A/N: Oh, yeah, some people are claiming my spelling is off…well, I would like to add a little reminder.
IMPORTANT: I'M BRITISH. I use British spelling. Where you use s's, I usually use c's. Apologies, but it's the setting on my computer, and to me, it is correct.
Oh yeah! Congratulations to the two reviewers who spotted the Les Miserables quote! I was listening to the song 'A little fall of rain' while writing that scene, and it just sorta fell in…
I'd be interested to know if anyone else British is reading this…just wondered.
This is Peter
Chapter thirty six
It was…warm.
So very warm. He could smell soft earth, and fresh, green grass. A cool, refreshing breeze ruffled his hair lightly, wafting the sweet scent of wild flowers about him.
His body ached, but he didn't feel any…pain. Only numb. But he wasn't cold…just a little dizzy. The world seemed to tilt beneath him, and he groaned slightly as he moved his hand up to rub at his face.
Then his china blue eyes snapped open.
He squinted as the bright light of sun seeped into orbs used to dreary darkness, and winced, throwing a hand over his face languidly. His vision was cloudy and blurred, and his movements seemed sluggish, as if he were trapped in a dream.
He blinked, and sat up, staring around.
He was in a grassy meadow. The plants about were tall and unkempt, but somehow appeared rebelliously beautiful. The flowers about him were all of one kind, and his mouth fell open as he gazed at the seething, softly swaying mass of sky blue about him.
He was half submerged in a huge collection of baby blue flowers, and he bent his head to peer at them closer. They had tiny splotches of golden yellow within the centre, and nodded their curled buds in the warm, summer breeze.
He frowned.
His mind was…blurred. He…couldn't remember how he had come to be here. There had been pain, a blinding light…but other than that, nothing.
He scrambled to his feet, a small, gentle smile growing on his lips as his hands brushed against the soft texture of many petals against his fingers. He seemed detached; he moved before his mind seemed to register he had done so, and so everything was slightly hazy.
But, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to pay it any heed, nor thought.
It was so peaceful here; quite unlike where he had come from, wherever that was. He resolved not to ponder upon it…after all, it was quiet here. And he felt…at peace. Carefree.
On a simple whim, he let out a small laugh and hurried through the sea of flowers, wondering what they were called. They were the colour of the sky, thehue of blue Victorian china.
He carefully plucked one from its stem, and placed it snugly in his chest pocket. He glanced about eagerly, drinking in the sights and smells around him with wide eyes.
He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered in delight, as another cool draft of warm air caused goose bumps to rise up his bare arms and legs. He smiled, and sank to his knees, throwing himself onto his back with a soft peal of laughter.
It was safe, and warm, here. Yes, he liked it. He didn't think he ever wanted to leave. Whatever it was he had left behind…it had been hurting him. And why on earth would he want to go back to that…
When he was so happy here?
But…
Surely, he was forgetting something…
He shrugged lightly and smiled slightly uneasily. Well, no matter. He was safe here. Nothing would hurt him.
Automatically, he rubbed at his chest, and swallowed. A dull ache had begun to grow there, and he winced. He didn't like it. It wasn't a pleasant ache, like the one in his warm limbs.
It hurt.
He jumped and let out a yelp of surprise as a dark head, upside down, appeared above him, blocking out the sky. Its features and face were in shadow, so he could only see an outline, silhouetted against the clear sky.
He smiled drowsily and blinked up at the figure.
A cloud which had been shadowing the sun hastily scurried out of the way, and Peter gasped as his gaze met china blue eyes which matched the sky above it, and a very familiar face.
He blinked.
Then laughed softly, reaching up a hand to bat at his father's cheeks, just as he used to do when he was a little boy.
"Daddy?"
His smile widened disbelievingly, and his hand dropped to fall upon the crumpled flowers around him.
"What on earth are you doing here?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cold, clinging rain poured down upon him, slapping against his pale cheeks and cascading from the curling ends of his dark hair. He watched them tremble, then fall, tumbling down.
He then snapped his gaze up, refusing to watch their process down his brother's body.
He daren't check for a pulse.
He already knew where Peter was…he could feel him. It was faint, it was barely a glimmer…but it was there. The object, vessel beside him was merely a shell, a reflection of Peter formed into living flesh.
