Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.
A/N: Eh :sheepish grin: what can I say? I was inspired. Right now I really ought to be studying, but well…plot bunnies seem to be particularly ravenous today. I don't think anyone particularly objects (except maybe my Professors). So I hope you enjoy the latest installment to Fever.
Reviewers: All 76 of you, thank you!
Dialogue: Yes, mainly running on memory from the movie for this, although I do reference a Fan Script now and then. But I still make mistakes, and I'm very glad when someone points them out so I can fix them, so thanks!
Altered Scenes: I'm glad so many of you like them (because I enjoy writing them). I just took some necessary artistic license, is all (at least in this fic) :grins:.
Seasonal Period of Flashbacks: Whoops :sheepish grin:. Sorry about that. Yes, they're set in the summer, and if you go back to the last chapter (and in this one) you'll see I've remedied that. Thanks for pointing it out!
Battle: Yes, sorry about that. No, I'm not going to write the actual battle itself, I'm afraid. My main object is to show Peter remembering, and how it coincides with his present situation, and the current state of his relationship with Edmund. And well, it's a little difficult to remember such things when you're in the thick of battle. I really hope it doesn't deduct from the work, so please let me know how you thought this worked!
Many Thanks:Jenn1, Capegio, sapphiredreams, yaukira, Stormythomas, Claudette, A Amelia Black, Kelsey Estel, Sara Wolfe, amidnightkiss, lembas7, Tex110, ohcEEcho, Boleyn, and Hermione Eveningfall
"Speech"
/Personal Thoughts/
Memories
Multi-Chapter. Non-Slash.
.:Fever:.
Chapter VI: Origins of Forgiveness
By Sentimental Star
(Two Days Later, Early Morning, Aslan's Encampment)
It was like dying a soul's death. Twice.
When the girls had come running down from the higher cliff-faces, his name a cry from their lips, and when Lucy's small arms had been flung around him, tight and shaking with relief, he had relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time since the battle began.
Susan hadn't hugged him. He had wondered why…until, after scanning the battlefield, she had asked the one question that had sent his stomach plummeting to the earth, "Where's Edmund?"
The next few moments were rather blurred, if Peter had to be completely honest. He did not remember the ground they had covered from where they had been standing a few feet away from Aslan to where they were now—beside Edmund.
He vaguely recalled Susan shouting for Edmund and shooting off an arrow in front of him, but he did not know what she had hit. He guessed it had been one of the Witch's creatures, but couldn't quite bring himself to care—his eyes had only been for his little brother's prone, shaking form on the ground.
With a wash of memories fresh in his mind, that image had not done wonderful things for his already shaky composure.
His heart was in his throat as they threw themselves to the ground around Edmund. Susan lifted the younger boy's head into her lap, quickly disposing of his helmet as he shuddered and gasped and clearly clung to the last fragile threads of life.
Peter himself gripped the younger boy's upper arms, trying to will his own lifeblood into his baby brother's veins. His wide, china blue eyes were locked on the pale face of the ten-year-old which seemed to be slipping in and out of focus, now looking like his seven-year-old self, now looking ten, and both a ghastly, nearly translucent white.
The line between past and present blurred in that moment, and green, body-littered battlefield sat side by side with a stuffy room in summer, smelling of medicine. His brother on the grass coincided with his brother underneath the white sheets of his bed back home in Finchley.
Both Younger Edmund and Older Edmund shook. Both Younger and Older Edmund could hardly breathe. Both Younger and Older Edmund had their eyes shut.
But at least the white sheets weren't stained dark red, unlike the crimson stain slowly eating up the lower half of his brother's tunic.
A tiny, trembling hand entered his vision. Lucy's. Holding an uncorked bottle.
Peter felt his eyes widen further, and choked as he looked up at his youngest sister/Her cordial! Oh, please, please, please…/
His hands tightened around Edmund's arms.
Lucy, her own eyes over-bright and hand shaking badly, unsteadily tipped one drop of the fire-flowers' juice into their brother's mouth as Susan gently tilted his head back.
The ten-year-old swallowed.
/Oh, please, please, please…/ Peter pleaded desperately in his mind, eyes flying back to Edmund's face.
The younger boy stopped moving. Stopped breathing. Went completely and utterly slack.
Lucy dropped her small face into her little hands and her shoulders started quivering.
Susan curled over Edmund, weeping softly.
Peter felt the ground drop out from beneath him and his mind reel. /No…/ A wordless scream in his mind, a merciless ripping of soul away from body. /No…no…/
His heart had nearly broken, holding his seven-year-old baby brother. His heart was breaking now.
/No…no…NO/
Edmund drew in a shuddering breath and started coughing.
A strangled gasp from Lucy, and a hopeful, tear-streaked face peeked out from behind her hands just as a brilliant smile completely split it.
