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edenfallingI have finally written all four Pevensie siblings! I am not sure how in-character Peter is here, but I can genuinely see him worrying about the way he and his siblings seemed to forget England while they ruled Narnia. Also, while his faith in Aslan is not as automatic as Lucy's -- he does, after all, decide to go the wrong way along the stream in Prince Caspian -- Peter is solid in his convictions and duties once his mind is made up.
(Book canon only. No Disney Prince Caspian movie canon need apply, EVER. I do not know who that impostor was in their film, but he was not Peter.)
Like Liminality, "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" is a 15-minute fic that got slightly out of hand. In other words, it took 30 minutes to write, then over an hour to find the right quotes, and then another hour to make finicky edits until it felt right. (975 words)
[And then I edited even more! The slightly revised and expanded final version is now up here on AO3 and here on ff.net.]
---------------------------------------------
Out of Sight, Out of Mind
---------------------------------------------
Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. -- Kevin Arnold
---------------
In retrospect, it hadn't been too implausible for the others to forget. Lucy was young. Edmund had every reason in the world to avoid mentioning the past. Susan lived in the present moment, making the best of whatever situation she found herself in.
But Peter should have remembered. He should have worried about their parents, alone and suddenly childless, grieving with no resolution. He should have thought about the difficulty heaped on Professor Kirke, who would have to explain over and over again how four children had vanished without a trace. He should have wondered how the war had gone.
He didn't.
Back in England, Peter wondered at how lightly and easily his memory had slipped away. He should have remembered. That was what he did: remember what was important, so he could make the best decisions for his family and his country. Only magic could have made him forget.
Magic, or Aslan.
One year or one thousand years later, Peter met Susan's eyes on their last morning in Narnia and silently pled for a minute alone with the Lion. She nodded, gracious as ever, and murmured something about a pebble in her shoe, no need to stop on her account, she would catch up.
Peter and Aslan walked on through the forest. Aslan's heavy footfalls shook the ground but made no other noise, while Peter's boots snapped and rustled through twigs and the thick mat of fallen leaves. Now and again, a bird flashed through the sun-dappled branches, or a squirrel darted up a tree and screeched in territorial annoyance. Dumb beasts, all of them; the Talking Beasts knew better than to intrude on Aslan when he wanted privacy. There was no chance they would be overheard.
Nevertheless Peter struggled to find the right words to avoid sounding accusing or ungrateful or disrespectful. There must have been a reason. He knew that. And yet.
"Tell me your troubles, Peter," Aslan said, turning his great, golden head slightly and catching Peter's downcast eyes. "Do not worry about the words. If you speak from your heart, you cannot speak awry."
"Why did we forget?" Peter asked. "When we ruled Narnia, we only thought of Narnia. We forgot that we had another family and another country. I let all my responsibilities fall aside without thinking twice. That's not like me. Aslan, sir, did you make us forget?"
Aslan was silent for a moment. Then he said, "High King, when you ruled Narnia, where was your attention most needed?"
Peter considered the question, wondering if it had hidden angles. He was sure he was missing an obvious answer somewhere, a solution to his tangle. Edmund could have ferreted it out. Lucy would have seen straight through to the truth without a moment of doubt. But Peter was left to puzzle through the problem step by plodding step.
"My attention was needed most in Narnia," he said after a minute. "On trade and taxes, wars and treaties, ships and roads, laws and proclamations, ambassadors and spies, and all the other business of state. I think Su and Ed and Lucy also needed me to be strong for them."
"Did England need your attention while you had no way to return there?" asked Aslan.
"No," Peter admitted. "But I still feel..." He groped again for words, and his hand brushed the hilt of his sword. He gripped Rhindon, drawing strength from the steel and the memory of his years as both ruler and servant to Narnia. He had been bound to Narnia, flesh and blood and soul. He ought to have been bound to England the same way. "I feel as though I betrayed a trust when I forgot," he said.
"That is why I veiled your memory," said Aslan. "For a king to give half his heart to a foreign land is disaster for his own country. You forgot when it was time for you to forget, and remembered when it was time for memory to be renewed. Do not fear," he added. "You will never forget again, neither England nor Narnia. Both worlds are yours forever, though you and Susan will only walk in the flesh in one from this day forward."
