#wahl about to be a snake

[wedielikekings]

[im-a-wonderling]

Bruises, Part 10 ~ Peter Pevensie

I would like to thank everyone who’s made a Peter Pevensie playlist on Spotify for making this part possible and much fluffier than it originally was going to be. Also, a thank you to @writing-on-the-wahl​​ for being kind enough to beta read it. :)

Bruises Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of abuse, some PTSD

Word count: 6.3k

After a week, the gossip in the palace had finally moved on to other, fresher topics. Going quietly about my duties, reveling in the fact I could again walk around without instigating whispers, I overheard it all.

“—of Queen Lucy’s handmaidens got pregnant and got sent away from Cair Paravel—”

“—in the royal library for the past three days. I haven’t seen King Edmund this obsessive since the last suitor that came asking for Queen Susan’s hand—”

“—said according to Todus, King Peter’s stuck in meetings all day—”

I shook my head to myself as I headed for Peter’s study, cleaning supplies in hand. Was this why most people worked at the palace? To dig up dirt on the four leaders of our country? Somehow, the thought that wouldn’t have bothered me before really irked me now.

Maybe it was sleep deprivation.

I’d wrenched myself from many a dream in the past few days.

I’d dreamed of of pinning Peter to the ground in the orchard, of being frozen in place while he kissed me, and still more scenarios that caused me to blush and fumble with whatever I was holding whenever I remembered them.

My new strategy was to wake myself as soon as possible before my consciousness could entrap his. So far, it seemed to be working, even if I felt sluggish throughout the day and yawned several times every hour. 

In fact, when I finished dusting Peter’s study in the late afternoon (the owner, sadly, nowhere to be seen), I was about to keel over and take a nap on the carpet.

I just needed some food, I told myself. A good hot meal, and then I’d feel better.

But when I passed through the kitchen for the dining room where our midday meal would be served, Mrs. Dolie grabbed my arm. “Dearie, would you mind making an unscheduled trip to the market for me? Only, I’m supposed to make some baked pears for dinner tonight, and the knights have been stealing food again.”

I sighed, sending a wistful look at the stew being stirred by a kitchen maid, the heavenly smell thick in the air. “Of course, Mrs. Dolie.”

“Excellent!” She squeezed my hand gratefully and giving me a broad smile. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Reliable, that’s me,” I mumbled. I ignored the rumblings of my stomach as she gave me clear instructions, handed me some coins, and gestured to an empty crate for carrying the pears. 

My stomach complained loud enough to disturb all of Cair Paravel as I left the palace, walking around the gardens. I’d almost reached the path that snaked through the trees when I stopped short. 

An unscheduled trip meant no chaperone. And no chaperone meant...

I gulped as I stared at the path. So many places for him to stay hidden until the opportune moment before making himself known and grabbing me, forcing me off the path to- 

“Y/N!”

I yelped, whirling around to look at whoever had called.

Peter made his way through the vegetable garden, stepping around the neat rows of carrots and onions. 

The tense muscles prepped to run relaxed. “Peter,” I said with relief. I hadn’t wanted to admit how much I missed him, but the sun seemed brighter, and I felt safer. “What are you up to?”

He planted a light kiss on my cheek before stepping away, his crown glinting in the sun. “Taking a break from all my infernal advisors.” He waggled his eyebrows, showing me he didn’t mean it. His eyes rested on the crate gripped tightly in my hands. “Where are you headed?” 

I nodded to the path. “Mrs. Dolie needs pears from the market before dinner.”

Peter’s smile melted so quickly, I almost worried I said something offensive. “And you’re going all on your own?”

I tried to force down the rising distress at the idea of going into the woods unprotected. “I’ll be fine.”

Peter’s eyes flickered to the trees behind me, his face morphing into a deep scowl. “I’m coming with you,” he declared.

“You can’t just-”

“Wait for me.”

“Wait, Peter!” He ignored me, running back to the palace.

Obediently, I remained where I was, glancing anxiously between the deserted path and the white walls of Cair Paravel. What was Peter doing? Was he rounding up some guards to accompany us? Was he arranging for us to go on horseback?

How much fanfare was the high king wiling to create to keep me safe?

The ten minutes I waited felt like hours before before he came jogging back to me, his sword in its scabbard at his waist and dressed in clothes that undeniably didn’t belong to him. For one, they were too plain for the everyday wear of a king. For another, they were ill-fitting, with a sloppy patch on the pants and the sleeves nearly coming apart from the shirt.

“Where did you get those?” I asked warily. “Did...did you steal them?”

“I’m borrowing them. I’ll put them back.” Peter spread his arms, looking very pleased with himself. “It’s ingenious, right? I’ll still be able to protect you without anybody knowing it’s me.”

My mind filled with warnings, and I reluctantly realized one of us needed to be the voice of reason. "You shouldn’t be doing this. Spending your free time with me is one thing, but don’t you have meetings today?”

