WARNING: Intense moments and SPOILERS ahoy! If you haven't seen the newest movie, yet, and don't want it to be spoiled, you may want to wait until you see it to read this.
Soundtrack Recommendations: "Into Battle" and "Time to Go Home" from the VoDT movie soundtrack.
Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.
Author's Note: ::sighs:: Like so many things I seem to have written recently, this developed from a one-shot into a two-shot. I wanted to get too much into this chapter! ::grins:: In any case, I finally saw Voyage of the Dawn Treader in theaters this week—and I loved it! It was so much better than I had anticipated—Eustace was fantastic, Caspian's character matured marvelously, and to top it all off, Edmund and Lucy got some serious screen time, too! Granted, it wasn't all violets and roses—there were a few things I wished they had developed more and others that I had envisioned quite differently ::grins again::, but I still loved it. Originally, this was to be more book-based than movie-based, but that plan effectively got tossed out the window when I went to see the movie. I hope you approve!
P.S. This is part of my Brother Lessons series and is, in fact, one of those moments I had envisioned rather differently—so I typed it up my way ::grins::. Please enjoy!
Rating: T/M (for intense moments)
Summary: Peter finds Aslan in England…but not without a little misadventure along the way…(Book and Moviebased) (Brotherfic) (NO Slash)
"Speech"
/Personal Thoughts/
Quotes (Italics)
Peter's Age: 16
Edmund's Age: 13
Lucy's Age: 11
Eustace's Age: 10
Timeframe: During (and after) Voyage of the Dawn Treader
(1) The Voyage of the Dawn Treader p. 509 in The Complete Chronicles of Narnia (Paperback)
Dreaming of Water
By Sentimental Star
Dreaming of Water
Chapter One: Dark Shores
"Fools!" said the man, stomping his foot with rage. "That is the sort of talk that brought me here, and I'd better have been drowned or never born. Do you hear what I say? This is where dreams—dreams, you understand—come to life, come real. Not daydreams: dreams." (1)
(In England)
The first thing Peter was aware of when he "woke" was a black tunnel all around him. He might have worried if the sudden slap, slap of waves against—for all purposes necessary—a ship's wooden hull hadn't jerked his attention to the path in front of him (and when had that got there?).
It was white. Pure white. And made of what appeared to be light.
Intrigued, he ventured forward, even knowing he at least ought to be slightly more cautious. The sharp, briny scent of ocean drifted faintly across his olfactory senses as he walked and, gradually, he became aware that his were not the only footsteps: the soft pad, pad of four paws came from in front of him.
His heart leapt. Could it really be…?
There was a pleased rumble and then…
"Aslan!" he heard himself shout joyfully, and darted forward. "Oh, Aslan, I'm so-!"
But at that precise moment, Aslan (for the Great Lion, it surely was) whipped around and padded ahead.
Knowing he was expected to follow and sensing that Aslan did not wish him to speak, Peter lengthened his strides to match the Lion's pace.
Wherever Aslan stepped, light spread from his paw and radiated outwards into the darkness surrounding them. It was only when the darkness started fighting back that Peter grew a little nervous. He trusted Aslan implicitly, of course (and it had taken him some time to reach that point), but the night pressing in on either side of them was stubborn—and, if Peter had to be completely honest, rather frightening.
Yet they continued on, one step at a time. By the time they seemed to have reach their destination (wherever their destination was), a swelling ache had built up in the center of Peter's chest: the darkness was thicker here; even Aslan's light seemed to have difficulty shining, though it still flickered steadily on beside him.
Then the sounds started:
Roars. Screams. The twang of bow strings; the clang, clatter, and clash of swords.
"Edmund!"
Peter stopped dead. /Lucy?/ he thought incredulously.
He felt a nudge in his back. Aslan had circled around and was nosing insistently into his spine.
The creaking and cracking of timbers. The snapping of ropes and the crashing of waves and water.
"Harpoons! Get the harpoons!"
