❝ there was a difference between living and existing, and for the first time, phoebe felt like she was living. and wasn't that a marvellous thing?❞
[book 1]
in which a boy calls a girl irrelevant, but somehow manages to fall in love with her anyway...
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Later that same day, when the sun was still sitting high in the sky, Aslan came to Peter. He was standing on top of a large hill, overlooking the camp, and in the distance, there was a castle on a cliff. Peter had been admiring the castle, and the landscape around him, as winter slowly faded. The great lion had walked up to him then, almost silently.
"That castle is Cair Paravel." Aslan's voice was measured and slow. "Inside it, there are four thrones, in one of which you'll sit, Peter, as High King." Peter gulped, and Aslan noticed. He continued to stare off into the distance, entranced by the far-off building. "Do you doubt the prophecy, Peter?"
"No, I don't, it's just that I don't think I'm at all like you all think I am. I don't even know who I am, Aslan." The lion let out a low laugh, confusing Peter. Surely Aslan could understand what he meant. It wasn't that he doubted the prophecy, it was that he thought he didn't deserve to be the one to fill it. He wasn't worthy.
"Peter Pevensie, eldest of the four Pevensie siblings, formally of Finchley. I do recall Beaver also mentioned something about you wanting to turn him into a large fluffy hat, though that may have been my imagination." Aslan's voice was light, amused, and Peter couldn't help but laugh slightly. So, Beaver had heard his frustration with all the walking.
"But those are just facts. I've never lead a battle, I've never commanded anything, and in case it escaped your notice, I've never been 'High King' of anything. I've never even passed a maths exam, sir." Aslan laughed then, clearly at Peter's naivety. Still, Peter didn't understand how he was expected to lead an entire army into battle, let alone win against a Witch who had to be hundreds of years old - after all, Narnian time was different.
"Don't doubt yourself, Peter. There is a Deep Magic, stronger than any of us, that governs all in Narnia. It defines right from wrong, and it chooses all our destinies. Yours, and even mine. Fighting it will get you nowhere." Aslan's voice had a more serious note to it this time, and for a moment after he spoke, both he and Peter stood in silence.
"Aslan, I couldn't even protect my own family." The lion beside him shook his head, but Peter knew that none of his reassurance would work. Peter knew he'd let his family down, and there was nothing the beast could say to convince him otherwise.
"You've brought them safely this far, Peter. You do not give yourself enough credit." Peter turned his gaze from the lion to the castle on the cliff once more. It still seemed unreal to him, like their entire journey thus far had been some kind of bizarre dream.
"Not all of them. It's my fault Edmund's gone. If Phoebe hadn't saved her, Lucy might've drowned. I'm useless, Aslan." The lion once again gravely shook his head, a low growl coming from his throat. Still, Peter knew he was right. He'd been too hard on Edmund, and he hadn't acted fast enough when Lucy got taken by the river. He was a failure. He'd promised his mother he would keep his siblings safe, but he'd utterly failed at that task by now, surely.