“I’m the high king. I can reschedule those meetings if I want to.”

“But you can’t just do what you want,” I said without thinking. “Being king, or at least, being a good king is about doing right by your people.”

As the words hung in the air, I became horrified. Was I, a maid, lecturing the high king on how to do his job?

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to presume-”

“You’re one of my people,” Peter interrupted, “aren’t you?”

“Well, yes-”

“And isn’t making sure you’re safe part of doing right by you?”

I cautiously nodded. “But anyone can accompany me to the market,” I mumbled.

A sly smile spread across his face. “Ahh, but no one would have as much fun as I would.” I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help smiling back at him. “Come on, please? I’ve missed you.”

How could I say no to that? “Fine. We have to be quick, though, we’ve already wasted too much time.”

Peter immediately took the crate from me, and together we started down the path.

It was a beautiful day. 

Birds flew overhead, and every now and then, a talking animal ran across the path and wished us a good day. The occasional breeze made the leaves whisper and the shadows from the branches above us dance. 

With Peter beside me, in simple clothes and no crown on his head, I could imagine everything being different. Peter, instead of being a king, would be a knight. The two of us would’ve crossed paths while working at Cair Paravel. When we fell hopelessly in love, he could ask my parents for my hand in marriage, and we’d have a small village wedding.

We could be like everybody else.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Peter asked curiously. 

“Nothing! No reason!” I blushed, looking away from him. Time to change the subject. “Apparently, your brother has been shut up in the library since I told him about us exchanging memories.”

Peter chuckled. “That’s Ed for you. We gave him a puzzle to solve, and he retreated to his books.”

Even as I laughed, I could relate. Even if I didn’t know what plagued me, my mind never felt more at ease than when I was swept up in a story filled with bravery, good humor, and true love. That was when the world made the most sense.

“Ed’s actually the reason we have a library at all. The White Witch destroyed every book she could get her hands on.”

“Really?” I hadn’t known that. Then again, I didn’t know much of Narnia’s history before the four Pevensies came. Before, I’d assumed my ignorance was due to my lacking education, but perhaps the man had taken my memories of history along with everything else he’d taken. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, bringing me out of my thoughts. “He went from village to village, collecting books, and bringing them back to Cair Paravel for transcription.” Peter shook his head to himself. “Thank goodness Aslan crowned all four of us. I can’t imagine having to put Narnia back on it’s feet alone.” He playfully nudged me. “If only I could make Ed go to all my meetings instead of me.”

I looked away him, realizing I knew very little about what the high king’s days were spent with. “What are all your meetings about?” 

Peter sighed heavily. “Establishing more guard posts between Cair Paravel and the mainland, our current relations with Tashbaan, the state of the royal treasury, etc. To tell you the truth, it all starts blurring together.”

I stayed quiet. What did I know of ruling a country and having to make decisions on behalf of all sorts of people? I had nothing to offer here, except a listening ear.

I felt a tap on my temple. 

The pad of Peter’s finger tapped again, and I glanced over at him. “Where’d you go?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You went somewhere, and judging by your expression, it wasn’t anywhere with sunshine.”

I shook my head, shaking off my thoughts. “Nowhere, I didn’t go anywhere. Tell me about your advisors.”

Peter’s gaze was wary, but I just kept walking. “Well, there’s Lord Madcrest...”

********

The market wasn’t as busy as it was in the mornings when I usually came, so it was easy to track down enough pears. Peter was accommodating enough to carry them.

I was amazed at how well his disguise worked. Everyone according him with the same respect they did me, wishing us both cheery salutations and continuing about their business.

We were about to leave the market when my stomach let out a powerful gurgle. 

“Y/N,” Peter asked gently, “when was the last time you ate?”

I sheepishly rubbed my neck. “Breakfast.”

“Which was when?”

“Before dawn.”

Peter shook his head, walking over to the baker’s stall. I protested, but he silenced me with a look and pulled out the last of my coins from Mrs. Dolie.

After purchasing some cheese on toast, Peter handed it to me. “Eat.” The bread was still warm, and I gratefully scarfed it down.

We’d wandered back towards the forest when a young satyr came running past us, nearly colliding with Peter.

“Sorry, sir!” he bleated. 

Peter set down the crate and kneeled so he was eye-level with him. “Hello there. What’s your name?”

“Kyrus,” the satyr said shyly. “What’s yours?”

Peter glanced up at me before lowering his voice. “My name’s Peter.”

Kyrus’s eyes lowered to the hilt of Peter’s sword, and his eyes went wide as he saw the golden lion engraved on the hilt. “You’re...High King P-”

Peter raised a finger to his lips, grinning. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Kyrus nodded gravely before giving Peter a huge hug and scampering towards an older satyr, who was obviously looking for him. As Peter watched him go, it was impossible to miss the wistful expression on his face.

