A/N: Wow (dazed) lots of reviews! Thank you so much! I will try and keep the pace up, but I am posting a bit fast even for me. Chapter seven is in the works, though! Many people have asked if this is Peter and Edmund centric, and the answer is yes, though it is NOT slash. Also, as I have mentioned before, there will be NO Mary sues. I can't stand them, either.

To Argentus: Yes, I know, but I am an old fashioned writer…I had an English teacher when I was young who hated using abbreviated forms of 'it is' and 'I am', so sorry…I'll (see? Starting already!) try and fix the problem!

Chapter six

Aslan felt a sudden deep jolt within the earth, though it was no physical element. There had been a sudden imbalance in the deep magic. He had feared this would happen. He had hoped that the children of Adam and Eve would be able to complete their destinies without the use of such powers that had been forgotten, but apparently fate had other plans. The very loss of the second half of the prophesy seemed a sign, a jibe towards him; you are at our mercy.

The great lion stared at the doorway where the two daughters of Eve had recently left through, and sighed deeply. It was not over yet…and the way things were going, it was going to continue for a great many ages to come. Aslan felt the weight of humanities' sadness once again clench around his heart. He was so tired, wearied by sorrow. But it would all be worth it in the end. Surely, they would triumph eventually. That was the way of the world.

And Aslan was truly thankful he had been gifted with this task, this chance, to watch over the poor children of this earth. He would not have it any other way.

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Crying.

Crying on the sunset lit shores…rays casting dancing red and yellow sparks across the glistening surface. Coarse sand beneath his feet, shells scattered here and there among seaweed and small pebbles covered with foam. Rushing waves, children's crying.

The two small girls cling to each other far off on the upper beach, staring around in fear at the gathering darkness. A deckchair, drenched in blood, lay in a broken heap beside them, and their hair was disheveled and wet. The sky was quickly darkening, filling with huge, roaring aircraft. Edmund stared around the beach, searching frantically, but there was no sign of his mother, his father, or the little sandy haired boy that was his brother.

Edmund finally spotted a small figure, standing rigid just where the tide reached it's highest point, sandals wet from the oncoming waves. Edmund broke into a run towards him, feeling a sudden desperation.

"Peter!" he called, and the boy turned, and Edmund ran faster. As he come closer, he saw the glint of the sun glance off two sharded broken ends of a sword, lying forgotten beside his brother. Looking at the boy himself, Edmund suddenly noticed the large stream of crimson liquid running in rivulets down the left side of the boy's face. He felt his stomach jolt with nausea, and ran faster still as the boy turned once again to stare at the stormy sky.

Edmund stumbled to a halt beside his brother and grasped his thin shoulders with a firm grip, spinning the boy around to look at him. Peter didn't respond, his face hidden by his blood drenched hair. Panicking, Edmund reached a hand up to brush the offending strands away from his forehead, and nearly let go of the boy in shock.

The round face was covered in dried blood, which was blurred in patches where tears had marred their trail. His china blue eyes were blank and empty, and they rose sluggishly to look at him, tears still overflowing and streaming down his cheeks. Horrified, Edmund tore his eyes away from the boy, who was shuddering with repressed sobs, to stare at the younger forms of his sisters, who were now screaming as gale force winds began to whip at them, and clutched their towels closer to them for warmth.

"You…forgot…"

Edmund looked back down to Peter, whose strangely blank eyes were now filled with despair, and the boy opened a small, pale palm to reveal a crumpled, sky blue flower. It was shriveled, and had obviously died quite some time ago. Small, faded yellow streaks lined the centre, and Edmund's hand shook as he reached out and took the delicate flower and held it carefully between thumb and forefinger.

A dead Forget me not.

Little Peter threw his head back and let out a horrific wail, then began to scream, joined by his sisters who seemed to cry out in fear rather than grief and despair. The broken sword began to glow red hot and melt, melding with the sand beneath it.

The sword. A battle. Blood, red. A lion, two lions. Peter.

The world began to spin. There were voices, far off, calling, shouting, crying. Battle… a large bull, horses…the witch…wand, broken, a blinding light…a painful pressure on his hand as two much smaller ones clutched it desperately. Edmund glanced down, his own eyes filling with tears as the world began to spin, to see the round face of his brother contorted with fear. The little boy was out of breath, his thin chest heaving with effort.

