Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't... I also don't own the Narnian Calendar. It belongs to Elecktrum who was kind enough to let me borrow it for my story. Her own stories are awesome and you should go read them too.

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple diplomatic trip to Telmar. They had been guaranteed safe passage. It was all a lie.

A/N: If you have not read the first five stories in the A Light in the Darkness main story arc (Awakening, Shadowed, Revealed, Concealed, and Rekindled), I highly recommend you do so for the full experience. However, I have included a quick summary of the previous stories so if you want to give this one a whirl on its own, you can.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Run and Not Grow Weary

Racing through the mountains beneath the Eagle's shadow, Oreius did not notice anything different at first. His whole being was focused on running, on bringing Peter home. It wasn't until two days had passed since the night he had woken his colt from another nightmare, the one about his death that the mist cleared enough for him to see the stars again. He paused before setting Peter on the ground and stared up at the stars. Their positions had changed…they had changed dramatically. Closer to the familiar patterns of Narnia, but it should not be so, not yet.

Lowering Peter to the ground, Oreius studied the stars. No, there was no mistaking it. They were still in the Western Wilds, true, but they were further north and east than they should have been. Oreius looked down at Peter…he had only stopped once that day when Peter had been briefly conscious as he attempted to coax his king into eating something. Yet, he did not feel any wearier than usual. Thank You, Aslan.

The colt was unconscious throughout the entire procedure of cleansing his wounds and reapplying the poultice. The Eagle settled on a tree covered in budding leaves and Oreius turned to Him while Peter thrashed weakly in the fever's grasp. "Is there not something You may do to help him, Aslan? Some relief You can give his spirit that is beyond my meager skills?"

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He knew this place. He recognized the wide stretch of green grass and the stony outcrops…Beruna. This was Beruna. No sooner had he thought that than the scene changed slightly. He stepped in shock and horror as hundreds of wounded and dying Narnians decorated the battlefield, their lifeblood staining the green grass red. No…this wasn't right. There shouldn't be this many wounded. Aslan and the girls had brought the relief forces in time to stop this carnage. Beruna was a victory…

A cold whisper taunted him, "Was it, little king? Did you really think yourself powerful enough to stop me? Look around you…"

Unwilling, yet unable to stop himself, Peter turned in a complete circle. He could hardly bear the sight of so many lives lost. Mr. Beaver, who had looked so ridiculous in his armor, was dead, shot by an arrow. His Unicorn, Faries, also taken down by an arrow and he wasn't breathing. So many faces with sightless eyes, so many faces frozen into stone, and their names swirled through his thoughts, at once accusing and pleading for any type of help he could give. No. No, this was all wrong.

"Aslan!" He scanned the boulders, searching for the terrible golden sight that had been Aslan entering the battlefield with all the Narnians He had freed from the Witch's castle. But, there was no Lion. He heard no roar.

Then the bellow of a Minotaur filled the air, Peter turned and froze at the sight of Otmin. That huge, black Minotaur bull tossed his head then raised his battle axe with one hand and let out another bellow. He was clutching something in his other hand. Lucy. He had Lucy. Rage painted his vision, blotting out everything but his sweet innocent little sister and the Minotaur holding her captive, Peter unsheathed Rhindon and ran forward.

Releasing a war cry, Peter slashed at Otmin, aiming for the arm with the axe. Otmin laughed. An unpleasant sound that turned terrifying when he saw Otmin grab Lucy by the neck and shake her like a ragdoll before hurling her against one of the boulders. NO! "No! Lucy!" Roaring, Peter lurched to his feet then charged Otmin, driving Rhindon deep into the exposed area beneath the Minotaur's armpit before wrenching his sword free. The Minotaur crashed to the ground and Peter didn't give a whit. All his care and focus were on the unmoving body of his little sister. "Lucy! Lucy, answer me!"

Rhindon clattered to the ground, its blade still bloody, as Peter dropped to his knees next to Lucy and gather her tiny body into his arms. Her arms and legs were sticking out at unnatural angles and her neck… He bit back a sob as he cradled Lucy, "Lucy, Lucy, can you hear me? Are you hurting? Don't be afraid, all right? It's going to be all right, I promise." The same words that he had told her when she had begun to cry when it was time to board the train to the country. He hadn't kept them. Lucy's mouth moved in a tiny smile, but she couldn't seem to get the words out. Peter blinked back more tears as he cradled her close, searching for the cordial…the cordial would make it better. "Lucy, where is the cordial Father Christmas gave you?"

Her blue eyes didn't seem as bright as they had been only a moment beforehand and her breathing was shallow and strained. Bits of red blood dotted the corner of her lips as she whispered, "Don't have it…broke."

He shook his head, "Don't be funning, Lu. The vial is diamond, it cannot be broken. Come on, Lucy, tell me where it is please. It will make you better. I know it will." She didn't answer. He jostled her slightly, "Lucy?" She did not respond. Instead, her head sagged against his chest and he heard a soft whisper of a sigh. No. "Oh no, no, no. Lucy?! Lucy, wake up! Where's your cordial? Where's your cordial?" He searched the battlefield desperate for the sight of someone who could help. There was- Wait, no, there a flash of gold. Peter rose to his feet, still cradling Lucy, and jogged toward the golden Lion, "Aslan! Aslan! Please! Help us!"

