A/N: Thank you all for your opinions on the sequel! It may take some time for me to get it all drafted and the concepts developed, so it'll be a few weeks between this one and the next. The result of the gathered opinions was a majority vote for both Narnia and the real world, and I am very glad most of you think it would be interesting to see both sides. For those who would have preferred Narnia only…there'll be a lot of that, too, so don't despair!
Want a hint?
Well, I always enjoy reading your predictions, so…oh yes, somebody asked me if this would be following canon format. It is written as an AU, and the time differences and characters may vary, but I will endeavour to try to vaguely stick to Lewis' view.
Q: If you do a third sequel, will you make it so Susan and Peter will not be in it?
A: Well, I'm afraid I'll have to disagree with Lewis on this. 'Dawn Treader' was a wonderful book, but it had one flaw: no Peter. Yes, I'm biased. Eustace, Caspian and all the others will be in it too, though.
This chapter contains Henry Pevensie POV, to avoid confusion.
This is Peter
This is Edmund
Chapter thirty seven
"Many ages ago, when the Lion first forged the land…he put in place a deep magic by which to rule it. It balances right against wrong, good against evil. It is a code of conduct by which all nature is ruled."
Edmund listened carefully, as Cifel gazed out at the now clear blue skies above them. He seemed so very…frail, to Edmund. Not at all like the sarcastic, vibrant young man Edmund had first met.
War changes us all, he mused.
"He spoke to me at length of it; explained its workings, its rules. But he never explained what it really was."
A light breeze rose, sending the trees upon the hill rustling uneasily. It seemed they, too, sensed the terrible quiet of the world; foretelling what was to come. The wholerealm was on edge, teetering, poised on the edge of a knife.
"Understand, Son of Adam. There are many lands within our world. This is but one, and yours is yet another. Once, you would hear tell of a crossing place, a wood, of sorts, which contained many pools."
Edmund listened attentively, his back straight, brow furrowed as he acknowledged each and every word. He felt strangely…calculated. Calm, and yet alert.
"Lost souls, souls which still cling vainly to their own world, and the things they hold dear…were said to often end up wandering those woods, faced by their deepest fears, and desires, before they could go on."
Edmund saw in his minds eye a dark, shadowed wood, and Peter, that bewildered, innocent, naïve despair shining in his sky blue eyes. He shivered despite the warm summer breeze, and lowered his gaze to rest on his brother as Cifel continued in a soft, almost reverent voice.
"It was a trial, of sorts…designed to test the courage, and the will, of every soul which entered there. Those who had the strength to go on, to follow the path of the light, would know to follow their hearts and live in never-ending glory."
Edmund thought of the teachings he had learnt in Sunday school; of heaven, and of hell, and a plane of the in-between…purgatory, their teacher had called it.
"Those who despaired and fell into darkness would eventually fade away, their voices carried only by the currents of the wind. Eventually they were reborn as the life which populated the forests; the tree spirits. These were doomed to remain in that land forever, undecided, unchanging, lost forever."
Edmund reached down, and grasped Peter's limp, cold hand in his own, interlocking their fingers tightly. Subconsciously, he supposed he wanted to give his brother strength. In truth, he knew he also wanted to draw strength from Peter.
He was so selfish.
"It has been known…for some to find their winding way back to their own land. However…they are unable to return to their physical forms, and wander their land as mere shadows of their former selves."
Ghosts, Edmund thought with a small shudder. He had always believed in them, despite what the older children said at school. There had been whispers of a shadowy presence in the east wing of the school, scorned by the older years, feared by the younger.
Peter…a ghost?
He closed his eyes, and brought the reassuringly solid hand clasped in his own to rest against his cheek. He drew a deep breath.
"I…couldn't do that. Not to him…it's just…too cruel."
'And…I'd never be able to touch him, ever. He'd just be there, untouchable, forbidden, coldly unreal…'
"You are right, of course. We cannot simply draw a mere shadow back from the void…but…I…"
Edmund glanced up as Cifel seemed to hesitate, biting his bottom lip so hard it had begun to turn white. He shivered as a well of blood rose about the pressure, and gave the guardian's arm a firm shove.
"Tell me."
Cifel ran a hand through his dark, damp hair distractedly, his eyes flitting from the sky, to Edmund, to Peter. After a moment, he spoke again.
"He is still connected to this material realm-but only a single thread. His…love for you ties him to you, binds his fate to yours. And your own love for him allows it to cross across the barrier between the worlds."
