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Narnia: War
Fandom: Narnia
Pairing: None
Warnings: Peter POV
Rating: PG
Summary: War at home and war in Narnia.
I remember home. Well, what was home. Sometimes it feels like this is more our home now. I guess it is. Our kingdom, our world, the world we freed and made. It wouldn't be like this without the four of us, the battles we've fought.
I remember the war at home. The way the bombs fell. The dirty tangle of the gardens, the darkness all over, the blitz. The black musty drapes we had to hang over every window. The way we'd crawl into the shelter, damp and cold, and sit there in the dark, waiting for the rain of bombs to stop falling.
The only rain here is real rain, freshening rather than destroying. Something to duck out of the way of, perhaps, to keep dry, but no more dangerous than that.
And the battles...
Here battles are glorious. They're fought in daylight, on green fields or in the hills, out under the open sky. Even women ride with us, my sisters with the archers, doing as much good for Narnia as the men. Despite the blood, and the slippiness of blood and rain-wet mud, our battles seem so much cleaner.
Perhaps it's a cleaner world. Our world -- the "real" world, London -- was that way, once, wasn't it? But it became something else. Something dark and loathsome, like the damp shelter. People became more cowardly and hid behind guns, instead of swinging a sword for themselves.
Narnia will never come to that, not while I am High King, not while I live.
Pairing: None
Warnings: Peter POV
Rating: PG
Summary: War at home and war in Narnia.
I remember home. Well, what was home. Sometimes it feels like this is more our home now. I guess it is. Our kingdom, our world, the world we freed and made. It wouldn't be like this without the four of us, the battles we've fought.
I remember the war at home. The way the bombs fell. The dirty tangle of the gardens, the darkness all over, the blitz. The black musty drapes we had to hang over every window. The way we'd crawl into the shelter, damp and cold, and sit there in the dark, waiting for the rain of bombs to stop falling.
The only rain here is real rain, freshening rather than destroying. Something to duck out of the way of, perhaps, to keep dry, but no more dangerous than that.
And the battles...
Here battles are glorious. They're fought in daylight, on green fields or in the hills, out under the open sky. Even women ride with us, my sisters with the archers, doing as much good for Narnia as the men. Despite the blood, and the slippiness of blood and rain-wet mud, our battles seem so much cleaner.
Perhaps it's a cleaner world. Our world -- the "real" world, London -- was that way, once, wasn't it? But it became something else. Something dark and loathsome, like the damp shelter. People became more cowardly and hid behind guns, instead of swinging a sword for themselves.
Narnia will never come to that, not while I am High King, not while I live.