Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fanfiction. The author is not making any money off of it. The Chronicles of Narnia, the Pevensies, etc, belong to C.S. Lewis and Co.
I have not forgoten about my other story, this one just sort of stuck in my head and wouldn't leave me alone. It isn't going to be very long though. I in no way meantany harm toanyone or anything, this is just how I felt Mr. Pevensie could have reacted after going through such a traumatic experience, so I guess you could say this is a "what if" story.
Title: Will You
By: Death's Executioner
Chapter One: This is who I really am
Peter's point of view:
I knew right away, when he stepped from that train, that my father was a different person. Pain replaced the bright gleam in his eyes and pure sorrow bore straight to the depths of his soul. His once proud shoulders were now hunched over in shame and his demanding stare had turned into a downcast glare. Even his walked had manifested into suffering as he staggered over to us. There were stories of pain told in every slow step he took.
It almost seemed as if he dreaded coming over to us. And maybe he did.
Edmund and Lucy were excited to see father again, but Susan and I shared an anxious look. We knew what war could do to people. Edmund knew too.
He just chose to ignore it.
As I watched him walk, ever so slowly towards the family he dearly missed, I knew things were never going to be the same.
My father hugged each of us reluctantly. His hug felt rather awkward and it lacked its usual comfort and love. His whole body radiated suffering and anger and it seemed to seep into my subconscious when he was close to me. The others felt it too. My mother's smile that had been plastered on her face since she found out father was coming home, faded into a frown. Tears, that would never fall, formed in Edmunds' eyes and Lucy suddenly lost her excitement, a sudden wisdom that Narnia had given her flashed through her eyes. A strained silence fell between us as we all stared at our father, expecting him to say something, anything…
I glanced at Susan as the silence continued. We had been expecting this, but we were hoping…we were hoping that things didn't have to turn out this way.
See, we had been through war. We've seen what it can do to people, what it did to us. We watched people die and we've nearly died ourselves. I knew how war could change you. And I could never forget what I've seen, what I've done. I haven't been the same since the Battle of Beruna. And I could only expect the same thing from my father.
But I wouldn't let him suffer alone like I had for so many years. Eventually I sought comfort in Susan and Edmund when I couldn't take it anymore. And just like they were there for me, I would be there for my father, because I knew what he was going through.
I was determined to do anything possible to help my father. It was just in my nature to want to help people. I can't stand it when other people are in pain. But perhaps that is my greatest flaw; the one thing that usually lands me in the most trouble.
Mr. Pevensie's point of view:
I can still see his eyes as I watch him die, over and over again. The pain he felt as his light flickered out haunts, my dreams. He was the first person I ever killed. The first family I robbed.
I may not have stolen their money, but I did steal something more precious. I stole their son, their husband, their father, their brother. I stole his life when my bullet tore through his heart.
I killed him. I killed him and countless others. It wasn't my fault, I did what I had to do, but that doesn't make me feel any better about it. I watched my best friend in the army; die before my eyes, believing that I would be the next to go. I saw bullets fly past me and strike down my friends and comrades. I can still feel the heat of the fire as it tore through our ranks. Even the smell of death lingers in my nostrils.
The memories of what I had seen would never leave me alone. They overpowered me. I can't even remember what my own wife and kids look like, because I couldn't get his eyes out of my mind long enough to remember their faces.
I couldn't go home to my family like this. I was about to fall apart at any moment, but I had no where else to go.
I couldn't go back to the person I was before the war. And I couldn't pretend like I could anymore. I was going back to the same family, the same house, the same job, but it just couldn't be…the same.
I stared out of the train window, anger twisting my features. Damn the world to hell for what it had turned me into. Damn the ignorant and damn the wise. I slammed my fist into the window and ignored the strange looks from the other passengers, they didn't understand. Nobody did.
I just wanted, needed the pain to go away, but it never would. I would always have to carry this with me.
The train screeched to a halt and my anger suddenly turned to sadness; this was my stop. I grabbed my meager belongings and headed off the train.
My family was waiting eagerly, Helen was waving frantically. I managed a small smile as I slowly walked over to them, dreading to see them. What would they think of me now?
Lucy was jumping up and down in excitement, tugging on Peter's arm and Edmund was smiling and waving enthusiastically like his mother, but Peter and Susan were different. I caught the anxious looks that passed between them and their saddened expressions as they stared at me, each gauging the changes made in me. They understood before I even managed to walk all the way to them.
I finally finished my slow stagger and Lucy jumped in my arms, but I flinched slightly before hugging her back. I had missed my dear little Lulu more than you would ever know, but the hug just didn't feel right. The same love just wasn't there.
I stepped back and looked at Lucy, and she looked at me with eyes that weren't so innocent anymore. There was a wisdom to her eyes that hadn't been there before and I knew that she wasn't the same little girl that I had left so long ago.
I hugged my wife next, but she didn't seem any different.
But after hugging Susan and Edmund, I noticed they too had changed.
I came to Peter last. He was so different, and I don't mean in just physical appearance. He had, of course grown quite a few inches, but he wasn't the same boy I had left either. Rather than a boy standing before me, there was a man. There was courage in his now proud shoulders and a depth to his blue eyes that no boy should have. They way he carried himself spoke of many years and wisdom well beyond his 15 years. There was a look in his eyes, something familiar to me. I didn't know what it was, but it scared me, shook me to my damaged soul.
Such depth in his eyes, such…understanding. It was all so confusing. What had changed them so much? What had been done to them while I was away?
What had happened to my children? What had happened to me?