Edmund's eyelids fluttered once, their owner still coughing. Drawing in a steadier breath.
A thick laugh from Susan, and her bowed shoulders straightened, a large grin completely lighting up her face as she glanced at him and Lucy.
Edmund's eyelids fluttered twice, and their owner stopped coughing. Familiar dark brown eyes cracked open, taking in Lucy on the left, Susan directly above, and the older boy directly in front.
The ten-year-old smiled. Peter started crying.
Hard.
With a half-smothered sob, he jerked his little brother off the ground and promptly crushed him into an embrace, not caring a fig that his armor dug painfully into his chest.
His shoulders heaving, he clenched his fists in the back of Edmund's tunic, gripping the fabric so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Face buried against the younger boy's neck, he shed his tears—hot, silent, and fast.
/Whoever made this possible, wherever you are, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you/
Because Edmund was alive. Wonderfully, wonderfully alive.
With a half-choked laugh, Peter pulled back, eyes blazing with joy, "When are you ever going to learn to do as you're told?" he managed.
Edmund bowed his head sheepishly, a small smile gracing his face, before looking back up at Peter. /Probably never./
The thirteen-year-old continued looking at him, lightly clapping him on the side of his face, mindful of his gauntlet, and shaking his head as several more tears wended their way down his cheeks.
Suddenly, Edmund reached up and gently drew his face closer, pressing their foreheads together.
Someone wriggled in underneath their arms and Peter grinned slightly as Lucy curled her small arms around their necks, resting her own forehead against their cheeks.
Then Susan managed to slip in, echoing Lucy's position on the opposite side and causing Peter's grin to widen.
/Thank you, thank you, thank you/
A sharp exhale of breath, and china blue eyes snapped open.
He had woken again, for the third time tonight, tensed and relaxing only when he heard his younger brother's familiar sleep-breathing.
He knew he ought to be sleeping, too, still worn out from yesterday's battle and early waking. He, like Edmund, had taken a nap under the watchful eyes of their sisters and Mrs. Beaver after having returned to camp. But unlike Edmund, he had been unable to sleep well during the night. The younger boy, still exhausted from the wound and having gone without proper sleep for the past few days, had little difficulty falling back asleep.
It was that wound, however, which caused Peter to lie awake now, counting his little brother's every breath.
He had a feeling that particular scene had been flash-blinded on his memory, and would haunt him for many years more: Edmund shattering the Witch's wand and the Witch stabbing Edmund.
It was even worse than having to watch Edmund suffer through scarlet fever three years ago, small frame wracked with shudders and terribly, terribly frail and helpless.
He had been powerless then, too.
The images overlaid each other, flashed before his mind's eye—chastising, blaming, frightening, condemning.
Pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes and squeezing his eyes shut, Peter took several deep, calming breaths. Finally, flinging back his covers, the teenager swung his legs over the hammock's side and sat up. Slipping on his boots, he stood and quietly made his way over to the flaps of the tent, peering outside in hopes of determining roughly what time it was.
Dawn's very first rays had touched their encampment.
Releasing a soft breath, Peter let the flaps fall and turned back to face their hammocks. Foregoing his own completely, he lightly walked over to Edmund's and carefully sat down beside his brother.
Reaching his hand out, he started gently brushing it through the ten-year-old's hair, eyes tender as he watched the younger boy sleep.
Early morning, just after dawn, had always seemed a special time for Peter. A magical time, when somehow, everything seemed to turn out right.
For it had been early on a summer morning when Edmund had finally surfaced from his fever-induced unconsciousness three years ago.
(Flashback, Three Years)
His parents had given up on ordering him back to his own bed. They had tried at first, when they found him in Edmund's bed the morning after they had diagnosed him as with fever (not scarlet fever, just your regular, everyday fever). But he always somehow managed to sneak back in.
And really, they hadn't tried that hard, because, for one reason or another, Peter's presence in his little brother's bed had suddenly caused a complete turnaround in the younger boy's condition.
The first day after the ten-year-old had returned to his place at Eddy's bedside (or rather, actually in the bed, for his parents had asked that much of him), the seven-year-old's breathing had eased.
The second day after the ten-year-old had returned to his place, Eddy's shaking had ceased, and their parents had deemed him enough out of danger that they were able to get some much needed sleep themselves.
Today was the third day, Peter recalled hazily, as he slowly blinked his eyes open, having (like Mum and Dad) at last surrendered to sleep. He felt tired and sweaty, but remarkably good, all things considered. /Fever must've broke/ he thought groggily, coming to.
Funny, why did it feel like someone was playing with his hand?
/Lu/ he wondered, for the other person's hand, though the grasp was weak, felt far too small to belong to one of his parents.
