Chapter 8

Here at least was something to do. Peter felt his muscles tighten and was glad for the momentary distraction of finding Lucy. She must have left the room during the fight, and in tears more likely than not. He focused on what words of comfort he might give her, but he couldn't think of any, so he focused instead on where she might be. He climbed the stairs and checked the room she shared with Susan, the bathroom, the closet. He poked his head in his own room and saw Lucy curled up on the bed in the dark sobbing into his pillow.

"Lucy?" he questioned softly. "Lu?" He sat on the edge of the bed next to her and laid a hand on her back. This appeared to make her sob harder.

He let her cry for a minute then made another attempt. "Surely you know not to listen to Susan."

Lucy looked up at her brother. "You did," she said weakly.

Peter didn't say anything because there was no reply, really. He had listened to Susan, let her sway him.

Beside him, Lucy pulled herself into a sitting position. "And it's less true for you," Lucy continued. "You are still a king. I meant what I said."

Peter looked into his sister's tear-streaked face. Her eyes were shining with confidence and faith, not in herself, but in him. He wrapped her in a fierce hug. "Oh Lu," he said. "How could anyone ever call you ridiculous?"

Lucy gave one small sob into his shoulder, and Peter knew Susan's words had cut her deeply. She only gave herself up to it for a second, though, before pulling away and drying her eyes with the corner of his sheet. "I didn't think it would come to this. I never thought Susan would behave this way," she said quietly.

"Neither did I," Peter agreed. "I was sure that somehow she'd turn around one day and remember Narnia."

They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in thoughts of Susan. Lucy's hand crept into Peter's.

"You can't stay here, Peter," Lucy said after awhile.

"I can't go back to Narnia," Peter answered heavily.

"No, that's true. But it's not good for you to be here in London either. You're starting to forget Narnia too."

Peter turned on her, unsure whether to yell or shake her or plead that she was wrong or possibly agree.

"You've been so depressed lately. Even Susan's worried, in her way," Lucy explained.

"If I'm like this, it's because I remember Narnia too well."

"But Peter, in Narnia I never knew you to get depressed. Not like this. Maybe you worried and paced through the halls all night, and maybe you got angry when something was wrong, but you never just gave up. I never once knew you to admit defeat. And so, you were never defeated. You are not yourself anymore."

Peter looked away, into the dark corners of his room. In the silhouette of the streetlamp he could see the plain, straight lines of his desk and chair, his heavy university texts stacked neatly on the desk. A simple blazer hung on the back of the door. Even as he saw these things in a real England he saw with double vision his bright bedchamber in Cair Paravel: the elegant lines of the furniture and the delicate silk of his bedclothes, the scrolls illuminated in lovely bright inks, his brocade cloak hanging in the corner. Lucy was right, he would never have given in for a moment in Narnia. But here, everything had a dull film over it, including himself.

"Peter, you can be who you were," Lucy said with certainty. "I know."

Edmund's cry broke through their contemplations. "Peter! Peter, have you found Lucy?"

"We're in here, Ed!" Peter called back.

A second later Edmund appeared in the doorway still looking distinctly tousled. He turned on Peter's desk lamp so a little light warmed the dark room and sat down in the desk chair. "It's no good," he said with a deep sigh. "She won't listen to anything."

Peter's eyebrows knit together. "What did you say to her?"

Edmund leaned back in the chair and smiled ruefully. "At first I ran after her to do…well, something violent. I wasn't sure what. But she's fast, and when I finally got a hold of her my conscience had got the better of me. I just tried to talk to her. She wouldn't have it though. I tried it from every angle I could think of: her conscience, her love for us, the idea that deep down she knows Aslan and hasn't forgotten him." His eyes grew bright as he concluded "She doesn't want to remember. She still knows all of this, but she's trying as hard as she can to forget."

Lucy got up to give Edmund a hug, comforting him even as she was crying herself. "I don't understand why anyone would want to forget Narnia."

Peter didn't say anything. Scarily, he understood all too well what Susan was going through. Did that mean the same would happen to him?

"Edmund, I told Peter about what we talked about. How he should get away," Lucy said.

"Did you? I'm glad."

"You agree with her?" Peter asked.

"It was my idea," Edmund explained. "You need some space to think, and you certainly won't get it in London. You need some quiet to remember who you are."

"But where--?"

"The Professor said he'd love to have you again," Lucy said. "Don't be angry, but Edmund said we should write him on your behalf. And you can talk to him all about it. He would know very well."

Edmund picked up the thread. "Mum and Dad are willing you should go. They bought your train ticket."

"Train ticket?" Peter asked, bewildered.

Edmund smiled ever so slightly. With the way he was sitting in the chair and his small smile and his good counsel, he was King Edmund all over, and Peter knew without a doubt that he should listen to his brother's sound advice. "You leave the day after tomorrow." And Peter nodded.

Two days later Peter and Edmund and Lucy went down to Paddington station for Peter's train. The station was very busy in a rushed-city sort of way, with young men in suits scurrying with their heads down and briefcases dangling from their hands. Peter watched these men in their uniform black and felt for the ticket in his pocket with gratitude.

He was only half conscious of this movement, though, because his mind was still on what had happened that morning. Lucy had been in his room chattering away and helping him pack. She wasn't talking of much, but the rhythm of her voice was comforting as it always was.

Edmund came in and tossed a pile of random socks into Lucy's lap. "Mom sent these up for you," he explained. Lucy narrowed her eyes a little at Edmund, but she began sorting the socks dutifully, and Peter chuckled at the pair of them.

And then Susan appeared in the doorway, and all three stopped to look at her. "Mum sent me up with a hamper for the train," she explained, her cheeks a little red and her eyes defiant.

Peter stepped forward to take it from her. "Thanks, Su," he said as gently as he could. They looked at each other for a long moment, and Peter couldn't stop himself from beginning "Susan—"

But Susan tossed her head and cut him off. "Good luck, Peter, and safe journey. I want to see you come home happy again." Even though her definition of happiness was quite different from his, Peter could see that she meant well. That she still loved him.

Back at the train station, the whole exchange left him vaguely sentimental, though he couldn't think why. He had a strange foreboding that it would be the last time he would speak to Susan, even though it made little sense. He didn't feel that way about saying goodbye to Edmund and Lucy. Rather, as he embraced them each in turn he promised them he'd see them soon, and he intended on making good on that.

Then came the call for all aboard and Peter got on the train. Edmund and Lucy were standing on the platform just outside his window. Lucy was waving vigorously, but there were tears in her eyes; Edmund stood with his arms folded across his chest, but he was smiling his small smile of a sage.

In addition to the pang Peter felt at leaving them (his departure when he left them for the Professor's last time had been just as awful), he had a stab of annoyance. "Why are they shipping me off like this?" he wondered. "As if I can't make decisions for myself." When the train pulled away he settled back into his seat with some indignance.