Edmund swallowed dryly, searching within his heart for that familiar tugging which he had suspected may have had something to do with all this. It was so…warm. Calm. Strong. The very essence of Peter, living on within himself.
"Actually bringing him back…is simple. However…it is not as easy to revive him in his physical form."
Edmund's hand tightened convulsively around Peter's, his own hand throbbing with a frenzied pulse which contrasted horribly with the deadly still of his brother's.
"There is a way…but we would need a considerable disturbance within the deep magic in order to gather enough energy to do it. Short circuit it, so to speak."
Edmund moved his thumb carefully over Peter's coarse, but clammy skin, wiping away the small splatters of crimson which had marred its surface. He wondered if he should feel apprehensive…but he knew…
He would do whatever was asked of him.
If he could only have Peter…living, breathing, and smiling…by his side againeven if only for a moment...
"In order to re-awaken his body and root his soul within it…we'll need…a willing sacrifice."
Edmund closed his eyes tightly and brought their clasped hands to his lips, drawing a deep, shuddering breath. So, this was how it was to end. Peter gave his life for him…and he was once again indebted to return in kind.
How cruelly…ironic.
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"What am I doing here…?"
Peter frowned, as his father's face contorted into a picture of distressed anguish. He drew away slightly as Henry Pevensie grasped his son's shoulder and pulled him upright, staring with disbelief into eyes which mirrored his own.
"Peter…? It is you?"
Peter studied his father's face, and his own lips rose in a tentative grin. He laughed softly, scrambling to his feet and flinging his arms around his father's waist, burying his head in his shoulder.
"Don't be silly, Daddy. Of course it's me."
Yes, Henry thought, as he enfolded his eldest child in a tight embrace. This was Peter, but…not the Peter he had left rigidly refusing to cry at a cold train station. Or the one which had stood over him as he…died.
He seemed so…childish.
Though not in a juvenile, petulant way. More…carefree. Innocent. Henry reached up a hand to touch his son's hair, not quite believing he was really here.
But…why was he here?
Was Peter…dead too? The lion had said only the dead came here. Was his son…dead? Lying cold and alone in some ditch somewhere in the wild countryside?
He shuddered, and drew back, holding Peter at arms length. His son gazed up at him with eyes filled with affection, not a trace of the sorrow which had previously filled them remaining.
"Peter…what are you…doing here?"
Peter's smile faltered, and he frowned, as though struggling to remember something. Quite suddenly, his eyes widened, and he wrenched away from his father, shaking his head violently as though to dispel some barrier.
"No…"
His son began to shake, wrapping his arms around himself, folding over, eyes closing. Henry moved forward, concerned, but Peter turned away.
"You…dead…why…I'm…"
Henry grabbed his son's arms, watching Peter's slender form shake, his breathing shallow and erratic. It was impossible…you couldn't have a fit if you didn't even have a body…
"Ed…mund…"
The landscape around them seemed to darken, the wind picking up and growing colder. A cloud scurried across the sun, and the flowers about them seemed to wilt. Henry drew Peter close to him, rubbing hasty circles in his son's back. Peter, however, only shook harder.
"It…hurts. I don't want to go back…it's dark and cold there. It hurts…I want…I…"
Peter clenched his fist in his father's shirt, and let out a strangled sound which seemed like a cross between a cry, a sob and a scream. He began to struggle in Henry's hold, and the elder Pevensie grunted as one of his son's fists collided with his chest.
"Peter, calm down! Where did you come from? Where are the others? Are they safe?"
Peter went utterly rigid, his body completely still, then light tremors began to weakly wrack his hunched shoulders. Henry was dismayed to feel the collar of his shirt, where Peter's face was now buried, grow damp.
"I…don't…know…"
Peter raised his tear stained face to stare, wide eyed, at his father, as though seeing him for the first time. Henry rubbed his son's shoulders soothingly, trying to read the flickering emotions in Peter's eyes.
"Peter, tell me. What happened?"
But Peter didn't answer. His head suddenly snapped up, and he turned his head to the side, staring out at the woods beyond the field, from which Henry had first seen his son in the long grass.
And Henry froze, as he heard an echoing voice whisper upon the wind's breath:
Peter…you can't die. You can't leave me.
And Peter had gone, tore himself away from his father, tearing across the field towards the woods where the voice had come from, the flower about him parting, forming a path to guide the way.
Henry called out after him, and followed, all the while the whispering voice echoing about the recesses of his memory.
He knew that voice. Knew it well.
Edmund.