The Great Lion met his gaze and then His golden eyes drifted down to Lucy. But, Aslan did not come to them. He did not speak. Instead, He turned and walked away. That single action drove Peter to his knees in despair, still clutching Lucy's broken body, and he shouted, "Aslan! Aslan! Help us! Please… Please. Why won't You help us? At least, help her!" And yet, the Great Lion, the One who had crowned him and his siblings did what Peter had never imagined possible…He abandoned them. He abandoned them all.

"Aslan!" His cry faded and he realized that he was no longer kneeling in the midst of the carnage of Beruna. Dawn rose above a hill. His gaze was dragged down and his heart nearly stopped in horror. The Stone Table was whole, but it was not unoccupied. He cried out in disbelief as he ran to the table, "Nooooo! Edmund! Susan! No!" He touched Susan's hand and it was icy to his touch, her blue eyes cloudy and unseeing as a dark stain soaked the front of her pretty green dress. Next to her lay Edmund, his dark eyes seemed focused on some other area. Not knowing why, Peter was compelled to look, following Edmund's gaze, and then he fell to his knees once more. Lucy, oh Lucy, his baby sister was a statue.

No, none of this was right. It wasn't right. Where was Aslan?

The cold, scornful whisper sounded again, "Look at what you have done, Peter dear. This is why even your Great Cat won't help you. You are not fit to lead a family, much less a kingdom."

He shook his head, "No. I…I tried!" Nevertheless, he WAS the one who had driven Edmund away. He HAD been the one to almost lose the girls to the Wolves. He HAD been the one who couldn't reach Jadis in time to stop her from harming Edmund. He HAD failed to protect his family. He wasn't right for the job…he wasn't fit to be the High King, not when he allowed all these terrible things to happen to the people he loved.

There was movement to his left and he turned to see Aslan gazing at him with those terrible golden eyes. Peter fell to his knees and stretched out his hands in mute appeal, but Aslan's golden eyes hardened and His lips pulled back in a silent snarl. "I should have chosen another." Peter stared at Him in shock and desperate fear as the Great Lion turned away from and from his fallen siblings. The Lion paused once then nodded to a shadow, "He is yours, after all."

The shadow detached itself from its surroundings, revealing itself to be Jadis clad in the same garb that Susan and Lucy had described her wearing when she slew Aslan. And she held a dark stone knife in front of her. Her lips curved in a cold, cruel facsimile of a smile as she whispered in that same cold, scornful voice form before, "Peter dear, I've missed you so. Come, little king, let me give you the fate you truly deserve." She moved into strike, quicker than his memory recalled (though that in itself had been terrifyingly quick), like a snake with cold, green eyes. Her stone knife flicked toward his throat and a strange apathy filled him, better to be dead than to live on forsaken and alone…

A thunderous roar shook him to the core and he instinctively closed his eyes as he fell face-first to the ground and covered his ears. He didn't breathe. On the roar continued, on and on until it felt like the ground itself were shaking and his ears rang even though his hands were still clamped tightly over them. And then it stopped.

Hardly daring to breathe, Peter sat up slowly. The witch was gone as were Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. A cloak of mist shrouded the area but he could hear the sound of someone breathing nearby. A ray of sunlight burst through the mist, nearly blinding him and slicing through the mist to illuminate a cracked Stone Table and next to it stood Aslan.

Terrible and awe-inspiring in His golden majesty, Peter fell to his knees before the Great Lion and began to reach out his hand to bury it in His thick mane but then he recalled the words spoken earlier 'I should have chosen another' and his hand fell limply to his side. He was not worthy and his failures were too great to ignore. "Peter." Against his better judgment, Peter looked up into Aslan's golden eyes and saw…sorrow and love. His rich voice rolled over him as the Great Lion lowered His head and whispered, "Peter Pevensie, do you love Me?"

Peter licked his lips but he did not hesitate in his answer, "Yes, Aslan."

The Lion shook His head, filling the air with the scent of the sweet perfume clinging to His mane, and asked in a slightly louder tone, "Sir Peter Wolfsbane, do you love Me?"

Peter nodded, "Yes, Aslan; You know I love You."

The Lion spoke again, this time His tone was quiet and intense, "King Peter the Magnificent, High King over all Kings and Queens of Narnia, do you love Me?"

Peter bowed his head, unable to hide his grief at how Aslan still asked if he loved Him, "Aslan, why do You continue to ask me this? You know all things, You know my heart and my thoughts; You know I love You."

"If you love Me, are you not Mine?"

Peter nodded, "I am Yours, Aslan."

"And am I capricious?"

"No…no, You are not. You are unchangeable and constant in Your nature, You are good and You are faithful though we may not know when You will appear to us so we might see You, You are always present. There is nowhere we can go that You are not present." The words were so simple that he wondered how he had ever considered Aslan would be anything less than faithful and constant…far more faithful and constant than he deserved.

