Disclaimer: Yeah..you know the drill... Sadly I only own my OC and the plot, everything else is C. S. Lewis's
Author Note: This is just alittle something I had to get out of my system becasue I'm hopelessly in love with William Moseley (Peter) and in love with the Narnia movie! I'm no expert on the whole Narnia series so please forgive me if I'm very wrong on some facts. This is based on the movie and a little adventure that happens afterwards; it is totally non-canon realated! Hope ya'll enjoy!
The Lost Book of Narnia
"Dear Peter," Jadis said to him, as she gripped him hard, holding him back by his hair, "Don't you know? Love can't win over all evil. Love is just another excuse to get hurt, dear boy. You should have stayed in that wardrobe and never come! Never have stepped foot in this land that you call your own! You should have died in battle were I did! Good and Evil always go on, Peter! You can never stop it! You can never escape from the grasp of evil, Peter! I have risen just like your Great Lion! No one is here to save you now! No one is here to hear you scream as I rip your heart from your brave chest! Why do you want so much to be a hero, Peter? Books are written so that good always conqures evil...but why do you think there are none the other way around? But my dear Peter, I will tell you a secret, and only you my dear boy, as long as there is good left in the world, I will never...never be far away from the end of your sword!"
Peter Pevensie jotled from his sleep. Sweat drenched his body and he shook. He shook the dream from his head. It had haunted him every night. It had scared him from his sleep. It had seared itself into his memory, forcing him to replay it over and over. And it burnt up his soul.
It had been several weeks since he and his siblings had tumbled back out of the wardrobe that had been the gateway to the magical world, Narnia. Not a second had past since they had left and come back. They'd grown up there. They'd lived their whole lives there and ruled as Kings and Queens. And now, he could feel himself feeling more like a kid again, and less as the adult he once was. He could feel himself wanting to play crickett or go on long jogs through the fields. But their adventures in the magical land seemed to be all over now. There was no way to get back through the wardrobe. And they'd tried, trust me! But it seemed unreal. Unreal how all that time had past. Unreal how all of it had been yanked away from them in a few feet into a wardrobe. Unreal how that moment, when Lucy wanted to play hide-and-seek, changed their lives always and forever.
He'd questioned his sanity many times in the past few weeks.His siblings all had. They remembered all of it, though. And that took away some of the worry on that matter. But what would become of Narnia and the lands beyond it? They weren't there to lead and rule and give guidance when asked. They were here, in a musty ole room, piled with stuffy furniture and uncomfortable sheets. They were not where they were needed, wanted. They, were just kids again in an ole mansion while a long World War II raged off in a far away land, over matters that some couldn't seem to comprehend. In matters only men who had been to war had seen. Matters, he had seen. And a picture of his father flashed in his head.
His heart rose and fell in his chest as he thought about his father. His heart rose and fell. Rose and fell. Rose, fell. And somewhere, out there, maybe, just maybe, his father's didn't get one last chance to. He chased the thought from his mind. He rubbed his eyes, and latched his fingers into his hair. He hated thinking about his father. Let me rephrase that, he hated thinking about his father at war.
The same man that used to stand by the window for hours and just stare. Stare out into the nothingness of the window, and every now and then, sigh. And Peter, a hundred times and a hundred times again, watching him, wondered, what he could be thinking about. Watching. Watching. What was there to think that hard about. Was life, that complicated and miserable, to just look out the window and let it all pass you by? To let it slip through your fingers like sand? What was he thinking?
And then, Peter remembered, his father's gaze would soften, as Lucy trotted into the room, holding up a big picture of stick figures she'd drawn with trees and a dodgy house and a dog and a sunshine. And his father's face would brighten into a seemingly never ending smile, and he'd scoop the little Lucy into his arms and tell her that it was the best picture she'd ever drawn and go off to find room on the fridge for it. And not come back to that window. No. Not that day. And Peter, then, would be satisfied.
Almost. Almost. But then why could he never make his father happy? Why would his face not brighten as his son entered the room to sit down and watch his father stare out the window into the nothingness? Why? Why had his father never hugged him? Why had his father ever said he loved him? Why had his father gotten up every morning before the sunshine smiled down, in the dark cold and lit the fire up for his family? Why had he slaved away constantly to provide for them? Sundays too. Why had he gone to war? Gone to war and left his family? And why?...
Why had Peter not written his father in over two months to tell him he missed him? To tell him he wanted to make him smile, too? To tell him that Lucy still drew beautiful pictures? To tell him that the window in the house was broken by the evil of war? To tell him of his adventures, no matter how childish or crazy they may sound? To tell him that he was always needed here? To tell him thank you? No one ever did. To tell him...To tell him he loved him.
Peter's heart stirred his his chest. Pushing his chills from his haunting dream out of his thoughts, he slowly shifting out of bed, and slipping a shirt over his bare chest, he went to his still-packed trunk and took out paper and pen.
Dear Father,