Did Peter want kids?

What would that even look like? Would one of his children inherit the throne? What if one of his siblings had offspring first? Peter’d just said that they were all kings and queens, and as far as I knew, Queen Susan was the only one with suitors and potential marriages in the future.

The whole conundrum hounded me as we turned back for Cair Paravel and walked back into the trees.

Maybe Queen Susan’s children would inherit the throne. Or did Peter’s position as high king outweigh everything else?

Suddenly, Peter came to a full stop, hunching over.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, worried. “Do you need a break?” 

Peter left the crate of pears down on the grass beside a tree before straightening up again. “Yeah, I reckon I could use a break.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, and his smirk stoked a fire in my stomach. 

I laughed lightly, teasingly stepping away from him. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah, my arms, you know, they’re killing me,” he said, coming closer as I continued to step away.

I backed into a tree. “You definitely need a break then. Maybe five minutes?” I hid my hands behind my back, pressing my palms against the bark.

Taking advantage of the fact I couldn’t move farther away, Peter rested a hand against the tree, next to my shoulder, bringing his lips close to mine. “Or ten.”

He came to a stop, looking nervous. “Is this okay? I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to.” 

Smiling up at him, I slipped my arms around his back, pulling him closer. “This is perfect.”

I expected him to immediately lean in and kiss me, but he didn’t. He just stood there, looking at me like he was mesmerized. 

Feeling bashful, I started to look away, but he caught my chin and finally pushed his lips against mine with an uncharacteristic greed.

Standing there, trapped in between Peter and the tree, I felt alive.

It didn’t matter that someone could come across us at any moment and catch us in this very compromising position. 

All I could focus on was how he kissed me with such bruising yet gratifying want.

Peter pulled back, and I tried not to look like a fish out of water as I gasped for air. “You’re going to get me in trouble with Mrs. Dolie,” I mumbled.

Peter went motionless, watching me warily. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Not on your life.” I pulled his head down to kiss him again.

The feel of Peter’s lips on mine was every oxymoron in one. Soft, but demanding, scorching then numbing, intoxicating yet wholesome. If I’d had my wits about me, I would’ve realized the feeling was much easier to name than I thought, a four-letter word starting with ‘L’.

But as it was, I could only think of how with every kiss, he slowly wrecked me, then built me back up again.

Eventually, with a delightful sigh of contentment, Peter pulled back, looking deeply into my eyes. “Oh, by Aslan, how much I’ve missed you.” He started to brush my hair out of my face and behind my ear, but his fingers threaded themselves through my hair, titling my head up so he could plant a light kiss on my cheek. 

“You said that already.” I giggled, feeling a bit delirious. “Besides, it’s only been a few days since I saw you last.”

“A week,” he griped, moving to kiss my other cheek. “And a week too long. I can’t concentrate in any of my meetings because I’m too busy thinking about you.”

I nearly laughed at the absurdity, even as my heart stuttered. “Me?”

“Mmhmm.” He kissed the underside of my jaw. “I sit there, attempting to figure out why I haven’t run into you in any of my dreams.”

So my new strategy was working. Normally, I would’ve felt victorious, but at the moment, I was having a hard time remembering why I was trying not to share any dreams with him. 

His lips brushed my neck, and my knees started to quake. “I try to remember just what I did to cause you to make that sound you made when I kissed your neck in the infirmary.”

My breath caught in my throat, and a shiver tingled its way down my spine. I linked my hands behind his neck to keep from collapsing. “Oh?”

“But mostly, I try to guess what you’re doing.”

I looked up at the sky, desperately clutching at my last shred of self-control. “P-probably dusting those books in your study and...uh...endeavoring not to pull one out and curl up with it.”

Peter chuckled against my skin, straightening up to look me in the eye. “I told you, you’re welcome to borrow them.”

“Sure, but the household mistress would personally kick me out of Cair Paravel if I was caught reading when I was supposed to be working.”

Peter nudged my nose with his. “Not if I have any say in it.”

“With the household mistress, you might very well have no say in it.”

We laughed together, and Peter was leaning in to kiss me again when it happened.

A soft thump.

It was inconsequential, especially with all the other noises in the forest. It could be any of the numerous wild animals that lived in the forest, or even a villager passing between the castle and the village.

But even though I couldn’t explain why, I felt with absolute certainty that something wasn’t right. 

I leaned my head away from Peter, scanning the trees and bushes around us. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

I studied our surroundings, looking for anything out of place, straining my ears for any other sounds. But everything seemed normal.

“Forget it,” I finally said, still looking around for anything amiss. “I just thought I heard something.”

Peter must’ve seen something in my face because he stepped away, picking up the crate of pears again. “Let’s get back to the castle.”

As we went, I felt the presence of that wrongness linger. Two or three times, I could’ve sworn a pair of eyes were trained on my back, but every time I turned to look, there was nothing there.