Peter himself was far away from here.
Edmund had cried bitterly, till he had no strength, no tears left to shed. He felt…nothing. Not even a numb ache. He was empty. Empty as the broken shell of his brother was beside him.
His face remained unchanging as he brushed the limp, damp strands of golden hair away from his brother's face. He wiped the trail of blood carefully from his brother's lips, and wiped it on his own sleeve.
The land around him was screaming silently, wailing in desperate grief. He shuddered as he felt their cries intensify around him, as the rain began to ease.
It seemed the heavens, like Edmund, had no more grief to give.
There was something…which lingered, within his heart, the very core of his soul. Something etched into his being, a thread of light so thin he felt were he to move, it would break and fall.
He had more strength to gather, no more emotion to bear. His limbs moved slowly, as he placed a gentle hand beneath his brother's neck, stooping low to crouch and tense his muscles.
He closed his eyes briefly, and toppled awkwardly forwards to lay his forehead against Peter's, feeling a stab of agony as he felt how cold it was. Soft, golden strands of hair tickled his brow, and the lingering smell of peppermint still invaded his senses.
He listened, bearing his very soul, letting all barriers within his defences shatter and reaching outwards with all the meagre strength he possessed.
Wild flowers, blue skies, the swaying lull of a summer breeze.
Laughter.
He drew a deep breath and drew back, a fire beginning to kindle within his chest. He weakly smiled, and let out a choking laugh, brushing the hair back from Peter's forehead fondly, his laughter fading.
He pressed a searing, gentle kiss to Peter's temple, and buried his face in the golden hair. He closed his eyes tightly as a pulsating fire spread throughout his body, filling the despairing void with a blinding light.
With a cry of defiance, he shifted one arm below his brother's knees and the other under his back, and climbed unsteadily to his feet.
'Don't be silly. I'm stronger now, remember? Besides, you're not that heavy.'
'And even if you were, I'd carry you to the ends of the Earth if I had to.'
A slow, drowsy smile split Edmund's mask, and he turned his head to smile down at the messy head of golden hair which now rested comfortably against his shoulder.
"Funny, Pip…I didn't think I'd ever actually have to…"
He murmured, as a cool breeze rose and tossed his dark hair about his head. The sky was clearing, the last trickles of rain forming into puddles and seeping into the sodden earth.
Peter's face was hidden in Edmund's own neck, but he could feel the tickle of eyelashes and strands of hair against his bare skin. Some semblance of warmth had begun to seep from Edmund to the cold shell he now cradled protectively in his arms.
Edmund's smile widened, and he lightly rested his cheek against Peter's head as he shifted his arms, moving his brother to rest more comfortably against him. It was awkward, and had he been but a mite shorter, it would have been almost impossible.
He made a small note to resurrect Cifel after he had killed him…twice.
He drew himself up straighter, fixing his eyes upon the horizon, and the lightening sky above the crest of the hill. As long as he lived, and breathed, and still possessed the strength to stumble on…
He would never stop fighting, till the bitter end.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cifel shuddered and suppressed the urge to retch, as he stood beside a now crusted patch of dark blood, starkly pooled upon the dark earth and flattened grass.
The swaying leaves about him were frosted with a powdery sheen of cold ice, and the clearing seemed altogether unbearably quiet.
Something terrible had happened here.
He could still almost hear screams, echoing, resounding within the marrow of the land itself. He knelt carefully down, and touched a hand into the tar-like crimson pool.
He gasped as a terrible, agonised scream sounded in his mind, and scrambled backwards.
The wind picked up, and grew in intensity, and Cifel stared with wide eyes as the trees around the clearing seemed to draw back their branches to form an indistinct, crudepath.
'Your Lordship. This way.'
He followed its course, and caught sight of the occasional rivulets of blood which marked the way. He still could feel nothing from the broken bonds with the two Sons of Adam.
He turned swiftly about to address the solemn griffin at his side, whose feathers were stood tensely on end.
"Go back to the party, and relay orders to prepare for combat. I shall rejoin you in a moment…but there is something I must do, first."
