In what proved to be (though naturally he did not know it yet) the spring of the final year of his reign, King Peter received a nocturnal visitor.
It was not usual for the High King to suffer from insomnia. Usually, by the end of the day, he was so exhausted from his duties that he fell asleep the moment his head landed on his pillow, much to the annoyance of his sister Queen Susan, who usually tossed and turned for an hour before falling asleep, and could not understand how all her siblings could enter slumber so easily.
This night, however, Peter could not sleep at all. He had a cold in his head, for one thing, and it is very difficult to sleep when one can't breathe through one's nose. For another, he had spent a great deal of time that day going over accounts with Mrs. Underhill, and every time he closed his eyes he still saw numbers dancing before him. It was a particularly jaunty dance, at that. Peter was quite certain they were capering to an Archenlandish tune, one that always got stuck in his head every time he visited the southern kingdom, and wouldn't leave him for weeks.
In other words, the High King was less than his usual charming self as he finally abandoned his bed and began pacing the corridors.
His peregrinations led him at last to the Cair's outer walls. He walked along, nodding a curt greeting to the guards on duty, who wisely did not greet their unusually grumpy king. He found himself, after a few brisk rounds, feeling marginally better, though not sleepy in the slightest.
He paused his frenetic exercise at the east wall, picking a shadowed spot between guard posts, where he could lean against the crenellations and not be seen. He breathed in the fresh salt air, revelling in its tang. Though he had lived by the sea for many years, its scent never grew old to him, always filling him with wonder and joy. Lucy felt the same; she said she never felt so free anywhere else. Edmund said that after a while he stopped noticing it, but he missed it whenever he travelled elsewhere in Narnia or beyond. Susan simply said it smelled and felt like home.
Peace was just starting to settle into Peter's soul when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a shape detach itself from the shadows along the wall and move toward him.
Not for nothing was the High King the most renowned fighter in the land. Though Rhindon was left in his chambers, he moved with eye-blurring speed to intercept the intruder. His dagger whipped out of its sheath, and his other hand snatched at the strange being's neck. Before the guards even knew something was wrong, King Peter had the stranger pinned up against the rough stones of the wall, dagger at his throat.
"Identify yourself," the king growled.
"With pleasure … once you let me … breathe," came the choked reply.
Peter eased off his hold just slightly, though not enough to let even an eel wiggle away. The Narnians may have considered this a Golden Age, but even so there were dangers to be found. Narnia was not a tame land.
It was one of the reasons Peter loved it so.
"My name is Robin Goodfellow, servant to the Great Lion, Aslan himself, and his messenger."
The moon obligingly came out behind the clouds just then, and Peter was able to look at the fellow's face. It matched Edmund's description from a few years back, to be sure: the curly hair; the horns; the youthful features; the golden eyes; even the mischievous expression (despite having a dagger held to his neck).
"My brother spoke to me of you," Peter said.
"Yes, I have had the pleasure of meeting King Edmund. He was at least as suspicious as you are, though not quite so quick to act."
Peter sheathed the dagger almost as swiftly as he had drawn it and gently set Robin on the floor. He offered his hand to shake. "Yes, my brother is far more apt to think before he acts."
"Whereas you act and think at the same time?" Robin grinned as he shook the king's hand in a very businesslike manner.
Peter smiled ruefully. "My sisters often claim I do not think at all."
Robin laughed. "I have had the same charge levelled at me from time to time, if you can believe it."
"I almost think I can," Peter said.
"Certainly sneaking up on the High King of Narnia in the middle of the night was not the brightest of my plans," Robin acknowledged. "But really, what is one to do? Do you realise, Sire, that you are never alone during the day?"
"I do," Peter said fervently.
"I had thought about approaching you while you were in the bath, but that didn't seem quite proper," Robin said. His prim tone stood in direct contrast to the merry look in his eyes.
"Ah well, all's well that ends well," Peter said easily. A troubled look entered his eyes, and his hand reached up to stroke his beard. "Where have I heard that before?"
Robin shrugged, but his movements were wary, a creature of the wild uncomfortable in civilisation.
"Robin Goodfellow … Puck?"
"The Queen Lucy called me that," Robin said, speaking quickly. "It is a name—I think affectionate—by which some know me."
"That must be where I know it from," Peter said. That far-away look was still on his face, however. He was struggling to remember, to piece together those faint images and phrases that came to him at odd times. They had become fewer and fainter over the years, but every now and then they still came to trouble him.
"Well," he said, shaking the mood off. "You say you are Aslan's messenger. Have you, then, a message for me? Are you here to tell me why Aslan has forbidden us to travel beyond Narnia to the west?" The taste of adventure was in the High King's soul. Though it had never once crossed his mind to disobey Aslan's edict, he had found himself wondering many times over the years just what was beyond the Lantern Waste, why Aslan had forbidden them to explore it, and when the the Lion would lift the restriction.
Robin's breathing settled back down into a steady rhythm. "As I told your brother when I met him, several years ago, you have had enough to do in Narnia itself. There are lands—unfriendly lands—that are better off not knowing of Narnia and her happy inhabitants. There are also places in the west Aslan does not want you see yet."
"Yet? Then we will be able to see them sometime?" The light of adventure burned yet brighter in King Peter's eye, and all mention of unfriendly lands had flown by him.
"There is nothing that will remain hidden forever," Robin said obscurely. "Someday—perhaps after Time—you will see it all."
"You mean in time," Peter corrected.
"I mean what I say," Robin said proudly. "Always. But all this is not why I am here."
Peter leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. Something told him he wasn't going to like what Robin was going to say. His brow lowered. "Speak, servant of Aslan."
