OH, fun! Mercury's started herself another fanfic! The first chapter's short, don't worry, but the second chapter's longer, to make up for it.
Peter slammed his suitcase down on the bed, the resulting crash of bedsprings echoing through the dorm that was to be his home for the next nine months. So this was Oxford- sleepy little college town and the last place Peter wanted to be. The first place he wanted to be was up at the front, fighting for god, country and family, like his dad.
But Mum had put a wrench in all that, hadn't she? Getting him the scholarship here and practically tying him to his train ticket and shoving him on the train. The war would be over any day now- he could feel it- and he wanted a piece of the action before he was one of the only lads his age that hadn't gone.
A rather sobering thought came to him then- the thought of seeing Edmund nearly dieing on that battlefield in Narnia. How would Mum feel if you died, too? We don't know where Dad is. Lucy's voice came through his head, at ten ever the voice of reason. It'd be really awful to lose both of you.
Peter sighed, and looked around his Spartan quarters, unloading the slim pickings of his wardrobe into the dented and dinged chest of drawers next to his bed. On the desk, he set out his pencils and a few battered pens, the ink jar Susan had labeled, in her consummate handwriting, "Peter Pensevie." In the first drawer of the desk, he unwrapped a circlet made of wire from a stack of well-worn handkerchiefs and laid in on top of his copybooks.
Susan, ever the artist, had made it from bits of airplane parts and wire from the rubble that littered the streets of Finchly, giving it to him privately as a going away present. "Never forget you're a king somewhere." She'd said, smiling in that secretive way while he put it on his head.
Peter sighed again. He was an awful long way from home.
reveiws?