A low leonine purr filled his ears as Aslan lowered His head and quietly added, "No one who is Mine will be forsaken or abandoned. Though you may not see Me or hear Me, I am there. I am with you and shall be with you always."

Peter stared at the large golden paws nearly hidden by Aslan's mane, "Are You taking me with You? To Your land?"

"Soon."

Peter looked up sharply. He had expected that he probably wouldn't survive this one, but… "How soon is that?"

Aslan smiled, "I call all times soon."

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Pain. Always, always there was pain and he was fast wearying of it. With effort, he pried his eyes open and experienced the dizzying effect of watching the sky rush by above him. He meant to ask where they were and what was happening but the only thing that escaped his lips was a pained moan. A comforting voice spoke, "Be still, Peter, be still. I have you and I won't let go. We are nearing a place to stop for the night. Shh, no, don't try to struggle. You are safe, I promise. Rest some more, Peter, rest."

He couldn't identify the voice but he knew he was safe. The man it belonged to…who was he? Someone stronger than he, for certain. Someone who was helping him. He tried to turn his head to see who it was, but he didn't seem to have the strength. "Tell them… Tell them it's okay." Who he wanted to know it was okay and what was okay, he didn't know, but it felt like the right thing to say. His side hurt and it was too hot. Who was carrying him? Just as the darkness claimed him, he thought he knew who it was, "Dad…"

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Oreius skidded into the valley. The Eagle circled overhead, having stopped again. Peter's condition was worsening by the minute, or so it seemed to him. His colt thrashed weakly, barely moaning as his breaths came out in laborious and short huffs. He needed to make the poultice. Laying the colt on the ground, Oreius shoved Peter's pack beneath his head then pulled out Alambiel's healing kit. Urgency tugged at him, pushing him to hurry as much as he dared. He had just pulled the vial of yarrow tincture free when he heard the Eagle's warning cry. Teeth closed around his wrist and jerked, knocking the vial from his grasp.

Surging to his feet, Oreius caught the throat of the Wolf who was still struggling to find a better grip as his leather wristlet prevented it from digging into his flesh and squeezed until the Fell creature had to open its mouth. Squeezing tighter, he hurled the Fell away. It yelped once then fell silent as it hit a tree.

The howls of more Wolves and the snorting challenge of a Minoboar warned him that this Fell was not alone. Peter was still delirious and he would be able to put up no defense. Moving quickly, Oreius shifted Peter so he was sheltered under a protruding ledge. Unsheathing his swords, Oreius backed up until he could stand between the Fell and his colt.

The Eagle cried out and two of the Wolves flinched, skittering back with nervous yips. The Minoboar grunted then charged, swinging a war hammer. Oreius stepped back, swinging down with one sword, he sliced through the Minoboar's arm. At the same time, he slashed at its throat with the other sword. The Minoboar toppled to the ground, eyes already cloudy with death.

A snarl was his only warning. Oreius spun, catching one Wolf in the chest with his sword, but the other two Fell attempted to slip by him to attack his colt. That he would not allow. Driving one back with a warning kick, Oreius pinned the other Wolf to the ground with his sword piercing its black heart. The last Wolf snarled, its eyes filled with madness as trails of saliva dripped from its jaws, pacing and searching for an opening. Oreius took it by surprise when he charged. The Wolf attempted to bite his leg but Oreius reared up then slammed his hooves back down, crushing the Fell beneath them.

Panting, he scanned the area but no other Fell remained. Cleaning his swords and sheathing them, Oreius froze when he spotted it…broken glass, some of the faintly glinting pieces were still covered in liquid. Oh no…he found Alambiel's healing kit and groaned when his fears were confirmed by the pocket that was glaringly empty of the yarrow tincture. Some of herbs looked as though they had been knocked loose and the bottle Alambiel had filled with the thyme oil was also shattered, but it did not look as though any of the other items he had been using were destroyed. However, without the yarrow tincture…would the infection worsen the wound and exacerbate the poison before he could get his colt to safety, to trained healers? He didn't know, but he feared the worse. Abandoning thoughts of stopping the night, Oreius gathered their packs and picked Peter up before racing toward the far end of the valley. He needed to reach Narnia before it was too late.

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A/N: Please Read and Review! All right, I originally thought I wouldn't have this done until Christmas, so surprise. I took a lot of inspiration from the Bible for the return journey (specifically from Isaiah 40:31) and Peter's conversation with the REAL Aslan is drawn almost verbatim from when Peter (Simon Peter, that is) being restored by Jesus in John 21:15-17. Hopefully, all my readers are still out there (y'all will tell me if you're still there, right? :D I hope) and aren't quite reaching for the pitchforks after this chapter. Almost done with this story, actually. Only two chapters before they reach Cair Paravel (no guarantees as to Peter's condition) and then it will be the wrap-up chapters. Warning: next chapter will need hankies and comes with a giant hurt/comfort dose. Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.