********

“Now, I should warn you, there’s nothing concrete about this sort of connection.”

Having been summoned to the royal library later that same day, I’d assumed King Edmund was ready to share what he’d learned, which is why I wasn’t surprised to see Peter already there, dressed once again in his clothes of finery. 

King Edmund’s hands were folded on the desk, beside the meticulously organized documents and books. “The best I can tell, the phenomenon is referred to as ‘trading’, but it’s all theory.”

“Trading,” I repeated, testing the word out. “Who calls it that?”

King Edmund frowned, clearly bothered by how little he knew. “There was a village in the Western woods near the White Witch’s castle that apparently specialized in this type of magical theory, but it was destroyed before the White Witch was defeated, so all the information is second-hand.” He arched an eyebrow at the materials, as if he were challenging the sentences themselves to a duel.

“What does the second-hand information say about why the trading happens?” Peter asked, listening to his brother with rapt attention.

“Dead people trying to tell us something, trapped magic trying to be freed, even Aslan himself guiding soulmates to each other.”

My insides fluttered at the word ‘soulmates’. “Which of those do you think it is?”

A shrug was my only answer.

“What are you thinking?” Peter asked. 

King Edmund sat back in his chair. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think. Considering Y/N traded emotions with...” he trailed off before clearing his throat. “Because she’s traded emotions before the two of you learned you can trade memories, I assume whatever is out of the ordinary here, it’s Y/N.”

I blinked. “Me?” The idea of me being ‘out of the ordinary’ seemed laughable. “But if I’m the variable, then why can I only trade memories with Peter?”

King Edmund shrugged.

“But you’ve read everything there is to read on this subject?” Peter protested. “If you don’t know, then who will?”

“The only way to get more information is to explore it ourselves,” his brother said. 

“Does that mean we test whether or not I can trade memories with others?” I asked, my stomach convulsing at the idea of letting another man close enough to me to touch foreheads.

King Edmund nodded. “I’m particularly curious if you can trade memories with me, since Peter and I are both from another world.”

I shot Peter a nervous look. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“That’s alright,” Peter said gently. “You don’t have to be.”

I looked to see if King Edmund was offended, but he was nodding solemnly. “So then the best way to get more information if for the two of you to keep trading and hope you come across more repressed memories.”

Both men looked at me, and I gulped.

King Edmund folded his hands on the desk. “I want to know if what the two of you are thinking about has any effect on what memories you see.”

“Only one way to find out.” Peter held out a hand to me.

“Wait!” King Edmund started pawing through the contents of his desk. “I need a quill to take notes!” As he ran from the room, Peter led me to the empty space in the middle of the carpet, holding my hands in his.

“Your hands are shaking,” he noted. “Are you nervous?” I nodded. “Don’t be nervous, there’s nothing to be nervous about.” He seemed so certain.

But he didn’t know that when I looked at him, I couldn’t help remembering how he’d looked after seeing the memory of being angry at his brother. 

I could still picture the vivid anguish on his face from the reminder of his behavior towards King Edmund, even if they’d only been children, even if he was trying to protect his sister. 

The memory made my nerves increase tenfold.

It’d been my fault. I’d been so focused on getting answers, I hadn’t stopped to consider that seeing the memories affected both of us. And if Peter wasn’t going to protect himself, that left me to do so.

King Edmund came back into the room, triumphantly holding his quill. “Got it!” He sat down at the desk again. “Are you guys ready?”

Peter looked to me.

“Yeah, we’re ready,” I replied, feeling anything but.

“Okay, okay, try to think of Y/N’s mom. Focus on the memory you saw of her. Then, touch foreheads.”

Peter smiled at me. “Whenever you’re ready, Y/N.”

I took a few deep breaths, closing my eyes and summoning the memory of my mother, trying to picture the scene. Carefully, I rose to my tip-toes and touched his forehead.

-

We were on a big grassy field, surrounded by tents of every color.

It would’ve looked like an army preparing for war, except the Narnians walking around us had no sense of urgency. There were sounds of laughter and conversation. 

“Peter!” I turned to see Peter’s siblings running towards us. A rush of affection shot through me, too strong to be my own.

Queen Lucy threw her arms around Peter. “Fantastic joust!”

“You should’ve seen the look on Prince Rabadash’s face when you were declared the winner,” King Edmund sniggered.

His older sister elbowed him. “Be nice.”

King Edmund only laughed harder. “Apparently, everyone lets your suitor win back in Calormen, Susan.”

-

I pulled away from Peter, ending the scene. 

That memory clearly wasn’t anything important to the search for my mother, and I didn’t want to wait around in Peter’s memory for trouble.

“Fascinating,” King Edmund murmured. “In real time, it happens in less than a second, but for you two...” He started to write on a piece of parchment, the sound of scribbling filling the silence. “Whose memory was it? What did you see?”

