How Can We Live?

by: mokatster

Chapter Six: Reassurance

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia! Also, although I've added to and modified most of it, the conversation between Peter and Edmund in this chapter is not entirely my own.

A/N: Last chapter, yay! Thanks to everyone who's been reading this and for all your wonderful feedback! I would like to once again beg you to pardon my deplorable lack of knowledge of weapons and armor, because it really shows. Also, the boys' section is much longer....blame Edmund for that one. He refuses to put up with Peter's "strong older sibling" act. :)

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A heavy silence filled the girls' room after the boys left. To cover her awkwardness and to avoid looking at Susan, Lucy picked up a hairbrush from her nightstand and started to brush her hair, readying it for braiding. As their hair had grown longer during their time in Narnia, she and Susan had been advised to braid it every night so they wouldn't wake up in the morning with horrible knots. Back in England, Lucy had continued to braid her hair nightly as soon as it grew long enough. She closed her eyes as she brushed stroke after stroke, smoothing all the tangles. If she kept her eyes closed, she could imagine she was back at Cair Paravel, with one of her ladies-in-waiting readying her for bed…

She felt a soft hand close over hers and she started. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Susan, who smiled hesitatingly.

"Do you want me to braid your hair for you?"

A nasty part of Lucy wanted to tell Susan that she didn't want her to do any such thing after saying such terrible things about her. She wanted to throw the brush at Susan's head and tell her sister exactly how she felt about being ignored at school and having Susan brushing her off to spend time with girls she barely knew.

But Lucy, the real Lucy, remembered how despairingly Susan had spoken of Narnia, and of Aslan. And she knew that Susan needed her help. So she smiled gratefully and handed her sister the brush. After all, she really did have the most frustrating time trying to braid her own hair.

Susan sat next to Lucy on the bed and continued to brush her hair. Lucy closed her eyes and hummed in satisfaction as the brush stroked her hair gently.

"Do you remember when your hair had grown past your waist, Su?" she asked, suddenly.

"I do," Susan's smile was evident in her voice. "I had to get it cut because it would keep catching on things and I couldn't bear to wear it pinned up all the time."

Silence fell again, and even though it was a more comfortable silence this time, Lucy found she couldn't bear it any longer.

"Su, do you hate me?" she blurted suddenly.

The brush stopped and there was a pause before Susan answered.

"Were you standing outside the door?" she whispered.

Lucy winced and nodded. She hoped Susan wouldn't be mad.

"How much did you hear?" Susan asked, her voice still hushed.

"…a lot," Lucy admitted without turning around, her voice tiny.

Dropping the brush on the bed, Susan put her hands on Lucy's shoulders and squeezed.

"I didn't mean it the way it sounded," she pleaded. "I was just—" she sighed. "I've just been so frustrated….and, I suppose, a bit jealous," she added.

Lucy turned at that, surprised. She certainly hadn't expected Susan to be feeling anything of the sort.

"Jealous? Of me?" she asked, incredulously. "But…why?"

"Because…" Susan hesitated, searching for the right words. "Because you've managed to be content whether we're here or in Narnia. Nothing seems to faze you." Her eyes met Lucy's, and Lucy's heart clenched at the despair so evident in her sister's face.

"How do you do it?" Susan asked. "How can you know that everything—?" she broke off and looked away.

Lucy took her sister's hands in her own. She didn't really know what to say. She wasn't sure how to articulate what she felt: the presence of love, the certainty of a purpose behind all things, the knowledge that they themselves were miracles, capable of anything as long as they believed in the One who had made them who they were.

"Coming back this time wasn't as hard as the first time," she began, slowly. "I think it's because this time Aslan Himself sent us back, and before we just sort of stumbled out of the wardrobe ourselves. It was easy to think we had made a mistake. But now…" she smiled to herself, remembering how Aslan had breathed over them before they had walked through the doorway in the air. "Now we know that we left with the Lion's blessing, and that we're here because He means us to be here." She squeezed Susan's hands and smiled reassuringly at her. "It's easier this way."

"So you think there's a reason we're constantly being shunted back and forth?" Susan was obviously trying to be civil, but Lucy could hear the bitterness underlying the calm in her voice. "How are we supposed to find meaning in anything, living two lives the way we are?"

Lucy thought for a moment.