Peter's mind froze. /Is that…it can't possibly be…/
"Caspian…! Quickly! I'll try to keep it off the port bow!"
"Ed…! NO!"
Peter started running, Caspian's cry causing a hot flash of panic to rip through his thoughts.
Aslan roared: "High King Peter!"
Bounding forward, he twined his great body around Peter, halting any further progress.
The Lion stood head and shoulders above Peter, much taller than Narnia's High King ever recalled him being. It was enough to distract the sixteen-year-old from struggling any further, and he stared up at Aslan, slightly shocked.
Aslan's large golden eyes saddened. "We may only watch," he murmured. "Watch…and have faith."
That's when the images started:
Fire. Smoke. Fog and glints of steel.
Waves. Lighting. Rocks and crashing foam.
"Face your fears! Face them, I say!"
A dragon wheeled by the gilded prow of a ship, all scales and flame and wings. A Talking Mouse rode on its head, brandishing a rapier and wearing gold circlet around one ear.
/Reepicheep!/ the thought shot through Peter's mind and his breath caught. He strained in Aslan's hold, trying to reach those he knew lay ahead. "Aslan, please! Are we…?"
"We are simply observers, Dear One, if only for now. It is they who must let us in," Aslan's eyes, golden and solemn, regarded him gently.
Peter's fists clenched at his sides, one grasping at the hip where Rhindon had once hung. "But, Aslan, surely I can-!"
At that precise moment, Peter's heart nearly leapt out of his throat when his eyes lighted upon one figure in particular. /Oh, God…oh, Aslan…oh, Edmund, NO!/
IOIOIOIOIOI
(In Narnia)
Tossed like chafe upon the wind by the sudden lash of the sea serpent's tail, Edmund dropped the eight feet off the mast to the deck below. A broken net slowed his descent only marginally and his head and back collided with a snapped section of the Dawn Treader's rail, causing him to choke on a cry of dismay and pain.
Somewhere in the background he heard Lucy scream and Caspian yell, but after a long, dizzying moment in which he could not tell sky from sea, Edmund staggered to his feet. Grabbing the first of the nearest net's handholds, Narnia's youngest king hauled himself up onto the netting that led to the crow's nest.
Swinging from rope to rope, Edmund propelled himself upwards, completely ignoring the throbbing of his head and the thrashing of the ship. From handhold to handhold, he single-mindedly forced himself towards the crow's nest and the top of the mast, his brother's sword a comforting weight strapped to his hip.
His fingers eventually gripped the wooden rim of the crow's nest. Hauling himself up and ignoring the splintering wood, Edmund raised his head…and came face to face with the last apparition in the world he wanted to see.
His face blanched as white as his knuckles. "You don't belong here. You can't be here—you're dead." His voice trembled.
"Dead?" Jadis's voice was as deceptively enchanting and as sickeningly sweet as Edmund remembered it. "Foolish child, you can never kill me. Why would you even want to? I can give you anything…anything at all, you know. Anything that your heart desires."
"Witch," Edmund's voice shook as he heaved himself over the side of the crow's nest. "Hear me now..." He took a step forward, gripping so tight to the pommel of Peter's sword that his fingers lost as much blood as his face had. "You owned me once…" Another step forward; he would have been pleased to note that she had drifted backwards if he hadn't been so utterly terrified of the apparition in front of him. "You enslaved my soul…" he took another step forward; she drifted another step back. "You denied me my freedom and threatened everything I held dear…" Once more he stepped forward; once more she drifted back. "You promised me power, riches, servants, and a kingdom. You promise me these same things now, and yourself as my queen besides. You are a temptress and an enchantress, Witch; you are everything a foolish, greedy man could ever desire…"
The Witch drew herself up now, standing there stiffly and raising her chin haughtily. Although Edmund's heart hammered in his chest, he took another several steps forward until he could stare her straight in the face. "But I am no longer that man, Witch. I never was that man…" He paused, a strange smile flitting across his lips. "You no longer own me, Witch," she jerked back in shock, stunned by the absolute conviction permeating his voice, "you never will."
