Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.
A/N: Thank you for being so patient (or not so patient :winks: ). I've just returned from vacation (no Internet there, I'm afraid), and so have had some time to work on this story. So now this chapter's finally up, and I hope you enjoy it!
Reviewers: All 46 of you, thank you!
Flashbacks: I'm glad these have worked out so well. The ones at the start of the chapter are generally to give a sense of time and provide some insights that the movie might not necessarily have looked into. The ones in the past (which many people seem to like :grins: ) are to give an idea of where Peter is coming from. I fully intend to continue this well into the Epilogue (and there is an Epilogue :grins again: ), so keep reading!
Edmund's Perspective: Yes, I will be using Edmund's perspective here and there (as you'll see in this chapter), but the very great part of this is from Peter's perspective. Still, it will be there, so look for it :grins:.
"Speech"
/Personal Thoughts/
Memories
.:Fever:.
Chapter IV: Origins of Healing
By Sentimental Star
(At Aslan's Encampment, Early Morning)
He stood near the edge of the precipice, one hand on his sword's hilt and dressed in Narnian attire, gazing out across the camp and towards a glittering object on the seacoast. The sea breezes gently ruffled his hair and brought with them the faint scent of salt.
He inhaled the scent, trying to live in the moment and not worry about what was to come—if only for a little while.
It came to an end as a soft, rich voice spoke up from behind him, "That is Cair Paravel of the Four Thrones."
He turned and watched as Aslan padded lightly over to him, coming to a halt on his right side, and gazing out towards the castle. Peter turned and followed his gaze.
The Lion spoke again, glancing at him. "In one of which you will sit, Peter, as High King."
He looked down at his hands, swallowing uncomfortably.
A slight hint of reprimand entered Aslan's voice, "You doubt the prophecy?"
He shook his head, not quite trusting himself to raise his head, yet. "No, it's just…" Abruptly, he turns and looks up, eyes pleading and expression pained, "Aslan, I'm not who you all think I am."
Aslan raised a great eyebrow before shifting His gaze back to the sea and speaking up quietly, "Peter Pevensie, formerly of Finchley."
His expression transformed into one of surprise.
Aslan glanced once more at him and the thirteen-year-old could have sworn he saw a teasing glint in the Great Lion's eyes, "Beaver also mentioned you planned on turning him into a hat."
In spite of himself, Peter ducked his head and smiled—a trifle bashfully.
Aslan chuckled softly, but soon sobered. "Peter, there is a Deep Magic more powerful than any of us that rules over Narnia." He raised his head again, listening as the Lion continued to speak, "It defines right from wrong, and governs over all our destinies. Yours," Aslan turned His face to the sea, "and mine."
His face tightened and he started gesturing, a bit wildly, "But I couldn't even protect my own family!"
Aslan glanced at him again. "You've brought them safely this far."
This time, it was Peter who turned to face the castle, expression troubled, "Not all of them." He felt his heart aching at the thought of his younger brother, still in the Witch's clutches. Of Susan and Lucy, who had trustingly followed him here. What possible good could Aslan see in him? This was entirely—
"Son of Adam," Aslan spoke up sternly, in such a voice that Peter had to look at Him. What came next totally threw the teenager, "Would you die for him?"
And Peter could only stare, breath catching slightly in his chest. /What…? How did He…/
Aslan regarded him with quietly knowing eyes. "Think on it, Peter. I will do what I can for your brother, but I need you to consider what I ask of you…" He turned back to face the sea, His eyes this time settling on the red and gold tents below. "I, too, want my family safe."
And as Peter slowly pulled his tunic on over his head, the charge Aslan had laid on him yesterday still echoed in his mind. Because that question Aslan had asked, so similar to the Professor's, also held a great weight—perhaps even more than it did then. For that question now seemed to apply to the Narnians, as well. If he wasn't willing to die for his siblings, how then, could he hope to be worthy of dying for an entire country?
Perhaps that is what Aslan wanted to know. But the truly odd thing was that Peter also thought more was tangled up in that question than even Aslan's bid to protect Narnia, to hold it as dear as he did his own siblings. Something that so specifically pinpointed him, that he couldn't even see it.
Would he die for them? For the girls and Edmund? For Narnia? Yesterday he had rushed headlong into battle with the Witch's two wolves, slaying Maugrim in the process. He had not stopped to consider that he knew barely any swordsmanship, had not stopped to analyze the logic of heading straight into danger, heedless of his own safety.
