Author: AntipodeanOpaleye
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The enchanted world of Narnia and all the creatures in it belong to C.S. Lewis; I own nothing of it.
Summary: Companion piece to 'Absolution.' They think he fights for Narnia. But in the end, Peter fights only for his brother. Movieverse.
A/N: This picks up around where 'Absolution' leaves off, and is from Peter's point of view. For TimeMage0955, who asked; thanks for the push – I've never complied with a request so quickly before :D
Also, a HUGE thank you to those who reviewed 'The Meaning of Love.' I enjoyed writing it immensely, and I was so pleased to see that you enjoyed reading it as well.
On another note - I've also got an idea for a sequel to the two of these fics… an interlude between the brothers as Edmund recovers. What do you think? Should I write it?
Anyway, thanks for reading, and Happy Easter :D
The only thought that I can process is that this isn't real. It can't be. Because in reality, you couldn't be dying right before my eyes.
I can't hear my own voice as I scream for you, and it strikes me as particularly odd, because I can hear the metallic clash of blade upon blade all around me, I can hear footsteps approaching, I can hear the furious racing of my own heart, but I can't hear myself yell. I wonder if I make any noise at all. I wonder if you hear me anyway.
When I block, it is in the hope that you'll not suffer in vain. When I lunge, it is with vengeance fueling my very being. I'm not thinking of the good of a people any longer. The protection of this land, this world, is not what justifies my actions. My intentions are no longer selfless – I fight for you, and you alone. When I stumble, I know that I can't let myself give up. You wouldn't – you didn't – and neither shall I, though the fatigue in my limbs would plead it of me. When after it all, I finally fall, I beg your forgiveness, and pray that my failure hasn't cost you as dearly as I fear it might. Again.
I see them on the mountaintop, and I have hope once more. Aslan is here, by some grace or blessing – and now everything will be all right. The battle will be won. Yet I think of you; I try haphazardly to search for you in the melee, but my eyes fail me, and I cannot find you. I entertain the notion that perhaps you're fine, that you're fighting valiantly, and that I imagined everything…
But my soul is still aching, and that in itself proves that it was all true.
In the aftermath of the shock, it takes only seconds for me to relinquish my firm grip on veritable existence. Objects begin to fade into one another: people become faceless, things lose distinction. A flash of gold leaps over me, but I can't make out what it is – by now my mind is too muddled. I sit up, and glance around in a daze. Bodies are strewn to the left and right, pools of red gathered about them. I grieve half-heartedly; not because I'm not pained – but because in my mind I can see only flesh and blood, not creatures, nor misery. And because there's only one corpse that could manage to shatter my composure now, and I'm scared beyond all reason that I might turn to find it.
I hear voices, but I can't understand the words. I look to the being who has saved my life, and I think first not of recognition, nor of gratitude, but of the fact that it is an awfully big lion. It takes a full minute for me to digest what has happened, and for my memory to catch up with the present. I see two girls, and I know them, but I can't place them as our sisters until some time later, as Lucy is clinging to me. Susan says your name – in what context, I'll never know for sure – and it sends a jolt through my being. You are the only thing I know for certain in that haze, and I leap with a newfound strength, frenzied and panicked, racing to where I saw you fall.
Don't be dead. Please, Edmund – don't be dead.
Your eyes flutter, long lashes ghosting over your far-too-pale skin, and I can breathe again. I can't take my eyes from you – the world could collapse about us and I'd never know, for you are all I can see. All I care to see. Because as long as I'm watching you, I'll know your still here. That you haven't left me. I can make sure you're safe – something I should have worked much harder at before now.
You'll live, I tell myself in the face of all that blood. All that blood… flowing without end, crimson becoming the only color I can distinguish as I look upon you, the world around me fading to a distant monochrome of what doesn't matter, and you, covered in vivid scarlet, protruding from the bedlam as the only thing that does. You'll live.
'Liar,' a voice in my head hisses at me with malice and disdain. I would heed it if the ache in my chest wasn't so distracting.
I watch you gasping for air, and I want more than anything else in that single moment to give you the oxygen in my own lungs, to breathe for you. Yet I can't, and I know this, and I feel desperate.
You're choking on your own blood now, and as it escapes from your mouth in droplets, landing gently on your bluish-tinged lips, tears spring to my eyes, and I don't even consider attempting to hold them back. My pride, my strength, myself at all – they mean nothing now. On some level, I begin to recognize that I won't be able to save you. That you will die, and I will live. That you will have given your life for me, and I'll have given you nothing. Nothing but the arguments and the petty grudges and the judgments – a myriad of emotional scars that I won't be able take back or make right. I feel numb.
Your breathing grows shallower, and with every passing moment I notice that the breaths are coming slower. Where I could see your pulse throbbing in your throat the skin now lays dormant, and I know that the end has come. I can't ignore it any more, as much as I want to. As much as I need to. Three short gasps, then stillness, then nothing. You're gone, and I feel hollow.
Lucy fumbles to my left, having administered her healing draught, but I can't help but feel in my very soul that no matter what magic lies within that cordial, it won't bring you back. You'll lie there, your motionless figure tormenting me with every breath I take, because I know that you gave your life for that breath. And did I ever show you how I cared? Did I ever tell you? Could I ever say the words?
Of course not. Because I might be able to wield a sword and ride into battle, but when it comes to the things that truly matter, I'm a coward.
You're gone, and you didn't know. You didn't know that you were my everything. That the thought of you in harm's way was the only thing that could frighten me to tears, ever since we were small. You didn't know how I love you. You died, for me, an undeserving wretch like me, and you never knew. And you never will. Not now. And it's my fault. The thought begins to eat away at me, and I start to feel lifeless myself.
If nothing else, I hope you know that I tried. I tried, Edmund. I promise you I tried.