"Don't…don't forget…please…"

The corpse of the flower was crushed in his own hand as the two smaller ones pressed it in further, enfolding it within his very skin. Peter raised his head weakly to look at him, and Edmund saw a shaky smile begin to dispel the fear, the tears and the blood.

"Don't forget…me…"

Then the hands were ripped from his own, the boy once again wrenched unwillingly into the darkness. His body fell like a limp doll, engulfed quickly by the inky blackness of the sea. Edmund threw himself down to the ground, his knees grazing from the coarse sand, but he didn't care. He beat his fists against the ground and let the salty tears run freely down his face, mixing with the stinging spray of the sea.

"No…Peter…"

He stared hopelessly about him, as the waves calmed as they had always done so, and turned once again a serene sky blue. Edmund let out a choked sob as he rose shakily to his feet, knees stinging and bleeding freely. He took a deep breath and screamed to the deceptively calm sky;

"WHERE ARE YOU!"

But there was no answer. Edmund fell to the ground and wept bitterly.

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Peter's eyes snapped open, and reeled in shock as he realized the bright colours of the Narnian fields had gone, quite literally with the blink of an eye. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw an expanse of inky black surrounding him, suffocating. He turned wildly about, and saw behind him glint of silver, lying at his feet. He stooped down and peered at it, eyes widening in confusion. It was a small, ornately decorated mirror, about the size of a large dinner plate, and was shaped as a smoothly rounded oval. The edges were adorned with small metal leaves, vines and flowers, the stems of which were thinner than needle thread. He studied them, but couldn't quite identify which particular type of flower they were.

Just as he got close enough for his now considerably longer locks of sandy hair to brush the cool surface of the mirror, it seemed to shimmer, pulsate, and then ripple as though it were made of water. Peter's head shot backwards, and he overbalanced and fell to the ground with a strangled cry, eyes not leaving the mirror. It now began to contort to show images which were certainly not the swirling, stormy sky above. The glass turned three dimensional, and Peter clenched his fists to stop himself from reaching out to touch the images.

A train, jolting down a gravel paved track, streaming white smoke billowing high above lush green treetops.

A glistening, twinkling mass of small blinking lights, gathered together in swarms far below a distant mass of screaming war planes, bombs falling with a soft whistle towards the impending doom which awaited them.

A blood red sun rising over a pure, crystal sea marred by large globules of thick black, oozing stealthily across it's unsuspecting skin.

The encampment he had just left, red and gold banners flying high in the wind, small tents dotted here and there in patches of stark contrast to the deep green grass below.

The encampment faded, replaced by the sudden appearance of two china blue eyes, narrowed, outlined by a pale face and a mop of sandy coloured hair. Peter drew back, disappointed, realizing it was no strange apparition, but rather the ordinary reflection of himself. He sighed, and was halfway through rising to his feet, when he froze.

The face in the mirror was changing. The blue eyes widened with fear, the face paled to sickly white pallor, the mouth opened wide, emitting a silent scream. As if ripped by a sudden force, gashes marred the skin everywhere, blood welling and oozing down the face in rivulets. Peter felt nausea settle in his stomach, bile rise in his throat, and on impulse his foot shot from beneath to kick the offending object and send it flying over the muddy ground. It seemed to take an age to fall, before it finally collided violently with the slushy ground and shattered in a shower of tiny fragments.

Breathing hard with the blood pounding in his ears, Peter tried to calm his racing heart and slumped to the ground, watching without real interest as the remnants of the mirror sunk into the ground as though sucked down by some unseen force. He was shaking, and felt a sudden exhaustion he knew could not be physical. After all, he was still translucent, and he sunk into the ground farther than any normal solid substance could.

He closed his eyes and leant his forehead against his knees, rocking back and forth as he had done often as a child. He felt weak, and helpless. He wanted so desperately just to be home, or just with his family. Lucy, with her sweet smile, Susan, however infuriating she may be. And Edmund…he wanted more than anything else in the world for his brother to be safe, not lying limp and shattered in a field in a pool of his own blood.

