Peter was dreaming, he knew. But that didn't stop the images flickering in front of him from seeming any less familiar to him. These were not just dreams; they were memories.
Peter watched himself, as if he were a third party to the story playing out before his eyes. He watched as a nineteen year old Edmund walked side by side with an older version of himself. He watched as old battles passed before him, vivid as the day they had occurred. He watched himself fight, watched himself propose to Edmund, watched as he was wed in the Great Hall in Cair Paravel by the Great Lion to the love of his life, watched as the familiar scenes scrolled through.
Sometimes, the scenes were short, just a snippet of the whole. Sometimes, he lived out the whole memory. As the memories flitted passed him like a spinning rolodex, Peter realized that there seemed to be a chronological kind of order to them. Though he wasn't reliving them in first-person, he could still remember some of his thoughts and emotions that he had harbored at the time. The joy he felt on his wedding day came rushing back to him, full force, welcome and refreshing. The excitement of the Stag chase flowed through him like water, as well as the secret glee he had felt on the day they had returned to England; at least, the glee he had felt until he and his siblings passed back through the wardrobe.
And there it was. Just as it had happened in real life, Peter had been blithely enjoying the reflection of his memories when despair reared its ugly head. When they had realized they were back in England Peter's world had come crashing down. Now, as he slept, the High King watched the dawning horror on his face as Edmund turned his back and ignored his advances and pleas for explanation. He watched as Edmund moved out of their shared room at Digory's manor, and listened as the well-remembered fight over Edmund's impending departure from the room raged between the boy-again kings.
"Please, Edmund stay!" Peter watched as his younger self pleaded with his husband, tears in his eyes as he gripped the Just King's sleeve. "Please, my love—"
"No, Pete," Edmund denied, shaking Peter's hand from his sleeve and closing the now-full trunk on the stripped bed. He refused to meet Peter's troubled and confused gaze. "You don't understand."
"Don't understand what? Why my husband is leaving our bed?"
"Peter, be quiet!" Edmund hissed, checking outside the door to see if the professor or Mrs. McCready happened to be near.
"No, I don't understand!"
"Someone might have heard you!"
"Are you ashamed of me?"
"Yes! No! Peter, we can't be married here!"
Peter stood in shocked silence, the room spinning around him as his husband's words sunk in. Edmund watched the High King, trying to convey his meaning and his logic with his dark eyes. Time seemed to freeze. Finally, Peter blinked a few times, trying to get the ringing in his ears to stop. He swayed where he stood, and then gripped his own throat and stomach. Meeting Edmund's eyes for a few seconds, he took a heaving breath.
"I think I'm going to be sick," And with that, Peter rushed passed Edmund, headed for the nearest bathroom. The blood rushing in his ears blocked out Edmund's voice as it tried to call him back; pleaded with him to just understand.
Peter remembered how he had spent the next hour dispelling every last bit of lunch from his stomach and then heaving sobs between his two sisters, who had been out shopping during the argument. Neither of them could get the story out Peter because his sobs were just too strong to understand the words interspersed between gasps for air.
Peter watched in growing despair as he dreamed of the restless nights, the horrid fights, the battle of Beruna, and finally of the ultimate betrayal of fully losing Edmund to the bullies of the day.
The dream landed him on another night. He was forced to watch his younger self as the young man screamed for a husband that wouldn't respond. He heard his own pleas into the pillow, and watched his own tears when his younger self realized that no, Edmund would not be returning to their bed. Edmund would not come to comfort him. It had been three days after Edmund had moved out, and Peter had dreamed of a horrible battle where the Narnians had won, but at a terrible price. He'd woken up screaming for his lost troops, and then he'd begun screaming for Edmund when he'd felt the cold side of the bed. His sleep-muddled brain had convinced him that Edmund must have died at the battle. For why else would Edmund not be there, beside him? And then he had finally remembered the truth of Edmund's absence, and he had tried to call his husband back.
"Please, I need you!" Peter's legs had been too weak to leave the bed; hi strength zapped by the nightmare. "Edmund, please!"
He had called himself horse, and then wept himself to sleep.
As Peter watched, he found himself weeping as well. He remembered the pain, the agony of being ignored. Edmund had been just one room over. He could have come. He must have heard him.
"Please, Edmund. Please," Peter found himself pleading along with his younger self; pleading for his younger self. When the cries had turned to shouts, the shouts to sobs, and the sobs to whimpers, Peter found himself taking up the slack where his voice had once failed him.
"Please come! Please! I know you can hear me! Why can't you come for me! Ed-
-mund!"
"I'm here, Peter!"