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Cifel watched in confusion, as Edmund gently replaced his brother's hand upon his still chest. He bowed his head for a moment, drawing a deep, but steady breath. The guardian frowned as the Son of Adam reached down to the ground, retrieving something.
He caught sight of the glint of metal, and lunged forward as Edmund directed the shard of the blade towards his heart.
"No!"
Edmund jumped, as Cifel snatched the perilously sharp blade from his hand abruptly, the edge cutting into the guardian's hand. Dark eyes filled with despair as he reached for it again, desperately.
"But I have to! Peter-"
"Will not thank you for taking your own life to save his! He gave himself for you, Edmund! Do not spit upon his sacrifice by making it all for nothing!"
Edmund had begun to shake, his hands clenching at his sides as his eyes became over bright, welling with tears he had suppressed for so long. He looked so like a child, then, that Cifel felt a stab of pity for him.
Cifel cursed as he crushed the shard in his bare palm, the fragments digging into his flesh before melting away with a soft hiss. He maintained an unbroken gaze with the boy beside him, a thousand thoughts racing across his mind.
"What is the point in defeating the witch, only to have an empty throne upon the dais in Cair Paravel? Everything will have been for nothing."
He felt every ounce of the pain, the hurt, the suffering since Aslan had first abandoned him. He had been only a child himself, gifted with the weight of an entire realm upon his shoulders. He had grown because he had to, suffered because it was his duty, his right.
But he wouldn't have traded it…he would have suffered for eternity, if he only had known for sure his charge, his land, would be safe.
But he hadn't.
He had to wait, waiting for age upon age as he watched that which was most dear to his heart wither and die under the tyranny of a foreign evil, yet still he waited, on, and on.
It had destroyed him.
He would not let such things destroy another.
"I know full well you would die for your brother…but tell me, Edmund…"
He had to know. Were he to give everything for this one hope, this one chance…he had to know.
"Would you die for this land?"
Edmund gazed at him in confusion, emotions flitting across his face like a dozen slides on a screen. Cifel reached out and clutched the boy's shoulder's, desperate to convey his will to him.
"Think of every creature; every blade of grass, every pebble on the shore, every living, breathing, fraction. How much does it mean to you?"
Edmund blinked, his brow furrowing, but his eyes flitted from Cifel to Peter, still. Looking only to his brother, only to Peter, always to Peter. Did he have any room left in his heart to love another?
"A King of Narnia must love his country, his realm, and his people, with such devotion as to be bonded with it completely."
Dark mahogany clashed with glimmering emerald, and it seemed as thought the world froze at that moment, holding its breath within a weary chest.
"So tell me, Son of Adam; can you learn to love my land, my kingdom…as you love your brother?"
Edmund's eyes grew darker, and he looked out of the hollow to the swirling sky above, the rustling trees, the fresh, green grass. It was beautiful, it was…so terribly sad. Cifel saw the Son of Adam's eyes glimmer with a strange emotion, and spoke again with a hushed, soft tone.
"For if you can…this land will need no guardian any more. And I am old, and cold, dead to the very core. The last fragments of my being, if destroyed, should be enough to cause an imbalance in the barrier between the worlds."
He drew back from Edmund, and reached down to Peter, drawing the sword still marred by the stains of his blood from beside the Son of Adam's body. He balanced it carefully across his palm, and held it out to Edmund with a steady hand.
"But I only condone my death…if you swear to love Narnia as you love him. With all your heart."
A gentle, longing smile spread across his face, and his emerald eyes spoke of a joy which had not been present for many an age. He stared levelly, yet imploringly at Edmund, and his smile faltered.
"If that were to be…I would gladly die, for the charge which I once held dearest to me over all."
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To put it plainly; Cifel is offering himself to save Peter, Edmund, and his land. He's truly become a hero, hasn't he?
A/N: Well, well, well. I bet nobody saw that coming. I had this concept in mind for a long time…the idea that people will do anything, anything, for the thing they love the most.
I think this story may go on longer than I thought, so I'll make no promises for a definite last chapter. We have approximately four more and an epilogue, then special features. I'm not completely sure, but it's a general outline…
Next chapter: Edmund grows into his own, truly becoming Sir Edmund the Just, Susan and Lucy will actually get some action, and a dark shadow falls over the land of Narnia as the climax of fate draws near.
Oh yeah, those who have read 'The magician's nephew' will recognise that 'purgatory' is the woods between the worlds. I do love putting little references in here and there!
Reviews are very much appreciated, along with any possible predictions you may all have! I love hearing what you all think will happen, but I think I outsmarted you on this particular one…we'll have to see!