Peter slammed a grazed and shaking fist into the ground, and felt the despair grow when it found no solidity, only sunk deeper. He let out a strangled sound somewhere between a sob and a scream, and sat up rigid, drawing deep breaths. It would not help anyone, least of all himself, if he lost his resolve now. He had not lost, yet. He was not a failure until his family lay buried beneath the earth, and he felt, somehow, he would feel an empty void in his heart if any of them were to…well…there was no use thinking like that now.

Peter gathered his courage and let a long, slow breath out, feeling considerably calmer, and got to his feet. He had to find a way out of this void, or cycle, or whatever it was, to get back to Narnia. To his family. Lucy, Susan, Edmund. He had to think of them now, and how to get back to them, and nothing else. Not the fear, not the despair, not the implausibility of the situation. He had to concentrate.

Peter looked around, more carefully this time, and could make out vaguely the features of the land around him. It seemed relatively flat, although quite unstable, and he wrinkled his nose as his feet sunk even further into the soft mud below him. The sky was almost completely black, and riddled with huge formations of different coloured murky smokes, yellow and brown and grey. The smell would have been awful, he supposed, if he had a nose. He supposed he should be thankful for that.

"Well…might as well pick a direction…" he muttered to himself, and set off at a brisk walk towards the nearest looming, indistinct shape. It was a long, slightly raised mound, and seemed to be made up of misshaped bricks. Peter frowned, and noted that there was no movement as far as he could see…which wasn't far, but still. He slowed his pace and squinted, trying to see the moving figures behind the structure more clearly. But he felt no fear. After all, he reasoned, if he didn't technically exist, he could hardly be harmed, could he?

He let out a yelp as he skidded the last few metres over a puddle of oil and crimson fluid, and froze as he realized he was now waist high in a mass of sharp, thicketed barbed wire. He reached a trembling hand down to touch the tip of a spike, and sighed in relief as he confirmed that he was, as he had predicted (or rather hoped) unharmed. Cautiously, he waded through the tangle of wire, and let out a deep breath as he broke free from the thicket. Harmful or not, it was disturbing to be speared by hundreds of needle sharp spikes which could impale you any second.

He could hear voices as he drew closer; hushed, hoarse voices which grated and scratched like a broken record. Peter winced as he reached the wall of sodden sandbags which marked the beginning of a deep dip in the ground, and stared.

This must be the trenches he had heard about. What on earth was he doing here? Was he back home, in his own world? How did he get here? Why? He was too tired to question himself any further; he had no answers, and there was nobody here to ask. Or rather, nobody who would know. Would they be able to see him? Surely not. If his own sisters had not seen him, strangers most certainly could not. But could it be different here in this world? Was it even his own world, or was it some parallel thing, like in the stories he had read?

"Hey, look! You there! HALT!"

Peter jumped back in shock and fell to the ground once again, and for the first time noticed he was no longer wearing his Narnian clothing. He wore the light blue knitted jumper, coarse brown shorts and polished school shoes he had been wearing when they were first on the train, running away from London. He could not feel the cold. Did that mean he was, as he had thought, back home? On earth? Hope rekindling in his chest, Peter scrambled up and watched with slight exhilaration as a helmeted head, holding a gun tightly in gloved hands, appeared over the lip of the trench.

He let out a gasp as he gazed into china blue eyes identical to his own.

He knew that face. Despite its gaunt features, hollow cheeks, and sickly pallor, he knew that once kindly face well. Beneath his blue eyes were dark smudges, and the once pleasantly dimpled cheeks were sallow, marred by scabbed gashes and completely covered in dirt and grime, but nevertheless, Peter knew that face. He felt a small smile spread across his own face, the action strangely foreign to him.

"Dad?"

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A/N: Well, isn't this a new development? Precisely where is Peter, and why? Well, actually, I can't remember…(goes off to read notes) Oh, apologies for the confusion caused by Cifel (or Sennjan) in future I'll make sure he is only referred to as Cifel in the text, and Sennjan in speech. Sorry for the stupid mistake!

Cifel: (mutters)

Review if you are feeling charitable!