"I think it's a matter of trusting Him," she said softly. "He must know what He's doing; He's always come through for us. It is much harder here, but," she pressed on earnestly. "Don't you think our lives are better here, having known Aslan there?"

Susan didn't reply; she pulled her hands out of Lucy's grip and gently turned her head to begin plaiting her hair.

"Su?"

"I don't really want to talk about this anymore, Lucy," she said, and the steely note of finality in her voice told Lucy that she would suffer no arguments.

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Edmund sat on the edge of his bed, idly flipping through his medieval history book while he waited for Peter to return from the bathroom. His bare foot tapped an anxious rhythm on the rug as he pondered how he was going to broach the topic of Narnia. He had briefly considered leaving this particular discussion for the following day, but he knew there was no way he would get to sleep after what he had overhead. He was still trying to reconcile Peter's confidence from a few months prior with the despair he had heard in his voice less than an hour ago.

Obviously, living without Narnia wasn't as easy as Peter had claimed it would be. Part of him was strangely relieved to hear this, because he hadn't wanted to believe it possible that one day they would be forced to remain in England permanently. He didn't want to be content with England, and to hear that Peter didn't either was oddly comforting, in a selfish sort of way.

Another part of him was consumed with worry for his older siblings. That they were despairing was clear enough. But Edmund didn't know how he and Lucy could help them, because they were right—they couldn't live without Aslan. None of them could.

It was after thinking this that Edmund realized he was also angry. Why had they lied to him and to Lucy? Did they think they couldn't handle the truth? Frustration, an emotion he had grown to know intimately the prior year, welled up inside him. He remembered the past year all too well, and he didn't want to live the same thing over again.

He looked up when the door closed behind Peter. His brother smiled briefly at him and started to change into his pajamas. He nodded at the book in Edmund's lap. "So you did bring schoolwork home, then?"

Edmund shook his head, looking back at the book. "This isn't schoolwork; it's just something I thought would be interesting." He paused, studying the illustrations. "The design of the armor and swords used during the Crusades is actually very similar to what we used ourselves."

Interest sparked in Peter's eyes. "Really?" Buttoning up his shirt, he crossed the room to read over Edmund's shoulder.

Edmund handed the book over. "Read the description below the sword diagram." He rubbed a hand tiredly across his face. "I still need to find an account of someone fighting with two swords at once, though" he muttered thoughtfully. Once General Oreius had suggested that particular form for him, he had never been able to fully enjoy fighting with a single blade. He was still proud to think that the double blades had become his signature style, and could remember taking several enemies by surprise with its lethality.

"Wow, you're right," Peter breathed, fascinated, as he pored over the figures and their descriptions. "This is just like Narnia." He turned a few pages. "The design's a bit rougher, though—definitely nothing as elegant as we had." He handed the book back to Edmund after flipping through several chapters and crossed to his own side of the room.

"Good luck finding anything about your two-sword technique," he added as he climbed into bed. "From what I understand of that period, fighting with one blade and a shield was pretty standard." He yawned and stretched his arms above his head. "I'm definitely going to sleep well tonight."

Edmund raised a skeptical eyebrow, recalling the conversation he and Lucy had overheard. "Are you?"

Peter frowned.

"Yes," he said slowly, as though he were explaining something obvious to a small child. "It is rather late, in case you hadn't noticed." He eyed Edmund warily, as if he were expecting some sort of trap. Edmund thought he must have sounded particularly threatening for Peter to be so suspicious. "Why do you ask?"

Edmund frowned and folded his arms across his chest. "Why did you lie to me?

Peter looked startled. "What are you talking about?"

Edmund glared at him through narrowed eyes. "You never were okay with the idea of leaving Narnia, were you? You were just saying that you were."

Peter blinked. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that.

"I'm fine, Ed," he stammered. "I don't really know what exactly—"

"Oh, shut up, Peter!" Edmund snapped, jumping to his feet and striding over to his dresser. He yanked open a drawer and started rummaging for some socks. "You're such a bloody hero—it never occurs to you to ask for help or anything when you need it." He seized a pair, realized they matched, and threw them back a little harder than necessary. He was furious—he hated that Peter had to act like such a martyr all the time.

But, if he was honest, Edmund was mostly furious with himself. Because what he hated the most was that he hadn't even noticed that Peter had been hiding something from him.