She shrieked as Rhindon pierced her translucent chest.
Peter yelled as white light exploded around his brother. Only those on the Dawn Treader noticed as it disintegrated the sea serpent, as well.
IOIOIOIOIOI
(In Dreams)
When his sight cleared, Edmund found himself entirely surrounded by sunlight. Panting heavily, he crashed onto his hands and knees. Shaking his head in order to clear it, the thirteen-year-old felt his fingers grasp grass, cool and smooth to the touch. A scent flowed around him—sweet and salty all at once. It was familiar; one he had cherished all his life.
With a gasp, Edmund collapsed within the warm paws that abruptly circled him, knowing at last that he was safe. "Aslan…" he quavered.
There was a deep, rumbling purr and a velvet nose nuzzled into his cheek. "Well met, Son of Adam."
Larger than he remembered him and face tenderer than he ever recalled seeing it, Aslan lay curled around him. Gently, the Lion touched his nose to Edmund's, "Very well met, indeed," he murmured. Pride blazed in those golden eyes.
Edmund blushed, then chuckled faintly, feeling the last tremors from adrenaline run their course. "Well, I wouldn't call it well met, but I am glad to see you, Aslan," his voice dropped to a whisper, and he buried his head in the Lion's mane. "Ever so glad. I knew you'd come."
The pleased rumble that response elicited penetrated Edmund to his very core: "Peace be yours, Dear One. She is gone, as she has been for many years. She cannot come back again."
Even as Aslan spoke, something drastic shifted inside of Edmund. For seventeen years—seventeen years—this had haunted him; she had haunted him. He could forget for a little while, but always, in the back of his mind, her voice whispered—calling him unworthy, reminding him of his treachery and accusing him of forcing Aslan's paw and the Lion's sacrifice.
Peter and their sisters had toiled endlessly to convince him that Aslan's sacrifice should not be seen as his penance—but rather, as his salvation. More simply and most importantly, they implored him to see it as an expression of the Lion's love.
For the first time since he had ever entered Narnia, Edmund believed it.
Any remnants of tension eased then, leaving Edmund literally shaking with relief. "I believe you, Aslan. I have always believed you."
Aslan purred. "You will return soon, King Edmund; this horror is finished. It is done. Your sister and your friends await you."
Edmund drew in a not entirely steady breath. "As-Aslan…" he coughed, then cleared his throat. "May…may I see Peter? Just for a little bit? I-It doesn't have to be long, and…he doesn't even need to know it's me, but…"
Aslan chuckled. "Peace, my Son. In fact…" he gave a Lion's smile, abruptly unwinding his body from around Edmund; in his place stood a rather disoriented Peter. "He has been wanting to speak with you for quite some time."
IOIOIOIOIOI
The transition from almost total darkness to a flood of sunlight was rather disconcerting. Shaking his head, Peter squinted against the brightness, trying to take in his surroundings. A moment later, wide blue eyes fell on his thunderstruck little brother.
"Edmund!" Peter darted forward, desperate to close the distance between them.
After staring in absolutely stunned disbelief for several minutes straight, Edmund staggered to his feet and stumbled forwards, more or less collapsing in his brother's arms.
He expected to go right through him.
He didn't. Instead, he blinked rapidly when he realized Peter's body was solid. "You…you're r-really here."
The Lion's warm laughter rang in the background. Peter laughed upon hearing it: "You could say that. Wherever 'here' is."
Tears proceeded to flush down Edmund's cheeks.
Mortified, the thirteen-year-old buried his face in Peter's nightshirt, but the tears did not stop coming. Fisting his hands in the nightshirt's cotton fabric, Edmund clung to him, furiously ordering his tears to subside—but they wouldn't. Not in the presence of his older brother, no matter how much the younger king wished them to.
Peter's face softened, and his eyes saddened, swirling to gray. Gently, he rested his lips against Edmund's dark hair, tilting his head down to rest his forehead against his brother's, "I'm sorry I didn't realize something was wrong much sooner," he whispered.