The griffin nodded its crested head, and flexed its powerful wings as it took flight, soaring over the hilltop to join its fellows. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and tentatively reached along the trail of sorrow towards the valley where Aslan's camp once stood.
There was a single presence; pulsating steadily, strong, and seemingly calm, if a little turbulent.
And another…so weak, if he had been any other, or if the wind had picked up at that moment, it would have been lost to him. He frowned, as he spread his own limbs, and watched the land turn to a blur beneath him.
The trail was fading, the bloody arrows along the path growing cold.
He may already be too late.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Edmund did not move to look up as he felt, rather than saw, the foreign presence enter the small enclosed hollow within the hillside. He smiled bitterly, and closed his eyes as he heard Cifel moving softly closer.
"Oh…dear Lord above, no…"
Edmund let loose a manic, somewhat strangled chuckle.
"You're a little late, guardian."
He kept his gaze upon Peter's unmoving, strangely peaceful face. He could have been sleeping, lost within the throes of a joyful fantasy all to himself.
Perhaps he was.
But Edmund wished, so terribly, selfish as he was, that he could wake him from it.
Cifel dropped to his knees, and hastily moved to wrench the cloak which Edmund had carefully tucked around Peter away. Edmund's hand shot out, and grasped Cifel's trembling hand with a harsh grip.
"Don't you dare."
He yanked the other's arm away, turning to glare with cold fury into the other's emerald, strangely glassy eyes.
"Don't you dare touch him."
Emerald eyes narrowed in desperate anger, and Edmund was dully startled to feel the forearm clasped within his own shake even harder with suppressed emotion.
"Son of Adam, there is still time! We can still-"
"I know that."
Edmund let Cifel go with a lurch, and allowed his own hand to fall to Peter's hair, smoothing it back away from his face as he had done so for many hours now. He smiled weakly at his brother's pale, but peace filled face, free of worry or from grief.
"I…know. Just…let him have a little longer. Just a few more moments, of peace."
Cifel blinked at him in surprise, and they sat silently for a few minutes, Edmund's head bowed. Cifel felt a quiet strength emanate from the boy, and vaguely admired his courage.
"And now."
Edmund turned to fix serious, solemn dark eyes upon Cifel, and his hand moved to rest protectively upon Peter's shoulder.
"Tell me what I have to do."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
It wasn't at all as Lucy had imagined it.
There was no heroic, romantic splendour, no swords shining in the midday sun. There was nothing but bleak cries and screams, and the endless flow of blood which stained her hands and clothing a deep crimson.
She hurried among the injured in the rear ranks, desperately tilting her vial with fervent care. Sometimes, she would be too late, and hastily continued on.
She felt so…helpless.
She would have loved to stay by the side of each creature as their soul was quietly whisked away, and perhaps mutter a prayer of hope to send them on their way. But she could not.
She had to keep going, keep healing, keep stumbling on.
For the first time in her short years, she was truly needed. She could help, she could make a difference, she had the power over life, or over death.
It was frightening.
But she could bear the pain…even if it was with a heavy heart brimming with despairing sorrow.
She hurried over to an injured faun, curly brown hair sticky with blood and kindly face scrunched up in agony like a newborn child.
It would be a long day.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: First scene was Peter in purgatory, by the way. Henry Pevensie is there because he still has one more task to complete (bet you can work out what that is) and the flowers are forget me not's.
Ironically.
Edmund can feel Peter through the last remaining threads of the bond. He believed Peter hadn't completely gone, and reached out to him with all his heart. He got a flash of Peter's consciousness, which was the italic section in the second scene.
Just thought I'd kill clear that up…
Ah yes, I need advice for the sequel. I have two possible plotlines in the works, but I need your opinion; I could either write:
A sequel which is partly centred in the real world, especially school life for Peter and Edmund, and partly in Narnia.
Or…
A sequel mostly centred in Narnia.
I personally would prefer to do one focused on the real world, as it provides a refreshing change for me as an author, as well as a new challenge and endless concepts to work with. But I would like to know your opinion, all the same.
Anyway…
Next chapter: Peter and Daddy have a heart to heart, Edmund shows Cifel the true power of love, and Susan and Lucy face trials and peril in the battle for Narnia.