“Mine.” Peter rubbed his forehead, like he was getting the beginnings of a headache. “It was the last tournament, when you guys came to congratulate me on beating Prince Rabadash.”

King Emdund made a face. “Awful man,” he muttered to himself before shaking his head. “Were you both thinking of Y/N’s mom?”

We nodded.

“Hmmm. I don’t see a connection. Maybe what you see isn’t affected by what the two of you are thinking of.”

An idea bubbled up in my brain, but I bit down on my lip to keep myself from saying anything. I sternly reminded myself that I didn’t know what I was talking about. King Edmund had done all the research, whereas I-

“Y/N.” Peter’s voice was soft, but left no room for argument. “What are you not saying?”

Darn it. He knew me too well.

“It’s possible,” I began slowly, “that his majesty influenced which memory we saw just by being in the room.”

King Edmund threw his hands in the air. “Of course. You’re right! Surroundings influence thoughts, and thoughts might influence the memory.” He got up and walked for the door. “I’ll leave you two alone so you can try again.”

Once the door had shut, Peter crossed his arms. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Something’s wrong.”

I wrung my hands. “I don’t think we should be doing this.”

Peter looked troubled. “Why?”

“I feel I’m taking advantage of you. I’m intruding on your past and invading your privacy in the effort to prove a theory that only benefits me.”

“Y/N, look at me.” Peter cradled my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Learning about your past is important. And I have nothing to hide from you.” Even if the admission warmed my heart, I still felt hesitant, but Peter just smiled. “Thoughts about your mom, okay?” 

Before I could do anything, he leaned forward.

-

There were people milling about in strange clothes, and a harsh whistle split the air as I looked about me for Peter.

A lovely woman stood next to a young Queen Lucy, fussing with her coat and mumbling words of what seemed like instruction. I could see Queen Susan’s features in the woman’s face and surmised this must be their mother. 

The woman hugged both girls before going to a young King Edmund, whose bottom lip was stuck out in a pout. “If Dad were here-”

Irritation crashed over me. 

“If Dad where here,” Peter snapped, “it’d mean the war was over, and we wouldn’t have to go.” The woman shot Peter a reproachful look before trying to hug King Edmund, who leaned away. 

Clearly hurt, the woman just kissed the top of his head and turned to Peter. 

Even though she spoke quietly in Peter’s ear, I somehow still heard what she said. “Promise me you’ll look after the others, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes found mine as he said: “I promise.”

-

I stepped away, anxiously searching Peter’s face for any negative emotions, and I was relieved to see Peter looking bewildered instead of sad. “It was my memory again,” he mumbled. “Ed!”

The door opened immediately, and King Edmund poked his head inside. “What did you see?”

“It was Mom, saying goodbye to us at the train station.”

King Edmund’s face broke out in a grin. “Thinking of Y/N’s mom, trading a memory of our mom. We’re getting closer. If you try it again-”

“Wait!” I blurted out. “Are you sure that’s wise? We’ve only traded a maximum of two memories. What if something happens?” 

What if Peter was forced to relive a memory that hurt him?

“Are you feeling any side effects?” King Edmund asked. I shook my head, and he turned his older brother. “You?” Peter shook his head. “Then, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He retreated out the door, leaving Peter and I alone again.

“I don’t think we should trade again,” I told Peter, hoping he’d listen to me without his brother’s enthusiasm to egg him on. “We saw two of your memories in a row, and that’s never happened before.”

“But we’re getting closer!” 

I didn’t have any time to react before he pressed his forehead to mine. 

-

The first thing I registered was the sheer terror.

“Come on, we’ve been through this before.” The pure threat in the barked words made my hair stand on end, and I whirled around, looking for the source.

Two wolves circled Peter and I. Peter’s sword trembled in his hands as he pointed it at one wolf, and then the other. 

“We both know you haven’t got it in you!” 

A soft cry came from above me, and I looked up to see Queens Susan and Lucy in the tree above us, obviously hiding from the wolves.

The sounds of hooves and heavy footprints came closer, and a yelp sounded. 

The largest lion I’d ever seen held the second wolf down to the ground. A centaur made to attack the other. “Stay your weapons!” the lion ordered. “This is Peter’s battle.”

The lion’s voice was equally terrifying and empowering, and I knew this could only be the great lion: Aslan himself. 

“You may think you’re a king...” the first wolf snarled, drawing my attention again. “But you’re going to die,” the wolf crouched, ready to pounce, “like a dog!” He launched himself, and Peter went down. 

“Peter!” the queens screamed, scrambling down the tree and racing for their brother. They pushed the unmoving, furry body of the wolf off of them, and I froze, staring at the carcass. 

A tickle started in my brain as I stared at the slack face, the still eyes, and the snout frozen in a snarl. 

I knew this wolf.

I couldn’t explain it, but some part of me that had been dormant until now lit up with recognition.