His sisters had been in trouble. He had merely reacted.
Is that what Aslan wanted then? Was it even the same as being willing to die for them?
Such thoughts and questions had so far only succeeded in giving him a headache, as they did now.
Heaving a sigh, Peter flopped down (rather ungracefully) on the floor of the tent and dropped his head back onto his hammock, gazing up at its red and golden roof as he blew out a frustrated breath.
He supposed it was only fair that as the future High King that he be asked such a question, but he was barely thirteen! These questions weren't the sort normal thirteen-year-olds were generally asked…
But, as he was starting to realize, he and his siblings were far from normal, particularly here. /Have we ever been, really/ he mused.
None of the four of them had felt especially different from their same-age companions in school or in church, but something…something must have been. Although he hadn't the faintest clue what.
Blowing out another breath and shutting his eyes, Peter resolutely steered his thoughts back onto their previous course, determined to make some headway, else he did not think he'd ever sleep…
They came across a very familiar block.
(Flashback, Three Years)
The really awful thing was that they wouldn't let him stay. Daddy had to literally force him into his room and into bed.
He hadn't been happy. But, obedient by nature, he had finally listened, changed, washed up, and clambered into bed. Daddy had kissed him good-night, promising wearily that Eddy, though "unconscious" (not responding, Mum had said), would be perfectly fine.
Peter would have liked to believe him, but the memory of his little brother, pale, shaking, and with his eyes shut, prevented him from doing so.
It was also wonderful material for nightmares to feed off of.
He didn't remember the dream. He did not want to. All he remembered was a desperate need to get to his brother.
Which explained why he was now tiptoeing down the hallway to the younger boy's room.
He did not pause to check if his parents were inside. He knew at least one of them would be with Edmund at all times during his illness. They were always like that, when one of them got sick.
So when he pushed the door open and slipped into Eddy's bedroom, he was not surprised to see his mother there, sitting in a chair pulled up to the seven-year-old's bedside.
Her head slowly rose as she smiled tiredly at him where he had frozen in the doorway, in spite of his knowing the likelihood of finding one of his parents there. She waved him in. "Come in, darling. I told your father you'd be in here soon enough, although I can't say we didn't hope it would be later."
Peter smiled briefly and padded over to the bed, climbing on to it. The smile faltered as he took in his little brother, just as pale as he had seen him several hours ago, and breathing far more shallowly than he remembered.
He supposed he should be grateful Eddy was at least breathing.
He turned a determined frown to their mother. "I'm staying," he stated fiercely. "I won't leave. Not at all."
Mum straightened slightly, blinking at him in surprise. "Peter--"
"No!" he interrupted, voice a quiet exclamation. "No. I promised him. I promised him I wouldn't leave him alone!"
Their mother glanced at him with a small, confused smile on her face. "When did you promise him that, dear?"
"The day he was born," the ten-year-old retorted immediately.
She blinked at him again, clearly surprised. Peter felt his cheeks burning. He normally wasn't so uncooperative, but…he promised. And he would keep his promise, until the day he died.
(End Flashback)
Peter came out of it, shooting upright and blinking in the early morning light, the last vestiges of the memory playing through his mind/Until the day he died./
Swallowing uncomfortably, the thirteen-year-old (slightly unsteadily) gained his feet. He had been so young then, too young, really, to know the weight of that promise.
Clinching his sword-belt tightly around his waist, Peter slowly made his way towards the entrance of the tent, thoughts still with the memory.
It cast his failing with Edmund in that much of a starker light. He hadn't kept his promise, not 'til the day he died, and certainly, not right now. Right now, he could not even decide whether or not—
Peter halted abruptly, having already made it outside. The golden sunlight poured down on his shoulders, but he barely noticed. All he noticed, all he could see, was the black Centaur whom Aslan had introduced yesterday as Oreius.
The black Centaur Aslan had sent after Edmund.
Oreius paused in his walking, apparently having caught sight of his soon-to-be liege. A brief, flickering smile and a directing of Peter's eyes to a cliff-face, and then the General went on his way.
The thirteen-year-old's breath caught in his throat, as did his cry/Edmund/
For Edmund it was, bowed, wearied, but alive. And talking with Aslan.
Susan and Lucy emerged from the tent on his right, smiling as they caught sight of him standing there.
Peter unfroze, giving a sort of choked, half-gasp as he tried to explain to his sisters what he had seen. Susan's smile slipped, as did Lucy's, and both pinned him with a puzzled glance.