Blinking his eyes clear of the last traces of sleep, Peter wearily raised his head and glanced over at Edmund to check on him, as had become his morning ritual since this entire nightmare began.
He didn't understand what he was seeing at first, having become so accustomed to finding his little brother's eyes shut tight against the fire and the agony of the fever.
Then Eddy smiled, brown eyes utterly exhausted but shining with a weak glow not unlike the one the ten-year-old knew so well. It was small and fatigued, but it was there.
And Peter finally understood. Because he finally understood, he did the only thing that could have possibly made sense at that moment:
He started crying. Harder than he ever had in his entire life.
If little hands reached up and awkwardly patted his cheeks, he didn't notice, too busy clutching them to his face.
(End Flashback)
Peter scrubbed away a few errant tears that had once again trickled down those cheeks, but no little hands were there to catch them. For they were not so little anymore, and pillowed his ten-year-old sleeping brother's peaceful face.
As the morning sun's rays crept through the partially open flaps and kissed the younger boy's eyelids, Edmund stirred and, taking in a deep breath, slowly blinked open his eyes.
His gaze fell on Peter.
The older boy smiled softly at him, still stroking his hair. "Morning," he greeted quietly.
"Morning," Edmund replied, returning the smile, albeit with slight confusion.
It had been three years since he had last woken to find his older brother next to him on his bed. And this time, Peter was awake.
Frowning a little, Edmund reached his hand up and lightly touched the shadows he had only just noticed under the thirteen-year-old's eyes. "Did you sleep at all last night?" he wanted to know, voice slightly accusing.
Peter surprised him by catching up his hand and holding it against his cheek with his own. The older boy gave a small smile. "Somewhat," he admitted truthfully. He cleared his throat. "Ed, we need to talk."
The fingers of the hand Peter had captured curled a little. "Peter?" he queried. He had thought that everything which needed to be said between them (or nearly everything) had been said yesterday in that hug. Certainly, it had done wonders for easing Edmund.
But Peter, apparently, needed to say a bit more.
His older brother's smile saddened and his expression became tinged with regret and guilt. "Well, I need to apologize more like," he murmured. "And I am sorry, Edmund, more than you could ever know."
That startled the younger boy. Quickly, he sat up, locking his gaze with his brother's. "What? Peter, why?"
Peter's expression became decidedly more pained. "Because I couldn't protect you." When Edmund's eyes widened fractionally in surprise and he went to protest, the older boy shook his head, "Please, hear me out, Ed. I…I've messed up something awful with you. I've always been harder on you than I should. Always ended up scolding you and being a beast. I was scared, Edmund. That fever…that fever almost took you away. And I…I couldn't stand the thought of possibly losing you again. Daddy told me…he told me, Edmund, that I was to protect you and Lu and Su, because he wouldn't be there to do it. I didn't. I couldn't. I was too scared. And I failed you because I was so scared, so…so…I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Peter buried his face in his hands, starting to cry again—which hadn't been his intention at all. But he couldn't stop. He just couldn't.
He had thought those memories, all of them, long gone, hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind. Only to find out that having his younger brother torn from him, almost twice now, had called them up in the most painful way possible.
Unlike after waking from all those other memories, however, this time there were arms there to catch him as he sagged forward. Arms, though not quite as small, nonetheless smaller than his own.
This time, however, they were also long enough to reach all the way around him.
He snapped his eyes open with a gasp as those arms cradled him close. "When did you get so big?" he murmured thickly.
He heard a suspiciously wet chuckle from above him, and Edmund gently removed his hands from his face, brushing away Peter's tears with one of his own. "Sometimes a lot sooner than I would have liked," the younger boy replied softly. His shoulder lifted, then fell, as he took in a breath and slowly released it. "Peter, listen to me," he continued quietly, still smoothing away the tears with his thumb, "you're not Dad. But you don't have to be. You're my big brother. And really, in some ways, that's more than enough. You know why I'm here now, why I was here even before Narnia. I'm not sure if I ever thanked you properly…" He cracked a tremulous smile down at his older brother who had for once let off being so stubborn and was now silently listening. "Back in England…I know it seemed like I had forgotten what you did for me, but I didn't, Peter. Ever. And I'm not afraid to tell you that now."
With a sputtering laugh, Peter drew himself up to Edmund's eye-level. "Thank you…" he choked, "for saying that. Thank you."
/Thank you, thank you, thank you/
TBC
A/N: And well…did you like it :grins impishly: I'm afraid I have to claim this as another one of my favorite chapters. It's amazing some of the things you can come up with on the spur of the moment (and with the right inspiration :winks: ). Besides which, it's fun!
Only two more chapters to go (and that's including the Epilogue), and I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Next Chapter: Origins of Love, taking place after the children's coronation.