Tearing my eyes away from the wolf, I looked up to see the lion staring straight at me and almost through me, his gentle eyes full of wisdom.

-

It took longer to return to myself this time, like I was trying to wade through syrup.

Peter looked a little dazed. His pallid face worried me, and his hands in mine were starting to sweat.

“Peter,” I said softly, “are you okay?”

“A third memory of mine,” he mumbled instead of answering the question. “Wonder why that is.” 

The door to the library swung open, and King Edmund walked in. “Well?”

“My memory again,” Peter explained. “When I killed Maugrim.” 

Maugrim.

The same part of me buzzed at the name, tugging me to the word like it hung in the air. The sight of the wolf swam through my brain. I tried to focus on it, but every time I got close, it slipped away like smoke. 

“Who’s Maugrim?” I asked.

Peter shuddered. “The chief of the secret police for the White Witch.” King Edmund looked a bit green as he continued. “Maugrim was my first ever kill. He’s why my title is Sir Peter Wolfsbane.”

“We’re getting further away.” King Edmund adjusted his crown in frustration. “What possible connection could exist between Maugrim and Y/N’s mom?”

“I don’t know.” 

As the men continued to debate, I couldn’t stop thinking about Aslan’s look. 

No one had ever looked directly at me in any of Peter’s memories, except Peter himself. If anyone could be an exception to the rule, it’d be Aslan. It made me wonder if there was truth to the theory of the trading being Aslan guiding soulmates to each other. 

Peter’s voice broke through my thoughts. “We’ve got to try again.”

Before King Edmund could leave, Peter pulled me closer to him. 

“Peter-”

He pressed his forehead to mine.

-

All I could see was white.

I shivered, rubbing my arms with my hands, trying to generate heat as I looked around me to see a throne room of ice.

“Leda!”

I turned to investigate the growl, only to see a woman with her back to me, facing the wolf I’d just seen dead on a patch of grass. 

“Maugrim,” the woman acknowledged, and I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she was my mother. 

“Her majesty grows impatient, Leda.” Maugrim stalked closer to her, baring his yellow teeth. “The spell of eternal winter must be strengthened if it’s to be everlasting.”

“I’m well aware of that,” my mother snapped. “I certainly know more about it than you do.”

“Watch your tongue,” the wolf warned. “I would think for the sake of your daughter, you’d want to be more respectful.”

My mother glanced over her shoulder at me. “Her majesty has offered us sanctuary.”

“She offered you sanctuary, and she can take it back.” 

A completely white wolf came up behind Maugrim. “Chief.”

“What?” Maugrim barked.

“Her majesty wishes to see you in the dungeons.”

As if the white wolf had summoned it, a cruel, female voice rang through the room. “Maugrim! I don’t wish to be kept waiting!”

Maugrim glared at my mother, letting out one last warning snarl before swiveling around.

I was watching the wolves walk away when the harsh voice started to laugh louder—

-

The vision cut off.

“Peter?” I croaked, confused. 

“We need the healer!”

I looked to where Peter’d been standing, only to see King Edmund kneeling on the floor beside his unmoving brother. 

“Peter?” 

“Y/N! Go get the healer!”

I turned, threw the library door open, and ran for the infirmary.

********

The healer and I showed up to Peter’s bedchamber, where King Edmund and a few knights had moved Peter.

After a thorough examination, the healer declared the high king had merely lost consciousness, and he’d be alright when he woke up. King Edmund thanked her and then dismissed everyone but me.

As the knights and the healer filed out of the room, they all shot me glances, which I studiously ignored. I knew gossip would once again circulate as everyone wondered what on earth a maid had done to the high king to cause him to pass out. 

Once they’d all gone, King Edmund placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “He’ll be alright.”

“Why did he pass out?” I asked, looking up at the king. “Did I do something wrong?”

King Edmund lowered his head, looking downcast. “I don’t know what it is. But there’s something about the trading itself that you can handle that he can’t.” He looked up at me, clearly deep in thought. “I’m led to wonder if the trading has always been a big strain on him, and he kept it to himself in favor of helping you.”

My heart sank. 

It was precisely the self-sacrificing kind of thing Peter would do, especially if it came to me.

“We can’t do it again,” I rasped, my throat thick with worry. “We can’t trade again.”

“Now, now, don’t panic,” King Edmund said soothingly. “We now know his limit. We’ll give him time to recover and stick to trading only once or twice.”

I started to shake my head, but King Edmund ignored it. “I’ll give you two some time alone. Pull up a chair and sit with him as long as you like. I’ll sort it out with the household mistress.”

With that, he left.

I pulled up a chair to Peter’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall. 

That vision asked as many questions as it answered. 

The man who’d hurt me over and over wasn’t the one with the connection to the White Witch.

I was.

I couldn’t make myself feel glad that I now knew my mother’s name, because she’d worked in tandem with the greatest evil Narnia had ever known.