Peter woke with a gasp, searching around wildly as his hand clutched at the nearest object. He felt fabric in his clenched fists. Something pulled him closed and pressed repeatedly against his crown, brushing hair out of his eyes.
"What's wrong, my love? You were crying out for me. What happened?"
Peter took gasping breaths of air, his eyes fixing briefly on the fabric in his hands before trailing up to match dark brown orbs above him. He was clutching a shirt, he realized. Those had been arms that had pulled him close; kisses pressing against his crown. This couldn't be—
"Edmund?" Peter asked, weakly.
"Yes, my king. What's wrong?"
"Oh, God! Oh, Aslan!" Peter began to pant against Edmund's chest his head dropping forward and his eyes clenching shut. "I can't breathe!"
"Hey, shhh. Shhh. Breathe, Peter. Just breathe," Edmund realized that Peter was having a panic attack against him. He clutched Peter tighter, trying to influence the blonde's breathing with the steady rise and fall of his own chest. "It's ok. Whatever it was, it was just a dream."
"No," Peter moaned against his breastbone, still gulping for air. "They were memories. They were real."
"Then that's all they are now; memories. I'm right here. You called, and I've answered. You'll be just fine," Edmund continued to breathe for both of them, and gradually Peter began to calm.
As Edmund waited, soothing his king with words and gentle touches, Peter relaxed against him, humming out his breaths as he began to regain his bearings.
"Hmmm, you were here," Peter finally murmured. He opened his eyes to look up and Edmund. He found Edmund looking back at him, and felt himself smile. "I called, and you were here. You weren't in the other room. You were right here next to me. Right where I needed you."
"Yes."
"Are you ashamed of me?"
Edmund started against Peter. At first the question seemed to have come out of nowhere.
They were memories.
Oh. Memories. Edmund remembered that question. He remembered that day.
"No. I was a fool that day, to ever say that I was ashamed of you," Edmund once again found himself staring deeply into Peter's eyes, trying to convey the seriousness of his words. "I regret that fight. I regret that day. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I never should have left you. Ever. Peter?"
"Yes?"
"We can't just be married, here. We have to be married, here. Here, and everywhere else," Edmund cuddled Peter under his chin, settling the covers more securely around them and pressing a few more kisses to Peter's hair and brow. "My soul mate. My love. My king."
"Go to sleep, Edmund," Peter snarked sleepily, trying not to smile.
"Yes, my king," Edmund answered, smiling himself as he felt the upturn of Peter's lips against his skin between the v in his shirt collar.
EPPPEPPPEPPPEPPPEPPP
Peter awoke the next morning with a weight on his abdomen and a wonderful warmth pressed against his side. He stretched his arms above his head and curled his toes, popping his back and letting out and silent yawn, before for turning into the warmth. He was just settling himself for another few minutes of sleep when reality came barreling towards him. His eyes flew open and his head whipped back to examine the warmth in front of him.
Edmund!
He had stayed.
The whole night, just like he had promised. Peter blinked as he remembered his horrid dreams, and waking to Edmund's words of comfort and warm embraces. Edmund had made a promise to Peter, and kept it. Something bloomed in Peter, making him feel lightheaded and a little giddy under his skin. Edmund had never really kept a promise to Peter here in England. This was very new, and yet so old it felt as if he should walk out of their rooms and find himself at Cair. Narnian Edmund had never broken a promise to Peter, not unless it was a life or death situation taking precedence. And even then, Edmund always made it up to Peter. For Edmund to keep a promise to Peter in England was a Big Deal. Peter felt as if he might have another panic attack; this time for an entirely different reason.
Just as Peter was gearing up for a big "I can't breathe" moment, Edmund's dark eyes opened to match his.
"Good morning, my golden ciel."
Peter gasped, softly. "You haven't—"
"I know." And Edmund smiled. Edmund hadn't used words like ciel or amore, since their first return.
French words were things the siblings had once used in Narnia as a way to remember their mother, and then simply as a language for private, family conversation. The Pevensies had also been known to use the language for private consultations during negotiations with foreign dignitaries.
Once they began courting, Edmund and Peter had favored the language due to its nickname; the language of Love. And it had definitely been that for both Kings. Edmund, especially, had been known for using French in his terms of endearment. It was only for Peter, and Peter liked it that way. The girls may have been on the receiving end of every English pet name under the sun, but only Peter was ever called a pet name with a French word thrown in. Peter kept to the same unspoken rule, though he very rarely called Edmund anything in French beyond Mon Cher, or Mon Amore. Edmund like to be a bit more…wordy, for lack of a better term.
