A/N: Phew…okay, so I am alive and…well…that's all really. My life is sooooo boring. Anywhoo, big thanks to all who reviewed! I hope you liked the extra long celebratory chapter 20. Now for the long, slow slog up to 30! (this could take quite some considerable time…)
Meanwhile, be happy, review, and never tell your chemistry teacher you don't find 3 million year old carbon dioxide released from a lump of chalk interesting. Trust me. You'll find out the true meaning of 'spontaneous combustion'.
The snowdrop spirit's not a Mary sue nor a main character, so nobody panic. She's just my little plot device.
To CryincindyLou: Yes, I know, and for everybody's sake I will state that yes, the title is spelt wrong. 'Synchronicity' is correct, but somehow it seemed a little too long. Also, I wanted it to be similar to 'chronicles' as in 'chronicles of Narnia'. But as it bothers you, I shall change it. Sorry!
Anyway…
Chapter twenty one
Aslan watched as the young spirit timidly dropped to a small curtsey, her petal composed body rippling as though caught in a breeze. She was evidently some sort of flower spirit, as she was not tall enough to be a tree. She was coloured purely white, with small dashes of leafy green here and there.
"My daughter. Tell me what it is which has brought you here."
She nodded, and hesitantly began to speak, her voice tinny and ringing as though it was a bell.
"I lay in a valley among the Ettinsmoor trees, and was plagued by mildew and greenfly. I was dying, my lord Aslan."
Aslan gestured for her to continue as she looked to him for encouragement. Ettinsmoor…the mountain range, far north. What on earth was a snowdrop spirit doing so far away from her birthplace, and in Spring? She must barely be a seedling…
"You must have traveled long and hard, to come so swiftly. I commend you for your loyalty, spirit of the spring. But tell me. Why have you come?"
Her white petals blushed a light peach at the compliment, and she bobbed another curtsey before continuing, her tone more confident now.
"I heard unfamiliar voices, my Lord. Like nothing I've ever heard before. They lilted like a melody, and I rose in my weakness to see a strange, crouched figure kneeling among the grass. He was like a faun, only furless, and he had no cloved feet."
She smiled reminiscently as Aslan's eyes widened, and his thoughts raced with possibilities. Could it be? But if so, how?
"Suddenly there was a terrible sound of smashing glass, and shards of what seemed like diamonds fell all about me. But I felt so queer, my Lord. A warmth like none I've ever felt sped through me, and I felt my strength return."
She paused for a moment, sighed, and went on.
"It was a miracle, sir. And I thought that surely the Great Lion would wish to know of such an event. Did I do right?"
She looked apprehensively at him, eagerly awaiting his response. Aslan, though troubled, managed a small smile.
"You did well, my child. But I must ask you for further service."
Her emerald eyes widened in surprise, and she smiled delightedly.
"Oh, anything, sir!"
"Kindly fetch the daughter's of Eve from the tent beside this one…have you a name?"
She shook her head, white petals dancing about her head. She appeared to be the equivalent of a five year old in human terms, Aslan mused, but had a good heart and an eagerness to learn. Yes, she would serve Susan and Lucy well.
"Then I shall name you Toll, in honour of the warning bells which have long foretold the forthcomings of the world. Will you do me the service of becoming the daughter's of Eve guardian, should they lose their way? To stand beside them, in victory, and in defeat?"
She clapped her hands together in joy, then clasped them and bowed low, before eagerly turning on her heel and dispersing into a flurry of petals and leaves, her tinny voice carrying on the wind as she sped away.
"Oh, thank you, my Lord! I shall protect the daughters of Eve with every speck of life within me."
Aslan smiled, and then faltered. But this was indeed joyous, and yet grave news. There was only one other than he in this realm capable of such 'miracles'. And if he had truly entered the counsel of the Son's of Adam…who had apparently escaped the clutches of the witch, for better, or for worse…there was no telling how this tale of tragedy would find its finale.
Aslan bowed his head, raising his head to the heavens, eyes glimmering with a deep pain in their soft amber depths.
"Oh, Lucifel. Why have you deserted me, my child?"
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It was so warm.
Edmund felt a peaceful contentment which seemed strangely foreign. There was a heavy weight resting against the back of his neck, but it was not oppressive. It was soft and slightly ticklish, and he was comfortable. He let out a soft sigh and shifted in his sleep.
He could smell the familiar scent of home. Musty carpets, with the bitter tang of the soap their mother soaked her household appliances in to keep them shining, even with the rationing.
And peppermint.
Peppermint like Peter.
A couple of years back, Peter had caught a terrible summer cold. He tended to be susceptible to those sorts of illnesses, unfortunately. His lungs had been weak since he was little. Asthma, or something. Quite how he managed to catch a sniffle in 35 degree weather, Edmund would never understand.
Peter had been desperately searching for a handkerchief in his mother's dressing table, top drawer, eyes half blinded by tears brought on by hay fever. While fumbling about, he had accidentally spilt a bottle of peppermint essence she used to scent the hankies with. It had gone all over his jumper, and soaked all the hankies in the drawer.