That was my legacy.

Even if my mother was still alive, there was no way we could ever be family, not while I still worked for the people responsible for the White Witch’s death. 

I studied Peter. He’d regained some of his color, but he looked so strangely vulnerable, lying there.

It was hard not to imagine the worst. 

********

I was nearly going out of my mind when Peter’s eyes fluttered open, and I breathed in, some of the weight lifting from my chest. 

Peter tried and failed to sit up. “What happened?” he asked blearily. 

“You fainted.”

Peter weakly stretched out his arm towards my hand, but I jerked it out of his reach. “Y/N,” he groaned. 

The exhibit in just how far he’d worn himself out made me furious, and I blinked away angry tears. “You can’t tell me you’re okay when you’re not.” Peter’s eyebrows knitted together, his confusion evident despite his lack of energy. “You kept pushing. And then you fainted.”

His face softened, and he looked contrite. “I’m-”

“People who are okay don’t pass out!” I snapped. The astonishment on Peter’s face reminded me that I’d never raised my voice with him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just...I don’t want to lose you.”

Peter scooted over on the bed, patting the space beside him. “C’mere.” I hesitated, still feeling a bit aggravated. “Please,” he begged.

Relenting, I snuggled up to Peter and rested my cheek on his chest, feeling him breathe in and out. He looped an arm around my waist, holding me tight to him.

“The only way you’re losing me is if you want to end this.”

I didn’t hesitate. “I don’t want to.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

We laid there in silence for a while.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the fabric of Peter’s shirt in my fists, preparing myself for the questions. There were so many things we needed to talk about, and I didn’t know where it would begin. 

But the questions never came. 

I lifted my chin to see his eyes had fallen closed. I gently wiggled out of his slack arms, pulling the covers up and shutting the curtains. 

“Lady Y/N?”

I jumped, nearly falling over from turning round too quickly. “Queen Susan!” I swept her a deep curtsy, my heart rate slowing. 

“I came to check on Peter. Is he alright?” 

“Yes, he’s asleep.”

“What happened? Ed just told me he passed out. What was he doing? Was he hurt?”

“No, no, he’s alright, he just…” I trailed off. 

“He just what?” 

I took a deep breath. “It’s a long story.” 

Queen Susan frowned at her brother, sitting in the abandoned chair. “He wasn’t doing anything stupid, was he?” 

I hesitated. In my opinion, he had been very idiotic indeed to push himself so hard. However, I didn’t want to interfere with Peter’s relationship with his sister without his knowledge. “No, your majesty.”

From her expression, she clearly wanted to press further, but I swept her another curtsy. 

“I should be going, your majesty. I have duties to attend to.”

Queen Susan didn’t say anything, but she finally pivoted in her seat to face her brother. I took that as my sign to leave.

I had lots of work to catch up on anyways, I told myself.

But before slipping out the door, I couldn’t help glancing at Peter one last time.

********

Part 11

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@itsnottilly @sadgirlnumber92899 @sunny-theartist

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[horce-divorce]

lol the Avocado guy made me think of some of the stuff my mom is always peddling at me... one of her absolute favorites is Terry Wahls, she loves to go on about how she's a real doctor who went to the U of Iowa which has really renowned medical professionals!!! etc etc

but Wahls' whole thing is that she cured or alleviated her multiple sclerosis with a miracle Paleo diet, which she will sell her own book to you about for this low low price (I don't even have MS, fwiw, I have chronic pain and POTS, but folks who buy into this stuff, like my mom, don't care about the specifics. They see "cured" and "disability" and desperately want that for every disabled person they know regardless of reality)

Anyway i was thinking maybe it's finally time I debunk that myself (bc apparently those bare facts arent enough of a red flag for my mom) but even her Wikipedia page says she's full of shit!! I don't even have to look. How Refreshing.

Really, what's more plausible:

- that ONE person has truly been able to unlock the secrets of curing MS through a fucking paleo diet, and the fact that no one can replicate her results is just bc they aren't trying hard enough to cure their disability

OR

- a physician who knows all the big words to sound legit came up with a snake oil remedy* that's making her a lot of money off of desperate people

* also I'm not saying that diet and/or exercise don't sometimes work wonders and change people's lives. they can! but every diet is not for every person and so on, and diet will not cure disability.

In fact, one peer review of Wahls' protocol essentially kept coming back with the data that "people who already are less disabled will generally benefit from positive diet/exercise changes, while people who are more disabled see no change", and also that- shockingly- economic status is a factor (respondents said they could handle a 30% increase in the grocery budget; maybe diet and exercise are simply more effective when you're affluent, but idk, they didn't control for that here).

Anyway "im disabled, and will become more disabled, but bought slightly more time until then by caring for myself more attentively and finding a diet regimen that works for me" makes a hell of a lot more sense to me than "this diet will CURE all chronic pain!!!!"