"The Lion bids me tell you that your time in Narnia is nearly at an end."
Peter felt as though he had just received a vicious blow to the stomach. He gasped for air. "What?"
"The Lion bids me tell you that your time in Narnia is nearly at an end," Robin repeated, with exactly the same emphasis and tone.
Peter found his legs were no longer capable of holding him up. He slid gracefully down the stones until he was seated on the floor. Robin promptly say down cross-legged across from him.
"I am to die, then."
"No!" Robin looked surprised. "Did I say so? I am quite certain I did not say that!"
"What do you mean, then?" Peter looked and sounded quite cross, as one is apt to do when one has suffered an unpleasant shock, especially in the middle of a sleepless night, when one has much to do the next day (and the day after, and the day after that, and so forth).
Robin brought his hands together. "Look." He spread them wide, and a faint picture appeared between them, shimmering eerily in the moonlight. Peter leaned forward, fascination overcoming horror, and watched the moving, flickering image. As he did, memories that had only lived in his least-remembered dreams flooded back to him in full force.
After a few moments, he leaned back again grimly. "So. We are to return to That Place."
"You are." Robin looked sympathetic. "I am sorry. You see, I know it, too, as few others in Narnia do. We of the Longævi are among the only servants of Aslan's that have the ability to travel between worlds, though yours is one to which none of us ever care to go. I would wish that you never had to go back, were it possible to want something for you that was against Aslan's will."
"Did he tell you why we must leave?"
Robin shook his head. "Merely that the time has come, and you are to take up the threads of your old life, weaving what you have learned here into that tapestry. You came not just for Narnia, you know, but also for yourselves."
"I don't understand," Peter confessed, and he felt no shame. Even a king … even a High King … could not be expected to grasp everything all the time. No man could ever have all the wisdom of Aslan.
"You will," Robin said. "Someday."
He rose gracefully to his feet again, and Peter followed suit, still leaning heavily against the wall for support. If it was Aslan's will, then he would accept it unflinchingly, but it was still hard to bear. And how would he break it to his siblings? Lucy would weep, but she would hold her head high and obey Aslan. Edmund would wrestle with it, and eventually accept it better than all of them. Susan … ah, this would break his sister's heart. Not that she loved Narnia more than the rest of them, but her love was of a different sort; her heart was more fragile. Not for nothing was she called the Gentle.
"One more thing," Robin added. "Two, actually. The first: you will not remember this conversation in the morning. You will forget you ever saw me until you are back in the Other Place, at which point you will recall it all."
"Why?" Peter asked simply, wrenching his thoughts away from his fellow sovereigns.
"A small gift from me to you," Robin said. "I see no need to spoil the short amount of time you have left with dread for the future. Life will continue for you as usual, up until the very moment you have left. Or returned, depending on ones point of view."
"Thank you," Peter said. Edmund no doubt would have protested, wanting to know every detail so that he could prepare for the departure, but Peter possessed the happy gift of living in the moment, enjoying each day as though it truly was his last. Fretting about the future was not something he cared to experience. Robin's gift of forgetfulness would be an immense burden lifted.
"And the second?" he asked after a moment, recalling that Robin had said there were two more things.
"Ah, that. From Aslan himself: Remember that once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen."
Peter puzzled over that for a few moments, then tucked it away to bring out and examine at a later time.
"Thank you," he said again. "May I … might I ask a question?" It was a humble enquiry, sounding odd coming from this large and powerful man.
"A question, you may ask. An answer, I will give if I may."
"Narnia … will she be all right once we are gone? Will they know what happened to us? Will they be protected from harm?"
"Have no fear, King Peter. Aslan loves Narnia even more than you do. He has always had his paw upon it. What happens next is story yet to be written, but I can assure you that Aslan will not abandon his people. Whatever happens, it will be for their best." Robin hesitated, and then added, "Though I probably should not tell you this, I can at least assure you that they will know you did not leave deliberately. One way or another, Aslan will tell them that he sent you Back; you did not desert them."
"Thank you," Peter said one final time. He could leave, if not happily, at least with a clear conscience, knowing he was not abandoning his people to despair and misery.
"You are most welcome, High King." Robin shook off his solemn air, as though he had worn it as long as he possibly could and leapt agilely to the top of the crenellation. "And now I needs must bid you farewell, for I am the merry wanderer of the night, and I have much work to be done. In other words, I must visit each of your siblings before the night is over, and impart to them the same message I brought to you. As High King, you heard it first, but all must know, and then all must forget, and later all will remember again."
With that, he sprang from the wall like a cat, and Peter, rushing to the side, saw him skipping from stone to stone, whistling merrily as he went.
The High King was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. He returned to his chambers (using a more conventional route than Robin) and fell at once into a deep and dreamless sleep.
And when he woke to a bright and beautiful day, he had no memory of ever having met that strange Goodfellow, called Puck, at all.
Nor would he remember for many long days, not until he had been Back in the Other Place for nearly a week. Then, waking up one night from a restless sleep (how he missed the steady rest he had when he was king!), it all flooded back, and it did, in fact, bring much comfort.
It wasn't long after that that the memories of Narnia started to fade a bit, to become more like happy dreams, tucked away to look at and delight in, but not to bring misery and sorrow. Above all, Peter clung to the final promise of Aslan's, imparted to him by Puck:
"Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen."
It meant, so the High King hoped, that someday, in some way, they would go back. In the meantime, he would do his best to learn whatever it was here that Aslan wanted of him, to remain a Narnian though in England, and to never forget the bright land of which he was High King.