In the end, he could only look back towards Aslan and the precipice. If he remembered correctly, it was the same one he and the Lion had stood upon only yesterday. The irony of that did not escape him.
The girls followed his gaze. Susan stiffened, a small frown on her face. Lucy, however, was the exact opposite.
"Edmund!" came the happy cry as their younger sister darted forward.
Peter finally thought to move, gently catching her by the arm and stilling her movement.
Lucy subsided, but frowned at him, confused.
Peter could only look back up at the cliff-face. Aslan captured his gaze, and he was nearly certain the Lion had raised a shaggy eyebrow, as if to say, See? Everything's fine.
And Peter nearly laughed out loud, releasing a breath he had not realized he'd been holding. Gratitude welled up within him, and he allowed it to overflow into his eyes.
Aslan dipped His great head in acknowledgement, and Peter would have seen Him actually smile, had his eyes not returned to Edmund who was slowly making his way towards his siblings, exhaustion in his every step.
Peter's jaw clenched, and tears pricked his eyes as the ten-year-old drew steadily nearer. Bruises. A split lip. A cut, crusted with dried blood. Face pale, dirtied, and somehow much thinner than when he had seen him last.
And vulnerable. So terribly vulnerable.
Was it any wonder that he suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to rush at his younger brother, sweep him into his arms, and never let him go? Or perhaps merely to beg forgiveness.
/Oh, this is all my fault/ he thought brokenly, eyes feeling unnaturally bright and fingernails biting deeply into his palms as he forcibly held himself back.
Never mind that neither Aslan, nor any of his siblings, even remotely entertained such a notion.
For his sisters, they thought there was quite enough blame to go around. For Edmund, he could barely stand to look at his older brother (or the girls for that matter), knowing he had betrayed them for candy.
Aslan merely knew that this little torn family needed mending. And He could at least do that much.
"What's done is done," Aslan spoke up, voice stern, drawing the attention of all three siblings as the Lion and Edmund came to them. "There is no need to talk with Edmund about what is past."
With a light nudge to the youngest boy's back, He glided off, leaving the four children alone.
Edmund released a soft sigh, hesitantly raising his head. "Hello," he whispered.
Peter bit down viciously on his lower lip and hugged his arms to his chest, willing himself not to cry. "Hello," he slurred thickly in return.
At the younger of their brothers' slightly startled look, Lucy gave a warm laugh and pattered forward, throwing her own arms around Edmund's waist and giving him firm hug.
Edmund's face relaxed dramatically and his shoulders un-tensed as he gratefully returned the hug, burying his face in Lucy's hair as he released a deeply relieved sigh. With a giggle as it stirred her hair, the eight-year-old darted back, grinning widely and making room for Susan.
Susan stepped forward and pulled him into a warm hug of her own, causing Edmund to stand up on his tiptoes slightly in order to return it. She gave a light laugh as she, too, pulled away, smiling brightly, "Are you all right?"
The younger boy managed a smile in response. "I'm a little tired."
Lucy giggled again. "I'd be tired, too, after staying up all night."
And because it was so incredibly comfortable to be among his family again, Edmund's smile turned into a grin. The old, familiar grin that Peter remembered many-a-time lighting up his little brother's face.
For this was his little brother, no longer a stranger and no longer so strange.
He swallowed, bowing his head as more tears tried to rush into his eyes, convulsively tightening his grip on his own arms.
A tentative hand touched his shoulder. "Peter?" Edmund's voice murmured.
Peter looked up through somewhat blurred vision, starting and nearly jumping back at his younger brother's close proximity. He only just managed not to.
Edmund's guilt-darkened, brown gaze pinned him. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Therefore, because he had never been able to resist that gaze, and because he had not the least idea in the world about what to say, it was only natural that he completely startle his little brother by suddenly grabbing his wrist and crushing him into a tight embrace.
Edmund clenched his eyes shut, tears finally leaking out from underneath their lids and bringing his arms around to tightly circle Peter's neck as the older boy's entire body was sent a-tremble.
TBC
A/N: :impish grin: Yes, this is not quite the same scene as its movie counterpart. Since I tortured poor Peter (and am still planning on torturing him further), I figured I'd give him a bit of a break from all these memories. Note the "bit" :mischievous grin:. At any rate, I'm hoping this eases a few of my readers :winks:.
Next Chapter: Origins of Sacrifice, and takes place several hours after this one (breakfast and White Witch's confrontation; before the battle). Not entirely sure when it will be up, so please keep an eye out.