IOIOIOIOIOI
Edmund's tears, though silent and swallowed up by the cotton of Peter's nightshirt, took a long time to cease. By the time they had run their course, a thoroughly exhausted Edmund half lay in Peter's arms, nearly asleep.
"Ed?"
Tenderly, Peter swept back the dark hair from his brother's face and leaned down, gaze worried. His last memory was of Edmund faced with a giant sea serpent at the top of a half-broken mast. Edmund, clearly, had seen something else. And Peter had a few guesses what—or rather, whom, the younger king had seen.
Edmund stirred, mumbling in momentary complaint, but otherwise remained still.
With a soft, relieved laugh, Peter sat back on his heels, shoulders relaxing as he drew his brother further into his lap. Then he began to hum, slowly swaying them.
This finally seemed to rouse Edmund. As the younger man forced himself towards full awareness, Peter hushed him, "No. Sleep, Ed. You probably need it more than anything else right now."
There was a muted sound of protest—half frustrated growl, half choked back sob. Edmund stubbornly shook his head, clutching tight to Peter's nightshirt.
In spite of everything, Peter chuckled (if rather thickly), lightly squeezing his ribs, "Ed, you're how old? Twelve? Thirteen? You haven't acted like this in ages."
Edmund struggled to sit upright. "No. Don't…don't want to find you gone. Scared."
Understanding, love, compassion, and affection suffused Peter's features. "Oh, Ed…You know I'm not gone. Not really. You'll always be able to find me here," he lightly tapped Edmund's chest, just over his heart, "always right here."
Edmund still fought the pull of sleep, but no longer quite so hard—and he was quickly losing. He succeeded for a few moments, at least: "Know that," he muttered. "Just…miss you, Peter," he yawned. "A lot. With Lu, and Eustace, and Caspian, but not the same," he yawned again. "Want to be home. 'S been too long."
Peter shook his head, touched deeply by his little brother's declaration. Tears stood in his eyes, but he smiled. "You'll be home soon, and you'll see me then. And when you do, I want to hear all about what happened with Caspian and Eustace of all people."
Edmund gave a final yawn, eyes fluttering shut. "Shall," he breathed, burrowing his face into Peter's shoulder as he curled up in his brother's lap.
His only answer?
"I love you, Edmund," Peter whispered, as everything around them faded to black.
IOIOIOIOIOI
(In England)
When Peter woke—really woke—he found himself sitting up in his bed at the Professor's cottage. The sheets had tangled themselves around his legs and his arms extended outwards, as if they still held Edmund. Tears trickled down his cheeks.
Sniffing quietly and unobtrusively, Peter scrubbed at his cheeks with his arms, trying to rid them of the droplets streaming down his skin.
By the gray light issuing through the crack in his window's shutters, it wasn't even dawn, yet. Unable to remain in bed and unwilling to attempt sleeping, Peter slid out of bed and quietly slipped out of his room, intending to make himself a cup of tea in the kitchen.
He pulled up short in its threshold.
Sitting at the table, quite serenely sipping at his cup of tea, Professor Kirke sat reading a thickly bound volume by candlelight.
Peter must have made some noise of startlement, because a moment later, the Professor had lifted his head and fixed the eldest Pevensie sibling with a calm gaze. He raised a single, bushy white eyebrow, "Up a bit early, aren't you, young one?" A smile lurked at the corner of his mouth and his hazel eyes twinkled behind their spectacles.
Peter received the distinct impression that his endearingly eccentric mentor had actually been expecting him for quite some time.
"S-Sir?" Peter's voice cracked and he coughed, clearing his throat. "I…I apologize if I woke you…" he trailed off uncertainly.
The twinkle in the Professor's eyes only heightened. He waved the younger man off. "Nonsense, dear boy! I am afraid I found myself quite enthralled with my reading," he held up the book with its gold- embossed cover, "and never bothered to check the time."
Uncertain whether to believe him, Peter only nodded jerkily and unfroze himself from the doorway, step light as he moved to join his tutor at the table.