[dancing-on-the-waves]

Going Home

Going Home

I can’t go home again. I can visit my home, but I can’t go home. I can tell you about the park, with the war monument, the 4 cannons, the bench I sat on with Ted, as we looked to the future in the dark. I can describe the church,  the school, the hotel then rooming house, where the underaged could buy cigarettes. The offices, the Red Horse, with its Friday fish fries, and the Mobil Gas station, that surrounded the park, but I can’t go home again I can map out the whole town for you name every street in about 5 minutes, but I can’t go home. I can walk the streets with you, and point out where the Twamley’s, the Meath’s, the Benz’s the Brown’s the Bell’s, the Harrington’s, where my first crush lived, and where the Chest’s,Neth’s, Sinclair’s, Cole’s, McCormick’s, Phillip’s, lived, and where I lived, and Reed St. where my grandparents lived, and so many others, but I can’t go home again. I could tell you the history of the town the mineral springs, popular before the Civil War, when people visited the Downs. The 21 hotels that were once there, the Night the Star Market Burned down, the sesquicentennial in 1958 the beginnings of Tom Wahl’s Twin Kiss, the root beer the best in the state. I can tell you the history, but I am no longer a part of its history. I can tell you the things I did Scouts, Little League, swimming across Conesus Lake hiking, camping. The fights I got into with Tom, Russ, Mark and a few others, and one at the ball park. The the girls I dated; Dianne, Pam, Linda, Barb, Jane... where and with whom I had my first kiss. I, her accepted swain Where I had my first drinks, legal and illegal, the places I worked Doc Haller’s the farm, Super Duper and Birds-Eye. with migrants I worked, but I can’t go home again I could tell you about the teachers; Sister Constantia, the nightmares she created, Mr.Eaton with a ruler, Mr. Mizinski  who wanted to whip us all Mr. Walker who didn’t quite catch me. All cheering us on from the bleachers. Doctors, Doc Haller saving a dog named Bones, Doc Collins who I woke late one night, Doc Hayes, and Doc Lynch  who treated my measles and ear aches, and whose wife had Trichinosis neighbors and friends were the doctors. The firemen; Jim R., George M., and my father. Brave men one and all of them. The police, Fred Farrell and the Pipianos ... the rich, and the poor, the good, and the bad, the happy, as well as the sad, but I can’t go home again. There is so much more I could tell you about Bonnie and Clyde, and moonlight swims HO cars, and Lionel trains, skates and skateboards, and grandpa’s checker board, Peacoats and British Walkers KB + JN carved in a tree. Sledding, by a warm fire petting. School dances and quiet romances, sailing into a storm  water filling the hull full, and running from an angry bull, Jr/Sr fight days, and Junior Prom day Labor Day, July 4th, the Memorial Day parade, strawberry festivals and, gin and Koolade, hopping trains, and stopping a train. Marbles, tether ball, fishing, catching frogs, and snakes, and on stars wishing. Reunions, weddings, and graduations, and boys turning into men to fight for far away nations. I can tell you about my home where I grew, where I matured How time flew. Where I learned about life, with the future in view love, bitterness, family and death, so much I could tell you of the past the town’s past, my past. but now, today, tomorrow... the fights have all ceased, my family is deceased, the girls are all gone, it would be all wrong. streets, stores, theater remain, the park with the monument and cannons remain, and the homes remain homes of people with different names who would remember my name?, it wouldn’t be the same I can go back.

but I can’t go home again.

K. C. Barry

[sassyhazelowl]

Button nose Wahlhart if you may please (I can't be the only one who wants to bop Wahl on the nose here)

Neighborhood AU

You know that feeling you have when something just hovers? Wahl, apparently, had a name for that. Although it was barely comprehensible and completely beyond Neinhart’s ability to repeat. And he was feeling that now, although his eyes were firmly glued shut stubbornly intending to sleep in.

It was vacation, his vacation for the first time in years since Ir– no, he wasn’t going to think about that, and not even a bear was going to wake him and roll him out of bed right now.

He was going to sleep in or die trying. Or someone else was going to die. Namely his wake-at-the-buttcrack-of-dawn boyfriend, who felt the need to greet the sunrise like a rooster.

“Unless the bed and breakfast is on fire…”

Even as he groaned, he still cracked open an eye, confirming his suspicions. But as he tried to tug the blanket over his head, the weight above him shifted to cut him off and pin the fabric down so it was uselessly stranded at his chest.

Craftily, he started freeing his left arm. Most people would probably have something cute or sexy in mind, dragging their partner into the bed. Wahl probably also had the same idea.

Striking with the speed of a snake, his finger flicked him dead on the nose, making Wahl recoil and swear, falling back freeing both Neinhart and the blanket.

That brought a smile to the man’s lips as he savored how absolutely adorable and absolutely aggravated the Wahl looked.

Now that was worth waking up for.