Peter drew a breath, but he was never sure what he might have said; Susan rejoined them before he could speak. "Thank you for slowing your pace," she said, smiling with the extra glow she always developed in Aslan's presence, as if he brought out an even deeper reservoir of love and generosity from her heart. She was beautiful, and she was happy. Peter didn't want his doubts to spoil these last hours in Narnia for her.
And in truth, what good would it have done for him to remember England during those years? What could he have done but make himself miserable with impossible wishes, and make Su and Ed and Lucy miserable as well? What harm had it done to forget?
If they had returned to find fifteen years gone on the other side of the wardrobe, then forgetting might have been betrayal, but no time had passed. Aslan had returned them the very moment they had left. Peter had been spared a decade and a half of useless grief and pain, in return for fifteen years of fulfillment and joy. He had learned to be a man without the crippling weight of helpless worry.
"I wouldn't have chosen that path for myself," he murmured, "but I understand why you chose it for me."
"It is the duty of a king to make the decisions that are right for those under his care, and the burden of a king to know that they will rarely understand the reasons for his choice, nor thank him for his work," Aslan said gravely. "I am honored by your trust in me."
"Always," Peter said, daring to lay his hand on Aslan's mane. On Aslan's other side, Susan echoed him and smiled.
---------------
The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting. -- Milan Kundera
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Inspired by the 1/25/10![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
15_minute_fic word #127: forgotten
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ETA: If you are curious about what I was trying to do in this story, here is a post about thematic and theological issues, and the difficulty of expressing subtle authorial disagreement with the opinions of a POV character.
---------------------------------------------
As you can see, I am safely back in Ithaca. My flight from Minnesota to Philadelphia went without a hitch, but my flight from Philly to Ithaca was delayed an hour and a half. I ended up watching parts of the Colts-Jets game on a television in the gate lounge, and almost wished the flight had been delayed another fifteen minutes so I could have seen the last four minutes or so of game time. *grin* Ah well.
Then later the Vikings lost. *sigh* They always seem to implode sooner or later; I am pretty much resigned to that. And it's hard to feel resentful when they lost to the Saints, who deserve so much to go to the Superbowl.
I have no preference whatsoever between the Colts and the Saints. I am just hoping for good, exciting football. And this year, if I am not at work during the game, I will probably be attempting to watch via the internet, rather than hanging out in my old laundromat (which is how I watched the Giants beat the Patriots a couple years ago). *grin*
(Book canon only. No Disney Prince Caspian movie canon need apply, EVER. I do not know who that impostor was in their film, but he was not Peter.)
Like Liminality, "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" is a 15-minute fic that got slightly out of hand. In other words, it took 30 minutes to write, then over an hour to find the right quotes, and then another hour to make finicky edits until it felt right. (975 words)
[And then I edited even more! The slightly revised and expanded final version is now up here on AO3 and here on ff.net.]
---------------------------------------------
Out of Sight, Out of Mind
---------------------------------------------
Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. -- Kevin Arnold
---------------
In retrospect, it hadn't been too implausible for the others to forget. Lucy was young. Edmund had every reason in the world to avoid mentioning the past. Susan lived in the present moment, making the best of whatever situation she found herself in.
But Peter should have remembered. He should have worried about their parents, alone and suddenly childless, grieving with no resolution. He should have thought about the difficulty heaped on Professor Kirke, who would have to explain over and over again how four children had vanished without a trace. He should have wondered how the war had gone.
He didn't.
Back in England, Peter wondered at how lightly and easily his memory had slipped away. He should have remembered. That was what he did: remember what was important, so he could make the best decisions for his family and his country. Only magic could have made him forget.
Magic, or Aslan.
One year or one thousand years later, Peter met Susan's eyes on their last morning in Narnia and silently pled for a minute alone with the Lion. She nodded, gracious as ever, and murmured something about a pebble in her shoe, no need to stop on her account, she would catch up.
Peter and Aslan walked on through the forest. Aslan's heavy footfalls shook the ground but made no other noise, while Peter's boots snapped and rustled through twigs and the thick mat of fallen leaves. Now and again, a bird flashed through the sun-dappled branches, or a squirrel darted up a tree and screeched in territorial annoyance. Dumb beasts, all of them; the Talking Beasts knew better than to intrude on Aslan when he wanted privacy. There was no chance they would be overheard.
Nevertheless Peter struggled to find the right words to avoid sounding accusing or ungrateful or disrespectful. There must have been a reason. He knew that. And yet.