The Professor's smile softened and he lightly patted Peter's knee when the sixteen-year-old took the seat he had pulled out for him. "Now," the elderly gentleman murmured, producing his pipe and lighting it as he leaned back in his chair, slowly starting to puff at it, "what seems to be the problem?"
So Peter explained, taking his time and trying not to let his voice crack again—about Aslan and Edmund and how the Lion had led him to his brother on that ship. He talked steadily, pausing only to sip at the tea cup the Professor had pressed into hands at some point.
While speaking of it, Peter realized just how odd a dream it had been, although not as startling as it should have been.
It hadn't happened often: if one of the two brothers focused intently on the other, usually they could get the faint impression—the "feel"—of each other, but never any more than that. They had never actually been transported to their counterpart; with a sudden leap of his heart, Peter wondered if—in those brief few minutes—he had actually been in Narnia. Despite all rational thought, despite Aslan's mandate that he was never again to return…he wondered.
Professor Kirke smiled around his pipe.
IOIOIOIOIOI
"Well, young one," the Professor remarked once Peter had finished his tale, standing up from the table and stretching, "I believe it is time to give these old bones some rest." He slid the book he had been reading in front of Peter's hands, "There you are; one of the world's finest works of literature."
The book had The Holy Bible stamped across its front in gold letters.
Peter scrunched up his nose, but obligingly pulled it towards him.
The Professor chuckled, "Not your typical reading, young one?"
Peter had the good grace to look sheepish. "Not really, sir," he admitted softly.
Professor Kirke's lips quirked into a small, knowing smile, "I must confess, I felt just the same when I was your age. Though…I did quite like the first and second chapters of Genesis. It has only been very recently that I have realized why. But what you are looking for might be better sought in the forty-ninth chapter of Genesis, I think. Or the New Testament."
The sixteen-year-old gazed up at him curiously, but the elderly Professor merely gave him an enigmatic smile. Gently, he ruffled the boy's hair, "Do not sit up too late, now—we are expecting company later today."
Peter blinked. /Company?/
The Professor kept his enigmatic grin. "Happy reading, young man."
As he moved to head back towards the doorway of his bedroom, the sixteen-year-old's hand on his arm made him pause momentarily, "Professor, please wait."
The older man raised his other bushy white eyebrow, gazing back at the teenager. "Yes, Your Majesty?" he inquired mildly.
Peter flushed. "H-How did you know…I'd be up?"
The smile blossomed fully. Lightly, the Professor tapped the side of his nose, extraordinary hazel eyes twinkling merrily. "Ah…let us just say…a good friend told me."
Warmth blossomed in the pit of Peter's stomach and he nodded, a smile curving his lips.
The Professor gave a warm smirk in return. "'Til breakfast, young one."
After gazing thoughtfully at Professor Kirke's retreating back for a few minutes, Peter pulled the Bible towards him and began reading.
IOIOIOIOIOI
(Several Hours Later)
Breakfast found Peter sitting back in his chair and staring at the blue tiling of the Professor's kitchen wall, brooding.
In hindsight, he really should have guessed it.
Before the war, before the bombings and threat of invasion, the four Pevensie children had—like many of their age-mates—attended church school every Sunday. Peter had known his Bible stories forwards, backwards, and inside out. So Aslan's form as a Lion, his ability to bring back those dead and those turned to stone, his status as the Son of the Emperor-over-the-Sea, and—especially—his resurrection (actually, it should be "He" and "His" here, shouldn't it?), should have been ample proof of His identity in this world.
But he had never made that connection. Until now.
It would be easier, he mused, to continue thinking of Him as Aslan and not Jesus (actually, to be frank, it made him more than a little uneasy). But the very fact that He was Jesus, created more questions than it did answers.
Peter, therefore, clung to the familiar. /You don't mind, do you?/ he posed the question silently, gently closing the Bible's cover and standing up to stretch.
In response, he thought he heard a well-pleased roar—but that could have only been his imagination.
Tbc.