Hence, this chapter and the next.
Also, some of these lines are taken directly from The Silver Chair. The character, pessimism, and humor of Puddleglum belong to whomever is charged with the fearful responsibility of owning Narnia now, and I'm only borrowing them to amuse myself. Because Puddleglum, at the least, is amusing. Roonwit may be harder.
OOOOOOO
The cost will be higher, I shouldn't wonder.
It wasn't that high. A burned foot, a few bruises. There'll be food poisoning from the giants, I shouldn't wonder. Shouldn't have eaten the stag; shouldn't have forgotten the signs. Should have stopped the children when I saw the ruined city. I didn't, more's the pity. But I must make the best of it.
Now I'm back. I'm a hero, they say at the castle. But I won't get a swelled head. The other wiggles, they help keep me sensible. "Puddleglum," they say, "you mustn't think all of life will be as exciting as your one-time adventure. You've got to settle down again. Be a sober, respectable Marshwiggle again. We're only saying it for your own good, Puddleglum."
But I'll end up wandering off again, I shouldn't wonder. Looking for a door to Spare Oom in the Lantern Waste. What would I do when I get there, you ask? Find Jill and Eustace, of course. See a little of their world. See if it settles me down a bit, makes me happy to be in Narnia. Going away would make me happy to be home, I shouldn't wonder. I'd miss my wigwam if I hadn't got it with me. Maybe I'll try a boat. It'd be swamped in the first storm it sailed in, I shouldn't wonder. Crew dead, washed ashore, or never heard from again, and no one wiser. Ah, but we'd be in Aslan's country then. That might feel like home.
No, the cost of that adventure wasn't high when I went on it. Nor at the end. Till Eustace and Jill left. And it's been five years, and Rilian hasn't died, more's the wonder. But there's time yet. He comes down, now and then, and splashes through the channels to come sit on the bank. He'll slip one day and break his neck, I shouldn't wonder; and how could I be a hero then? Accused of the king's murder, cast out of the only home I have left, I'd probably be eaten by dragons before the day was out. But that's life. And winter's coming.
Cold mornings make cold channels, they say, and cold channels make me remember cold nights up north. Jill and Eustace rolled in blankets, poor cold things. They didn't sleep well, I should think. Dark nights I sit and think, and remember Harfang, and the Underworld, and the hole we came out of. It'll collapse one day, I'd venture, and take Narnia down with it. But we'll make the best of it. There might be enough of us to dig back out and see the sun again. Not me, I shouldn't wonder; eels don't bite twice.
I wonder if that's the cost; knowing the dark things that are out there. Waiting for them to happen; waiting for home to vanish once again. I shouldn't wonder if it did. Journeys are spent at the cost of home, but what does home cost? If we have a home, we must expect to lose it.
Ah, but there's one home beyond that. Aslan's country. Once I get there, I shouldn't think I'd wonder about leaving.
I shouldn't wonder if I'd see Eustace and Jill again. Be home again.