❝ 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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Peter didn't notice at first. He'd been too busy hugging his brother, too busy celebrating the fact that they'd made it out of this alive. He didn't notice until he heard a sort of pained noise and heard a distinct gasp from Susan. That was when Peter sat up and turned around. That was when Peter's world collapsed.
Phoebe was lying there, the blood blooming on her chest just as it had on Edmund's barely minutes before. He'd tried to tell her to wear better armour, but she hadn't listened. She hadn't listened. Susan was already next to her, and Lucy rushed over, her healing cordial at the ready. Edmund sat up with a pained groan, although his eyes grew wide when he saw what had happened.
Peter felt like he was underwater. He couldn't think, he couldn't hear, he couldn't speak. No. No, no, no. His brain was stuck on a loop as he looked at Phoebe. She couldn't go, couldn't leave them, couldn't leave him. She couldn't. He looked down at the arrow, seeing not just Phoebe's blood - a sight which made him sick - but also an almost milky substance coating the tip. Poison.
Then Peter realised. Phoebe was lying right where he'd been kneeling, just before when he was with Edmund. Had this arrow been meant for him? She couldn't have taken the arrow for him, she just couldn't. Peter wouldn't ever have forgiven himself.
"Phoebe," Peter's voice cracked as he spoke, and he didn't bother to hold back his tears, "You can't go, okay? You don't get to go. You- you can't." He sounded pathetic, whining like that, but she couldn't go. She didn't deserve to go. It was so, so unfair that she had to be the one who lost everything. Peter felt like screaming up at the sky. It should've been him. He should've taken that arrow.
"Hey, Peter, look at me," Phoebe's voice was weak, and he felt her hand on his cheek, reaching up with one of his hands to place it over hers, "I'm glad I met you. All of you." She looked around at his siblings, before breaking into a coughing fit. Peter shot a meaningful glance at Lucy, telling her she should use the cordial. "You'll be a good king, Peter. I believe in you." Phoebe gave him a small smile before coughing again. Still, all Peter could think was no. No, not Phoebe, not her. His tears were flowing harder now. Peter was sitting at Phoebe's head now, her head resting on his knee. He couldn't be a good king, not without Phoebe. He didn't trust himself to rule.
Lucy leaned over, pouring a single drop of the cordial into Phoebe's mouth. The cordial had to work, didn't it? Father Christmas said it would work on all wounds, big or small. This couldn't be the one time it didn't. That would just be some kind of cosmic joke. Phoebe just shook her head slightly, her expression sad. "It- it won't work." Her voice was quiet, weak. "Trust me, it won't." Susan looked anguished, as did Lucy. Lucy was looking up at Peter with wide, sad eyes. There were footsteps from behind them, and Peter looked up to see Aslan approaching. The lion looked as sad as Lucy.
"Phoebe is right," the lion said, his voice just as deep as usual, "The cordial won't work on a wound of this nature." Peter practically felt his heart break. Did that mean what Peter thought it meant? Peter didn't think he'd ever felt so hopeless as he did now, with Phoebe dying, unable to help. "Make these last minutes count. Cair Paravel awaits." With that, the lion turned to leave. This was the first time Peter had ever seen Susan or Edmund truly cry. Lucy had always been more emotional, but now all four Pevensies were crying.