A shiver ran through Peter, hard enough for Edmund to feel it, before the older king surged forward to press his lips against the younger king's. It was hard and fast, and over before it really began. Peter let out a short, high "mmph!" before jerking back, shocked by his own actions.
"I don't know what just came over me," He whispered, as surprised as Edmund how quickly the impulse to kiss Edmund had come over him. "It's just…That word…and you said… and you haven't—I…I had to." He finally murmured in wonder.
"Don't ask me to forgive you. I'm not letting you take it back," Edmund said with a smirk. "That one was mine. I'm keeping it."
Peter let out an astonished little laugh, still trying to puzzle himself out, before shaking his head and dropping it back to the pillow. "I think I need more sleep."
"Alright."
"Stay?"
"How about I get you some breakfast? I can wait until you sleep, and then get us a tray. Would that please my lord?"
Peter thought for a moment. "As long as you stay 'til I'm asleep, and are here when I awake, then I guess it would please this lord."
Edmund smiled at Peter's sleepy, teasing tone.
"As you wish."
EPPPEPPPEPPPEPPPEPPP
When Peter woke for a third time, it was to the smell of eggs, bread, and mushrooms. He lifted his head to see a tray sitting on the nightstand beside the bed, and a paper rose resting on the pillow beside him. As he sat up, he scanned the room to find Edmund sitting at the writing desk pouring over something he seemed to be scribbling on. Peter lifted the rose from the pillow, examining the familiar craftsmanship.
"Edmund? What's this?"
Edmund just smiled, returning to his work.
"It's for you."
Peter flushed a pretty pink.
The rose was yet another thing he hadn't seen Edmund do in years.
"Will you come and eat with me?" Peter asked, a little timidly.
Edmund turned from his work, setting the pen in his hand down and making his way to the bed.
"Of course. I was just waiting for you."
Peter moved over to make room for Edmund under the covers as the Just King moved the tray and himself into the bed. They shared their breakfast in companionable silence. Though in Narnia they would have been talking between bites and laughing over biscuits, Peter didn't find the silence uncomfortable. It gave him time to think.
Edmund really was trying to woo him, again. He was making good on a promise. Peter was starting to realize that, whether or not his brain was in it yet, his body and his emotions were definitely reacting positively to Edmund's advances. Just this, having breakfast and not feeling sick around food, was kind of new for him. Being away from Edmund, he had lost weight and his appetite had decreased in many facets of his life.
He hoped Edmund remained true. He kind of liked feeling healthy, again…even if it was only for a few short hours.
Please, Edmund. Stay true to me. Please…be real. Oh, Aslan, let him be real.
EPPPEPPPEPPPEPPPEPPP
AN: Ok, so this would have been out on the 16th, but I kind of had a few problems with my internet! :/ Anyway, I really hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! : ) I'm probably going to be posting a few chapters in a row, as not having a full internet connection sort of forced me to write, instead….Don't get any ideas! ; )
I think, for my writing purposes, I'd like to explain a little bit of my punctuation. (This hasn't been commented on; I'm just putting this up for my own piece of mind.) ;) When I use "…" or "—", I'm using the actor's version of those marks. In other words, I use them like an actor would deliver them. "…" is a pause; think 1,2,3 between the first word…and the next. A "—"is like a stutter/sharp breath intake, or an interruption of thought, either by the character's own hesitation or mental subject change, or by another character's words.
As a note, one of my reviewers mentioned that I've been misspelling "Digory"…I've been using two g's. Oops! I've gone back and fixed some of it. But, let's just say from now on I'll spell it correctly, and if you re-read the story you'll just have to deal with my laziness when it comes to fixing older chapters. I will someday get around to it. I don't have my books right now, and again my internet is fickle. So if you notice something that is really, glaringly off in the newest chapter, let me know. I will fix problems, one chapter prior. Some of the differences are by choice; some of them are simply lack of resources. If you are going to send a critique, I do ask that you also put something positive. It's the positive stuff that helps me continue writing. ; )
So, as always, please read and review. :)
P.S. Did anyone notice my movie reference? Hint: It isn't a Chronicles movie reference. ;)
Here's the preview…I warn you now, it might be a cliffy…
Preview:
"Edmund…There's something I have to tell you..." Peter twisted his hands in his lap, finding it hard to meet Edmund's gentle gaze. "I haven't been completely honest with you."
"What do you mean, Peter?"
"I've been keeping something from you…It's big, and I don't even know where to start, or how to tell you. I guess I'd call it a—a truth. It's a…a truth I think you need to know, if we're ever going to have a real marriage again," Peter finally tilted his head up to meet Edmund, face to face.
"Peter, you're making me nervous. Just tell me."