Disclaimer: I don't own the Chronicles of Narnia or its characters. I'm just playing in C.S. Lewis' sandbox, and will put everything back when I'm done.

Summary: You can't lead people where you don't want them to follow. (Book and movie-verse)

Before I Sleep

"These woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."

— Robert Frost, "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening"

§§§§

"I too want my family to be safe."

I knew what Aslan was asking, and was afraid to answer. I knew what was being expected of me, and couldn't help but sigh somewhat. There would always be expectations, and looking after others; everyone else saying, "Peter, be a good boy now," and "Peter, watch your sister," and a vague memory of holding Susan's hand on a beach holiday when I myself was barely two years old.

And then it was Edmund's hand and Lucy's hand, and as I grew older, their hands always seemed smaller.

And I remember when Aunt Lilith came to stay for a while, to help around the house just after Dad had left, and what I'd heard once when I was heading up to bed.

"… such terrible times, and I do worry for the children so."

"But have you considered—"

"Yes, yes, I have, I talked with James about it before he… left, and we agreed that if it came to that… then I'd have to send them away—" Helen Pevensie's voice hitched and caught on a stifled sob. "But I can't… I can't just let them go…"

"I know, my dear. But they'll be safe, and you know it. Besides, you have Peter. We all have to count our blessings in times like these, and he's a good young lad with a sensible head on his shoulders. He'll take care of the other three."

Silence.

"Peter."

Helen's voice was breathy and dreamy, and thirteen-year-old Peter Pevensie twitched just a little where he had frozen on the stairs, watching the shaft of light that poured out of the kitchen doorway, and imagining the postures of the two women inside. He could imagine his mother's hands clasped in Aunt Lilith's, and two pairs of sad eyes, not meeting each other, over two cups of tea, steam curling away into nothing.

'Tea and sympathy,' his father had always scoffed good-naturedly at the weepy films that "all women like to watch" and the inevitability of well-wishers on the doorstep and a cup of tea to ease the awkward gathering. But he still went and watched them with his mother whenever they played one at the theatre.

"I worry for Peter," his mother said.

Another long silence and Peter could imagine Aunt Lilith rubbing his mother's hands soothingly, and quiet sounds of "there, there," which were too soft for him to hear.

"He's never really been a child, and I feel so sorry for everything. I'm so sorry for this whole war and how they'll never be happy like children are supposed to be, but oh, Peter most of all…"

And at that moment, Peter hadn't understood. For how can a child understand the idea of the ideal, happy childhood, if the one that he's lived is all that he's known?

He felt that perhaps he understood now, though. He felt old, as old as one could feel in the body of a boy, having come so far in only so few days, worried so much and so long in all the years, and looking down upon Aslan's camp and Cair Paravel in the distance, he felt an bone-deep ache settle in him.

There would be no time to rest yet.

§§§§

When Edmund returned, Oreius insisted on giving us lessons in swordplay, and both he and the few other centaurs who were looking on agreed that both Ed and I were fast learners.

I rather thought that it was some magic in the Narnian air, but I saw how Edmund was beaming all over his face, smiling and happy for the first time since we'd stepped into Narnia, and I held my tongue and smiled.

"Your Majesty," one centaur said, stepping forward and bowing to Edmund, "if I may have the honour of a duel?"

Edmund grinned, the centaur smiled, and then they were at it.

And it was then that Oreius spoke to me and made me see that this… destiny which we had in Narnia would make all other expectations seem like careless pursuits.

Oreius spoke of how centaurs lived longer than most Beasts, and of how they watched the stars, and of how he had dreamed of this day, many nights in his life, hoping that the prophecy would come to pass in his time and that he would still have strength to bear arms and fight at the side of the Sons of Adam when the time came.

"It is my greatest honour, Your Majesty, and I thank you."

I looked at him then and realised, with a sinking feeling, that if I asked him how far he would be willing to go with us, he would follow unto his death.

For I had begun to understand Oreius, and I realised that if Narnia could not be a good and free land, then there was no space in it for him.

The other centaurs broke up laughing and cheering just then, stamping their hooves in appreciation. Edmund and the centaur he'd been duelling with stepped away from each other with a small bow and a grin, and then Edmund turned to me and said, "Race you to the archery range!"

I took off after him, and gave Oreius one last backward glance. Edmund was right; we couldn't leave Narnia behind to suffer the Witch's wrath, but this… this wasn't something I could do. I couldn't lead these people…

"…Cair Paravel of the four thrones, in one of which you must sit as King. I show it to you because you are the first-born and you will be High King over all the rest."

I thought on what Aslan had said as we sped past the camp and I watched some of the warriors go about their business; my heart sank further in my chest.

'Is it really worth all your lives to set us on those thrones?'

§§§§

Entering Aslan's tent gave me a very wrong feeling; as if I was doing something that I should surely be punished for, but it had been my first instinct after the Dryad had brought Edmund and I the news.

In my shock and disbelief, I ran straight to His tent, only to find no one there. My knees gave out, and I knelt there for only goodness knows how long, before the sounds of the camp coming alive around me stirred me to action.

The news must have travelled, if the noises of despair were to be believed.

I stepped outside and found Oreius there with Edmund and a small table with a map of Narnia upon it. Little markers stood upon it, showing the positions of the armies of both sides.

'No… do not ask me to do this.'

"He's gone," was all I said.

"Then you'll have to lead us," Edmund said, his voice calm, clear and unfaltering.

I looked up and stared at him.

'Do you understand what you ask of me, little brother?'

"Peter, there's an army out there. And it's ready to follow you."

'You ask me to send all of you to meet Death.'

"I can't!"

'I can't lead you. I can't lead them. Just because they're willing to follow me to the death doesn't mean I should lead them there!'

"Aslan believed you could! So do I."

And in the end, it is all I can do to place Edmund in charge of the aerial volley and the archers and keep him well out of harm's way. I will keep him safe, as is expected of me, and I will lead the army, as Aslan wishes.

There will be no time to rest yet.

Fin.