Their mother had not been angry, merely laughed and commented on her son's strange sense in perfume. She had given all of the hankies to him, stating that he needed them more than she did. Peter had bought her six new ones for Christmas that year, but from that day on, Peter carried one of these peppermint hankies with him wherever he went, just in case. And so Peter was inevitably doomed to smell of peppermint forever more.
Edmund could smell peppermint.
And blood.
And his eyes snapped open, to be assaulted by a bright, hazy wash of bright blue, green and red. He blinked, and reached up a hand to blearily rub at his eyes. He yawned idly, and went to rise onto his elbows.
He stopped as an additional weight pulled him down, and glanced slowly down at his thoroughly trapped midsection. A sky blue coloured shirt sleeve was just visible for his half asleep state. He blinked, and gently turned his head to inspect the offending object resting against the back of his neck.
He blinked, and then smiled.
All he could see was a mass of mussed golden hair, but it was enough. Peter was curled up against Edmund's back, knees brought up to his chest, one arm resting across his little brother's stomach. His head had been resting in the crook between Edmund's shoulder blades. Edmund's smile widened and he shook his head lightly as he carefully removed Peter's arm from his own stomach, tucking against Peter's chest. He then turned over to study his brother properly.
He reached out a hand to push the soft golden bangs away from Peter's face, and let out a quiet gasp, stiffening.
Peter was very pale, making a fading bruise below his right eye all the more accented. His lip was split and scabbed, and there was dried crusted blood seemingly frozen in mid flow from a healing gash which had drenched the side of his head hidden by the earth below them.
Edmund hastily clambered to his knees, tossing the cloak wrapped around him aside. He cursed his brother's stupidity as he placed the back of his hand on Peter's cheek, finding it terribly cold. He shuddered as he was painfully reminded of the living corpse his brother had spent several weeks inhabiting. He carefully maneuvered his brother onto his back, reaching for the cloak and tucking it around Peter's chest.
He rubbed his hands vigorously up and down Peter's arms, trying to restore some semblance of warmth as he studied his brother's injuries more carefully, thinking. After a moment he looked down in confusion at his own shoulder. It was wrapped in what looked like clean white bandages. He rolled the joint carefully, flinching in anticipation of the resulting pain.
But he felt nothing.
Only a lingering tickle of warmth in his chest. It was as though the injury had never been there. He reached up to feel his face, to find nothing but smooth skin, all cuts and bruises gone. But it made no sense. Just hours ago he had been in mortal pain, charging at Galgorus…
Galgorus!
He raised his head to look at his surroundings for the first time, and blanched, blood draining from his face as he stared around at the carnage. Corpses of dead wolves lay everywhere, some with limbs or entire torso's missing, as though ripped apart with bare hands. Reluctantly, Edmund rose to his feet, taking one last look at his brother before walking slowly over to the nearest body.
The head lay a few feet away, and Edmund flinched as he recognized the dead, unseeing golden gaze of Galgorus. He felt a shiver creep up his spine as he thought back to when he, Edmund, had beheaded the wolf with his own hands.
He had never killed before.
"Ed…mund…?"
Edmund started, and whirled about to see Peter looking drowsily up at him, half raised on his elbows, sky blue eyes clouded with sleep. His older brother rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand and blinked owlishly, yawning. Edmund suppressed a chuckle of amusement at how childish his brother looked. But then, he always looked younger in his sleep. Edmund merely smiled and made his way over to Peter, crouching beside him and brushing the hair away from his brother's face to watch him properly.
"Hey there, sleeping beauty. How you feeling?"
Peter scowled half heartedly at him, and seemed almost to pout, at which Edmund couldn't quite contain an amused chuckle. Peter appeared affronted, taking it as a personal insult, and whacked Edmund upside the head as he levered himself up to a sitting position.
"What do you mean…how am I feeling? How are you feeling?"
Edmund rubbed his injured head, and considered the question, still peering closely at his brother; noting the dark smudges beneath Peter's dulled eyes. Had be been up all night?
"Surprisingly good, for a person with only one shoulder. What happened?"
Peter glanced once over Edmund's body, checking he was indeed telling the truth, and seemed satisfied.
"Well, I'm not entirely sure. It all went so fast…you beheaded that wolf, and then you…just…"
Peter swallowed and looked down, and Edmund put a hand on his brother's neck, raising his chin and forcing Peter to look him in the eye. He kept his gaze level, recalling how their father used his 'soothing' tone whenever one of them was angry or worried.
"But I'm fine now. Come on Peter, buck up. We're both alright, aren't we? So tell me. How did this miraculous healing come about?"
Peter sat up a little straighter, took a deep breath and fiddled absentmindedly with the makeshift blanket as he continued.
"It was that boy…the one who helped us escape…I'm not sure what he did, but I looked up, and all the wolves were dead. And you…well. So he came back, and we…talked. And he agreed to heal you. So he did. And, well…"
Peter gestured feebly at Edmund, uncomfortable.
