Disclaimer: I'll do this once and declare it sufficient unto the story as a whole. I don't own or make any money off of this obsession of mine, which is otherwise known as Narnia fanfiction. Believe me, if I did…you'd never be the first to know. Heh.
AN: Just to clarify, this Alternate Universe story explores what might have become of Peter and Edmund had they survived the train crash (or not been there in the first place, which is how I've approached it) and grown up (again), taken jobs, married, and had children. It follows my story Song of the Phoenix, and while it's not absolutely necessary to read that one first, it does establish some of the emotions and relationships found herein, as well as explain how Peter and Edmund 'survived' the train crash at the end of The Last Battle.
As I walk'd through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place, where was a Denn; And I laid me down in that place to sleep: And as I slept I dreamed a Dream…
+ The Pilgrims Progress by John Bunyan
They say there's a place, where dreams have all gone.
They never said where, but I think I know.
It's miles through the night, just over the dawn,
on the road that will take me home.
Love waits for me round the bend,
Leads me endlessly on.
Surely sorrows shall find their end,
and all our troubles will be gone.
And I'll know what I've lost, and all that I've won,
when the road finally takes me home.
+ Going Home, Mary Fahl, Gods and Generals
The Land of Make Believe
Prologue: The Similitude of a Dream
Shadows dance.Fire and ice.
A swirl of light, stunning in its sudden appearance and scorching in its brilliance.
An indrawn breath, hoarse, rattling, inadequate.
One constant: a burning, searing ache, so close to the fine line between bone-chilling and scalding there is no way to tell the difference.
Not that it matters. He knows he is near the edge. Had he made it?
A moan escapes cracked lips, and in spite of his torments, he stirs, trembling in every limb, heady sweat clinging to feverish skin.
Whirling, dizzying nausea. Oh, Aslan…
He collapses, lies panting, and tries once more to rouse his rebellious, traitorous body.
Ah, but his will is weakening – no! A mission. He has a message to impart. He must not fail.
The blackness before his eyes shivers and grays. Fades.
Agony is patient. It waits. There is no hurry.
There is hurry for him. Immediate urgency.
A mission…
His dry, bleeding lips part, and it costs his all to whisper a title – a name.
A message…
"High King…King Peter…"
Must not fail.
Darkness.