"Tell me your troubles, Peter," Aslan said, turning his great, golden head slightly and catching Peter's downcast eyes. "Do not worry about the words. If you speak from your heart, you cannot speak awry."
"Why did we forget?" Peter asked. "When we ruled Narnia, we only thought of Narnia. We forgot that we had another family and another country. I let all my responsibilities fall aside without thinking twice. That's not like me. Aslan, sir, did you make us forget?"
Aslan was silent for a moment. Then he said, "High King, when you ruled Narnia, where was your attention most needed?"
Peter considered the question, wondering if it had hidden angles. He was sure he was missing an obvious answer somewhere, a solution to his tangle. Edmund could have ferreted it out. Lucy would have seen straight through to the truth without a moment of doubt. But Peter was left to puzzle through the problem step by plodding step.
"My attention was needed most in Narnia," he said after a minute. "On trade and taxes, wars and treaties, ships and roads, laws and proclamations, ambassadors and spies, and all the other business of state. I think Su and Ed and Lucy also needed me to be strong for them."
"Did England need your attention while you had no way to return there?" asked Aslan.
"No," Peter admitted. "But I still feel..." He groped again for words, and his hand brushed the hilt of his sword. He gripped Rhindon, drawing strength from the steel and the memory of his years as both ruler and servant to Narnia. He had been bound to Narnia, flesh and blood and soul. He ought to have been bound to England the same way. "I feel as though I betrayed a trust when I forgot," he said.
"That is why I veiled your memory," said Aslan. "For a king to give half his heart to a foreign land is disaster for his own country. You forgot when it was time for you to forget, and remembered when it was time for memory to be renewed. Do not fear," he added. "You will never forget again, neither England nor Narnia. Both worlds are yours forever, though you and Susan will only walk in the flesh in one from this day forward."
Peter drew a breath, but he was never sure what he might have said; Susan rejoined them before he could speak. "Thank you for slowing your pace," she said, smiling with the extra glow she always developed in Aslan's presence, as if he brought out an even deeper reservoir of love and generosity from her heart. She was beautiful, and she was happy. Peter didn't want his doubts to spoil these last hours in Narnia for her.
And in truth, what good would it have done for him to remember England during those years? What could he have done but make himself miserable with impossible wishes, and make Su and Ed and Lucy miserable as well? What harm had it done to forget?
If they had returned to find fifteen years gone on the other side of the wardrobe, then forgetting might have been betrayal, but no time had passed. Aslan had returned them the very moment they had left. Peter had been spared a decade and a half of useless grief and pain, in return for fifteen years of fulfillment and joy. He had learned to be a man without the crippling weight of helpless worry.
"I wouldn't have chosen that path for myself," he murmured, "but I understand why you chose it for me."
"It is the duty of a king to make the decisions that are right for those under his care, and the burden of a king to know that they will rarely understand the reasons for his choice, nor thank him for his work," Aslan said gravely. "I am honored by your trust in me."
"Always," Peter said, daring to lay his hand on Aslan's mane. On Aslan's other side, Susan echoed him and smiled.
---------------
The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting. -- Milan Kundera
---------------------------------------------
Inspired by the 1/25/10
15_minute_fic word #127: forgotten---------------------------------------------
ETA: If you are curious about what I was trying to do in this story, here is a post about thematic and theological issues, and the difficulty of expressing subtle authorial disagreement with the opinions of a POV character.
---------------------------------------------
As you can see, I am safely back in Ithaca. My flight from Minnesota to Philadelphia went without a hitch, but my flight from Philly to Ithaca was delayed an hour and a half. I ended up watching parts of the Colts-Jets game on a television in the gate lounge, and almost wished the flight had been delayed another fifteen minutes so I could have seen the last four minutes or so of game time. *grin* Ah well.
Then later the Vikings lost. *sigh* They always seem to implode sooner or later; I am pretty much resigned to that. And it's hard to feel resentful when they lost to the Saints, who deserve so much to go to the Superbowl.
I have no preference whatsoever between the Colts and the Saints. I am just hoping for good, exciting football. And this year, if I am not at work during the game, I will probably be attempting to watch via the internet, rather than hanging out in my old laundromat (which is how I watched the Giants beat the Patriots a couple years ago). *grin*
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Date: 2014-03-27 10:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2010-01-28 06:27 am (UTC)