"Just because you're the oldest doesn't mean you have something you need to prove to the rest of us," he continued, his throat still tight with anger. He yanked a striped sock on one foot and a plain black sock on the other and then stood facing the dresser, fuming. As an afterthought, he slammed the sock drawer shut.

He heard his brother sigh behind him.

"How much did you hear?" Peter asked, giving up the act. He didn't sound angry, more like…resigned.

"Enough."

Peter grimaced and ran a hand through his hair.

"I never lied to you, Ed," he insisted. "Or to Lucy. When I told you I was okay with it, I really was. But…" he sighed again, heavily. "I suppose it was easier to believe that while I was still in Narnia, standing next to Aslan. But after being back in England for a while…" he swallowed. "It's harder to find my purpose here. It was easy in Narnia—I was the High King. I had my country, and my people. But who am I here? What purpose do I serve? Aslan said that it was time for us to learn to live here rather than in Narnia. But," he continued despairingly, "I can't figure out what there is to live for!"

Edmund turned, startled at the way Peter had worded this last statement.

"Are you saying that life here is pointless?" he demanded, incredulously. Sure, he'd seen Peter discontent and frustrated before, but he had never expected his brother to sound so hopeless.

Peter just looked at him. Then—"I know it's not," he muttered. "But I mean…what is there here, really? I don't even feel like I belong here, sometimes."

Edmund felt his stomach twist, and he crossed the room and sat next to Peter on the bed. He stared at the rug, wondering what he could possibly say to give his brother some reassurance. After all, he was in the same conundrum.

"I don't think you're looking at this the right way, Pete," he began, slowly, after a few thoughtful moments. "I mean, I'm not in your exact position, so maybe I can't talk, but…" He took a deep breath. "Lucy and I talked about this a while ago, and…we think that England is just as much a part of us as Narnia is. It was just…easier, I suppose, to learn what we had to over there. And now…" He broke off when he noticed Peter was scowling at him. "What?" he asked, perplexed.

Peter glared. "Would you please change your socks?" he huffed, obviously irritated.

Edmund fought back a laugh—he had forgotten how much Peter hated mismatched socks. He slid his feet under the rug, hiding the offending footwear from view. "There, happy? Are you going to let me finish, or was that your oh-so-subtle way of saying you don't want to talk about this anymore?"

Peter fidgeted, rather guiltily, Edmund thought.

"I'm just—" Peter sighed. "I've thought about this so much—constantly, in fact—ever since we got back. And I don't know what you can possibly say that I haven't thought of already."

Edmund stiffened.

"So you just expect me to sit here and let you flounder?" he demanded, coldly. "You want to try to figure things out for yourself, even though that obviously hasn't worked? I was going to say that not being able to go back is probably a good sign for you and Su. Have you thought of that one, High King?" Edmund knew his tone was harsh, but he didn't care. As much as he loved and admired his brother, Peter really got on his nerves sometimes.

Peter looked instantly contrite.

"Look, Ed, I didn't mean it the way it came out. I just—" he hesitated. "I feel like this is something I should be figuring out on my own."

Edmund looked at him shrewdly. "Does this have anything to do with what Aslan told you?"

Peter nodded, but didn't elaborate, and the two were silent for a minute.

"So…you think being back here is good for me and Su?"

Edmund tried to remember what he had been saying.

"Well…yeah," he said. "What did Aslan say? That you've learned all you can, right? So...it seems to me that He believes you capable enough and strong enough to bring Narnia here to England. And Lu and I…have something else we need to do before we get to that point. We're not ready." He looked up at Peter. "And you are."

To his relief, his words seemed to have resonated with his brother.

"I think you're right," Peter said, slowly. "And I think I've been trying to convince myself of something like that ever since we got back.

"But it's hard!" he burst out suddenly. "Narnia has been a part of me—a part of all of us—for so long. The thought of never being able to go back—of not being able to do anything there—is just really terrifying." His eyes met Edmund's, who felt something inside his chest constrict painfully to see his brother look so vulnerable. But he understood him completely.

If Peter and Susan were too old to go back to Narnia, then inevitably and Lucy would be too, one day. And that thought was enough to fill him with a petrifying dread. He clenched his hands into tight fists.

