A/N: I'VE FINALLY UPDATED!!! YAY!!! Sorry it takes me so long to update all my stuff. (sheepish grin) I'm...erm...a rather bad...procrastinator. There, I said it. (I was going to say that LATER, but I changed my mind...) ;-) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next chapter! (Only one more to go after this one! Yay!)
Chapter 6: The Still, Small Voice
Reepicheep scampered inside and took a moment to glance over his shoulder. He could faintly hear Goldleaf and his mother talking.
"Really! I don't know what's come over him lately…"
He sighed unhappily and trudged the rest of the way in. He hadn't meant to scare his mother like that; really, he hadn't. He curled up on the hearth to dry off, watching the fire dance and flicker as he thought of his experience. What had made him run off like that? Why were his urges for adventure so strong? And what did his lullaby mean? It didn't make sense. He kept getting the vague feeling that there was something important, something out there that was so big it couldn't fit inside his young mind.
He yawned and decided to ignore it. Those were boring things for grown-ups to figure out, not him.
He began to feel extremely disappointed. His quest had been a failure. Nothing exciting had happened. He'd gone out looking for an adventure and all he'd gotten was a cold bath. He hadn't even gotten to slay any monsters! What would he say to Peepicheek? That he'd been defeated by some rain?
At that moment, Reepicheep heard a still, small voice in his head…
I oppose the proud, but give grace to the humble…
It felt as if someone was tugging or tapping very gently at his heart and softly calling to him with words that could only be heard on the inside. He tried to brush it away as though it were a bothersome fly buzzing at his ear, but still the quiet, persistent Voice whispered to him…
I oppose the proud, but give grace to the humble…
Little by little, the words chipped away at his boyish pride and stubborn attitude - and finally he gave up and accepted the simple truth: he was wrong. Running off - no matter how strong the urge had been - had not the right thing to do. But it wasn't just the act of running away; it was the big-headed attitude it caused him to have that was wrong. Immense shame overcame him, and he cringed as he remembered it. "Reepicheep the Fearless"? Hardly. A grand title indeed, but far too grand (and untrue) for a foolish mouseling like him. What would his Papa say if he were here? He glumly picked at the fibers of the hearth-rug he was lying on. Maybe he had deserved that cold bath after all.
My love covers all wrongs…
Once again, the Voice began to whisper - but instead of it tapping away this time, it washed over him in a warm flood of peace and swept away the shame, leaving only a small remnant of conviction in its place; it embraced him as a father embraces his child.
My love…for you.
The flames leapt and curled invitingly, and he edged closer to the comforting warmth. He sighed contentedly and his blinks grew slow and sleepy. He wasn't sure how or why those words had found their way into his head…but he was glad they did. It always feels refreshing, when you've admitted you did something wrong and felt forgiven for it in the end. And it was good to be home, where he belonged. He loved his family. He loved this place. No matter how far he might venture, it would always be a part of him. Nothing could change that.
The corners of his mouth tipped upwards, and his eyelids drooped even lower. He was barely aware of the pit-a-pat of feet coming in…or of the gentle paws that washed the mud off his fur and carried him away and tucked him in bed…or of the soft sound of his brother's steady breathing…or of the loving brush of a mother's kiss…
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Darkness took him, and his mind strayed out of thought and time…floating from dream to dream, from memory to memory on gentle waves…
He saw himself peeking out from his bedroom, listening to his parents whispering together in low, anxious tones…
"Phillikeep, must you go this time? Why can't someone else do it? You know how dangerous the journey is…what might happen to you…"
"Reena, we've already been through this. Don't worry, love; it'll only be a few weeks…"
He remembered standing outside with his family on a morning flooded with gold, watching his father leave with his two bravest Mice…and his mother fighting back tears as he waved farewell…
"When will you come back, Papa? I want you to stay here…"
"I will return to you as fast as I can, Reepicheep; don't you worry. You be brave now, and take care of your mother and Peepicheek for me. You'll be the man of the house while I'm away."
"But when?"
"You must be patient…"
"I don't wanna be patient; I want to be with you."
"Me too," chorused Peepicheek. Phillikeep smiled reassuringly, knelt down and pulled his two sons into a tight hug.
"I wish I could be with you, too," he murmured.
"How do we know you'll hurry back?" asked Peepicheek. Phillikeep thought for a moment, then reached up and plucked a long, crimson feather from the thin band of gold that circled his head...the sign of the High Mouse.
"Keep this, both of you," he said, "and keep it safe 'till I come back. I shall return for it in a few weeks…"
The dream floated by again, and the pulsing waves that carried him grew darker, murkier, threatening…another memory swallowed him up…
He could hear the murmurs and exclamations of the few Narnians outside…see his mother rushing out through tunnel…hear her cry out in anguish…
"What's wrong with Mama?" Peepicheek looked at him with wide, frightened eyes, and they both scampered after her, rushing to her…
"No!" she commanded in a trembling voice, turning to face them and trying to block something from their view. "Go back inside! NOW!"
But it was too late. He fell against the arms that barred the way out…he saw his father's two companions with bowed heads and grief-stricken faces…between them a small litter made of branches…and on it, he could see his father, sleeping…but something was wrong…
"Papa?"
He was lying so still…not moving…not breathing…there was blood on his fur…
"Papa!"
"Go inside, Reepicheep. Go!"
In a daze, he felt someone push him back in…saw the arms of several creatures reach out to support his weeping mother outside…heard the cozy, comforting, snuffling voice of their neighbor, Mrs. Rosemole next to him as she gently lead him and his brother into the den with her stout velvet arms around their shoulders…"She'll be alright, my dears…with Aslan's help, she'll be alright…he's gone to be in Aslan's Country…"
"My Papa…my Papa…"
And all turned to silver glass…and faded into darkness…
A/N: Again, I'm sorry this chapter is so short. Hopefully the next one (which also happens to be the LAST one) will be a bit longer. But I hope you enjoyed it anyway! (I've almost completed this chapter fic...wow...somebody pinch me...)
(Psst…that little blue button is calling to yooooooouuuuu…)