"…here we are."
Edmund' eyes narrowed as his gaze roved over Peter's face, and bloodstained clothing.
"But he wouldn't heal you? Why?"
Peter shrugged lightly, awkwardly avoiding Edmund's gaze.
"I didn't ask him too, I suppose. This blood isn't mine, by the way. So don't worry so."
Edmund bit his lip, and then glanced down at Peter's ankle. It looked swollen, and was bent at a slightly odd angle.
"What about your ankle? Is it broken?"
Peter slapped Edmund's hands away and tentatively touched the swollen joint, winced, then probed it carefully. After a few moments, he shook his head as he gingerly rotated the limb.
"No. It's just a little sore, that's all. I may have to limp like an old man for a while, though."
His eyes were sincere, but Edmund was sure he could see…something, a lingering emotion he couldn't quite trace, in that hauntingly calm gaze. Something was wrong with his brother. Something very wrong.
"Are you sure you're alright? You seem a little…well, I don't know. Is 'melancholyesque' even a word?"
Peter laughed, but Edmund could see that bitter tint remain, even as his brother's face lit up with amusement.
"No, but it describes my mood well enough. I've just…had a lot on my mind lately. Don't worry so, Ed."
He ruffled his brother's dark hair with much protest from Edmund, who muttered about brick-headed brothers and disrespect of personal appearances. Peter shook his head with fake exasperation, grinning. His face fell as he looked at the grime which covered Edmund's face, and sighed.
"Look at us, what a mess. Covered in God knows what. Mother would have a fit if she saw us now."
Edmund grinned.
"Well, at least we won't have to suffer spit soaked tissues scrubbing it away."
They both laughed, the joyous sound dispelling the dark mood and bringing the budded flowers peeping back out into the morning sunshine once again. After a few moment of comfortable silence, Peter went to clamber to his feet.
"Let's go to the stream and get ourselves cleaned up. I think-"
He broke off as his ankle gave way, and Edmund jerked forwards to grab his brother by the arm to prevent him from falling to the ground. Peter struggled up, face set in a scowl.
"Oh, bother it. This going to be simply awful. I feel like a right idiot, limping about like an invalid."
Edmund couldn't resist.
"Well, the larger the pride, the greater the fall."
And his 'impudence' earned him another playful cuff around the ear, and he yelped, nearly overbalancing and sending them both crashing to the ground. He regained his balance, barely, and adjusted his grip on his brother.
"You are an ass. Well, come on. I fear this will take a long time with all this added weight on my ankle."
"Here, then. Lean on me."
Edmund pulled Peter's arm up around his own shoulders and wrapped his own arm around his brother's waist, taking the pressure off the afflicted limb. He noted how he wouldn't have been able to do this properly, had been only an inch shorter. A voice from the recent past resurfaced, uncalled, from the depths of his memory:
'You won't be able to protect your brother with that height disadvantage.'
Much as he hated to admit it, he owed the other boy at least for this. Maybe he should let him off with only a short, painless death instead of the long term suffering he had planned…
"But, Ed…are you sure you can take the weight?"
Edmund smiled at Peter, as they moved awkwardly towards the trees, weaving between the bodies of the wolves with uneasy wariness.
"Don't be silly. I'm stronger now, remember? Besides, you're not that heavy."
'And even if you were,' Edmund thought 'I'd carry you to the ends of the Earth if I had to.'
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Cifel: Swift...painless...death? (looks slightly worried)
A/N: The ending was inspired by a song I once heard named 'He ain't heavy, he's my brother'. Not sure who by, though. Anyone though. The 'weight' was symbolic of Edmund accepting responsibility for Peter. (squeals) sleepy Peter! Adorable! I bet nobody expected to see that random snowdrop again!
To explain about Toll; you will have had to have been extremely observant to remember where she came from. Remember when Peter smashed the vials and tossed them into the bushes? I mentioned a little white flower suddenly growing and becoming healed? That was Toll, and she promptly rushed off to tell Aslan of this little 'miracle'. As I've said, she is the equivalent of five years old, and will become like Cifel is to the boy's, only she has no complicated history, and is not evil. Just a little guide for the girls.
Oh, 'ass' was in context with a donkey, not a rear behind. They didn't use it in such ways in those times.
I enjoyed writing this. Back to Edmund angst…I had to completely adjust my style of writing. Now, where has Cifel got to? Naughty little OC…
Toll: (giggles and gestures under the bed)
Cifel: (hits head on mattress) Dammit!
Galgorus: (tightly tied to bedpost) grrrrr…
I'm running out of villains…I'll have to think about that. Has anyone got any ideas as to who the witch might recruit as her second in command, other than a wolf? It would be really useful to hear your ideas. A giant, maybe? Or has anyone got something more interesting up their angst reveling sleeves?
If so, review! If not, review anyway! You know the drill! Oh, and you'll be pleased to know Mr Tumnus is alive and well, if a little dazed…