"I know…" he murmured. "It's terrifying. But," he said, as a sudden thought occurred to him. "I think it's supposed to be."

He looked at Peter intently, and his brother waited, obviously perplexed.

"Our first time in Narnia, facing the White Witch? Terrifying! Trying to be the rulers we were meant to be and live up to Aslan's expectations? Terrifying! Coming back to England after a lifetime in Narnia? Terrifying! Going back to Narnia thousands of years later, helping someone else claim the Narnian throne and not knowing if we would even succeed? Terrifying! And now..." He tried to laugh. "Aslan has to continue the tradition! I mean, come on! He Himself is terrifying at times! He isn't tame. So once He's in our lives…" He swallowed and looked away, trying to blink back the tears that suddenly burned his eyes as memories flooded him. "We should expect everything to be completely and terrifyingly unpredictable."

Peter put an arm around Edmund, who didn't pull away. He nodded as he pondered Edmund's words. His voice was hushed when he finally spoke. "That's…true. If He isn't tame, then once we give up our lives to Him, we certainly can't expect them to be tame either." He sighed. "I suppose there really isn't any reason to be afraid, is there?"

"He hasn't made a mistake…ever," Edmund reminded him. "It always turns out all right, even when it doesn't seem like it will."

Peter nodded, his eyes far away. He hugged Edmund a little closer. "Especially then."

After a few moments, Edmund pulled away slightly to look meaningfully at Peter. "You're right where you're supposed to be. You need to show everyone here what it means to be magnificent!"

He said the last bit half-jokingly, and Peter finally smiled, dispelling any traces of care that had remained in his face. He ruffled Edmund's hair affectionately, grinning wider as Edmund scowled. "Thanks, Ed." His face grew serious and he studied Edmund thoughtfully, though Edmund thought he saw a smile playing around Peter's mouth. "You know, you really are smarter than you look."

Edmund fought back a smile as he pretended to glare. Peter was definitely back to normal. He gave him a shove before standing and stretching. "That's what I'm here for. I can spout wisdom on command." As he climbed into bed, he turned to give Peter a mischievous grin. "You know, you should start writing this stuff down so I never have to repeat myself."

Peter burst out laughing.

"Right, I'll get right on that, Mr. Guru. Good night." He rolled underneath his covers and starting punching his pillow into the perfect position. Edmund, who was painstakingly arranging his own bedclothes, glared at Peter with narrowed eyes.

"If you start calling me that, you'd best be prepared to be the bearer of a title much more humiliating."

Peter looked greatly amused. "What did you have in mind?"

Loftily, Edmund replied, "Oh, this requires careful thought. I cannot possibly have a suitable name in mind yet." He grinned mischievously. "But rest assured that I can provide one should the opportunity arise."

"Well, I'm sure I'll hate it, whatever it may be." Peter rolled his eyes but he also grinned at Edmund before reaching out to turn off the light.

There was silence for a minute or two. Then—

"How about 'prat'?" Edmund suggested innocently.

A pillow flew suddenly out of the darkness to hit Edmund square in the face. He laughed.

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The lights had been turned out and the tense silence in the girls' room had faded into the sleepier kind of quiet that is only present in the middle of the night.

Lucy listened to her sister's breathing gradually slow as Susan drifted off to sleep, and wished she were that lucky. She stared into the darkness, her mind replaying their conversation over and over again. There was something she must have said wrong, something she could have done differently. Susan hadn't seemed at all reassured and it didn't look as if she'd get to broach this topic again anytime soon.

"Oh, Aslan," she pleaded silently. "I don't know if You can hear me all the way from England; but we need You. Please, as You love them, help Peter and Susan. I'm so scared for them. How can they live without You?" She pressed her lips together tightly and closed her eyes against the tears that suddenly burned them. She couldn't live without Him, either. "We all need You. Please, please don't leave us here alone."

She heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes again to stare at the dark ceiling above her. Somehow, inexplicably, she knew that her prayer had helped. Piercing the maelstrom of fear and despair inside her was a ray of hope and reassurance. And she knew—again, she couldn't explain how—that no matter where she and her family were, they couldn't be without Aslan. Their lives were irrevocably bound to Him, forever. With this last thought, she shifted to a more comfortable position and closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep.

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A/N: The end! Thanks for reading, everybody!