Author’s note: Written for Christina A. at a rough time in her life *HUG* and thus features an OC she and I sorta created together, although in a totally new context. 🙂 No idea where this came from, really, although the idea has been simmering for months. I blame Medie for it finally reaching a boil! *g* Also, for the purpose of this story, Peter was about 20-21 at the time of TLB. No one belongs to me except for Hope, and I only have joint custody of her.
“The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning.”
–Aslan, The Last Battle
In her dream, he was dressed like a King: all in crimson velvet with the face of a lion embroidered on his chest, a gold cloak pinned at his throat with a great ruby, and a golden crown on his head, bringing out the golden glints in his hair. It made sense in an odd sort of way–he’d always had such a regal bearing that classmates at Oxford had dubbed him “Sir Peter.” What was more surprising was that when she looked down at herself, she realized she was wearing a gown crafted out of the same soft velvet, and a golden chain hung around her neck with a pendant bearing a nearly identical ruby.
They were walking in the courtyard of a palace more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen before. Somewhere nearby, she could hear the ocean crashing against the shore, and the sunlight hitting the stained-glass windows high above their heads bathed them in a whole spectrum of light. The air was both warm enough not to be cold and cool enough not to be hot, disturbed only by a pleasant breeze that carried the light, heavenly scent of wildflowers and newly-cut grass and honey still in the hive. In the center of the courtyard, a marble fountain laughed, splashing down into a pool that had red and gold roses floating on its surface. Even though she knew she was dreaming, it felt impossibly real. Realer even than the waking world.
If she had been awake, she might have stopped to wonder how any of this could be possible, but as it was, Peter’s hand was in hers, warm and alive, and nothing else mattered.
“How’s Su?” he asked quietly.
Hope’s stomach flipped and she blinked back tears at the unwanted reminder of what awaited her when she woke. “As well as can be expected. Oh, she busies herself with preparations for the funeral and tries to pretend she’s not dying inside–you know how Susan is–but every so often the mask slips and you can see it in her eyes.”
Peter’s eyes dropped and a rueful frown crossed his face.
“It would have been bad enough if it were just you, but to lose Lucy and Edmund and both your parents as well…and people have been just beastly, of course.” Even though it felt wrong to be sad or angry or anything but delirious with joy in this place, she couldn’t help a note of bitterness that crept into her voice. “I never knew how odious pity could be until…” Her throat closed on the last words and she swallowed, hard.
“I’m sorry. I wish we could have brought you with us, but Su wouldn’t hear of it and I didn’t know–”
Hope pulled away suddenly, chilled by his words. “You wish…you wish we would have *died* with you?”
“Hope,” Peter coaxed, reaching for her hand again and waving his other hand at the scene around them. He smiled, that wonderful, brilliant smile that had first captured her heart on a snowy commons at Baliol only a year ago. “Does this look like death to you? I’m alive. We all are–Mum, Dad, me, Ed, Lu…we’re more alive than we ever were.”
She shivered, looking around suddenly with new eyes. “Is this…is this heaven, then?”
He smiled. “Some might call it that. Others call it paradise, Aslan’s Country–”
“Aslan’s Country?”
Peter’s smile widened and he pointed towards the entrance of the courtyard. Hope caught her breath as, for the first time she saw a great lion standing in the shadows. He stepped forward into the light, and Hope’s heart hammered even harder. She lifted her eyes to meet the lion’s great golden ones, and found herself drowning in them.
“Welcome, Daughter of Eve,” the lion spoke, and his voice was like honey and velvet, steel and running water, a father’s embrace and a mother’s tears all rolled into one. Instinctively she found herself dropping to one knee, and knew without looking that Peter had done the same at her side.
“Aslan,” Peter spoke, and she could hear the love and respect in his voice for this creature. “I’ve no idea how she came here, but…this is Hope O’Neil. My betrothed.”
The lion rumbled and Hope could almost swear he was laughing fondly. “How does anyone come into my country, Son of Adam, unless I bring them?”
He stepped closer, so that Hope could feel his warm breath on her face, but amazingly she wasn’t afraid. His voice, when he addressed her again, was quiet and sad. “You have been given no easy task, Daughter of Eve. It takes great strength to shoulder not only one’s own grief, but that of another. You have been a friend to Susan in a dark hour, and a sister to comfort her in the loss of the one she had. And while she may have forgotten Narnia, I have not forgotten her. Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen.”
Hope realized with a sudden start that there was a weight on her head. One hand flew up to find a light diadem, sculpted in the shape of a twisted vine blooming with tiny roses, her favorite flower, and a little gasp escaped her lips.
Aslan’s eyes crinkled and she could swear he was smiling at her. “Did you think that the chosen consort of the High King would not be a Queen?”
Now she knew she was dreaming. “High King?” Hope squeaked. She looked at Peter, half expecting to see laughter in his eyes at the fantastic joke the two of them had played on her. Instead, she saw again what she had always seen since the day they met, only with new eyes. The nobility and gentility of spirit that had made him seem so much older than his classmates at Oxford and earned him his nickname. The wisdom beyond his years, the dignity and strength of heart that had always made it seem as if he could shoulder the responsibility of a world. And finally, the golden crown that she’d attributed to a romantic fancy.
Peter was a king, not just in name but in every sense of the word. And Aslan had named her his Queen.
Her heart soared for a moment, then sank just as quickly as she realized the implication of those words. To reign at Peter’s side over whatever kingdom he ruled…to stay here with him forever: there was nothing she wanted more. Except…she thought of Susan, so stoic and yet so fragile. Of her sister, Grace, who’d raced to her side as soon as she heard the news about Peter. Of her father, who had no one left except his girls.
“But…I can’t stay. My family needs me. Susan needs me. You said I was a comfort to her–would you take that away from her so soon after losing her family?”
Aslan inclined his great head in acknowledgment. “I would not. That is why the next time you come here, it will be to stay. But for now…as you have said, you are needed elsewhere.”
Peter’s hand tightened on hers. “But what if I need her too?” he asked.
“For you, the parting will be brief. It is Hope who will have to endure the wait, and she has made her choice,” Aslan told him gently, before looking to her once again. “I would give you a task to carry back with you to your world–will you accept it?”
It was on Hope’s lips to ask what the task was before she said yes, but something deep in her heart assured her that Aslan would never ask anything of her that she couldn’t do. “I will.”
“Susan, too, was once a Queen of Narnia, but she has chosen to forget. I would not have her forever parted from those she loves, so I ask you to help her remember who she is. You were brought here to be a hope-bearer, not only for yourself but also for her. Tell her what you have seen, and tell her that she is not forgotten.”
“I will. I promise.” Impulsively she threw her arms around Aslan’s neck, burying her face in his mane as if she’d known him all her life. Part of her wondered if she had.
When she pulled away, Hope turned to Peter and threw herself into his embrace. He held her tightly, not wanting to let go anymore than she did.
“Are you sure you want to go back?” he asked in a murmur. “I don’t know if I could bear it.”
“Aslan wouldn’t have asked me if I couldn’t, would he?” she answered. Peter shook his head and kissed her fiercely before letting go. “I’ll be back before you know it,” Hope promised in a whisper, before squeezing his hand one last time and letting go to follow Aslan out of the courtyard.
The pain of parting was no less real, but now it was tempered with a wild hope.