(Untitled)

[highking]

Tomorrow is Sunday. Tonight is Peter's last night 'alive.'

From his windblown hair, it's pretty clear that he can now cross off One last ride on Duncan from his list of things to do. And from the cup of tea, it's clear that he is still, in fact, himself.

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[kitchen_maid]

It's odd, because he doesn't look all that different than he did when she met him.

Three years gone and more, for her, now.

(She looks different. Older. Grandly dressed. Very, very pregnant.)

"Good evening, Peter."

[highking]

"Hullo, Amy." He smiles when he sees her.

It's funny how everything confirms the decision. He smiles when he sees her, and grins at her pregnant belly. "At it again, are we?"

(If things had gone as planned, as once planned, there'd be no Princess Susan. No who-ever-this-is. And if Susan--Susan the elder, as it were--had been on the train, there'd be no neice and maybe-nephew.

It's all for the best. And this is what they call perspective. You get it when you're dead.)

[kitchen_maid]

(This, Peter, is the life you sent Amy to live. That was an act of grace, of wisdom, of courage. Amy knows a bit about all those things.)

Amy shrugs lightly, and grins back. "A king with no brother and no son tends to make the populace nervous," she says.

Besides, Amy really is excessively fond of her husband.

"May I join you?"

[highking]

"Of course," he says.

He doesn't know if she knows.

[kitchen_maid]

Amy sits, looks at her hands for a moment, and then looks at Peter.

"Caspian told me. Will you go with them?"

[highking]

And there they are.

In many ways, he's thankful for those folken from Mid-World, and not the least because it means they have a--blueprint, for how things are done. It's something that's happened before.

"Yes," he says simply. "Tomorrow night."

[kitchen_maid]

And there they are.

The light catches on the beads on the dreamcatcher Amy's worn aroudn her neck every day since Susan Allgood and her friends left.

She reaches one hand out to cover one of his.

"Then God grant you rest, Peter Pevensie."

[highking]

"Thank you, Amy," he says; his voice is hushed.

He doesn't blame anyone for any reaction; he's lost people himself, and he knows that rage and grief and loss are all a part of it. With the person there before you, it would take incredible grace and wisdom and infinite kindness to show only compassion.

He appreciates it more than he can express. "I regret very much I shan't see your children grown."

[kitchen_maid]

It's the only thing of any value she can give him, now. Why wouldn't she give it to him?

She smiles, soft and tinged with the tiniest bits of both sadness and amusement.

"You will, though. Someday."

Her fingers wrap around her necklace.

"There will be a lot to catch up on."

[highking]

"You're right," he says. "I misspoke."

"I've been thinking about it," he explains. "I suppose it's only natural. About loss, and going where we're going. And I think--"

"It's hard to explain." He shakes his head.

[kitchen_maid]

"I would be very surprised if you hadn't thought about it. Carefully, and in great detail."

Kings do not make decisions lightly. And that is not an easy habit to break.

"Would it help to try to explain? I'll listen, to whatever you want to say."

[highking]

"It's just that--I don't regret my decision. And I know that in Aslan's Country we will feel no grief or sorrow, And yet--there are things I regret, while I am still here. Even though we'll see each other again, one day."

"And I've realized, what I regret--beyond the pain that may come to those left behind--is the loss of--futures. I shall see you again, one day, and we'll have much to say to one another. And I will not have been there for it."

"I shall see your children grown, but I won't see them grow. Do you see? And it's not--it's not--"

He sighs, and then says firmly, with great sincerity. "I'm all right, you know, Amy. You mustn't worry. But I do feel these regrets, and I don't--ah, regret them? Because it's a bit of being in the living world, and I don't have many of those bits left."

"I don't know if that made any sense at all," he says ruefully.

[kitchen_maid]

What do you say to a person who has managed to live both too many years and not enough? Who has (in some ways) lost not one, or even two, but three lives?

"It made enough sense," says Amy, gently. "You poor, dear man.

"We all of us will leave things unfinished. That, too, is part of being in the living world, I suppose. I doubt, though, that makes the things you'll leave any easier."

[highking]

He squeezes her hand. "It really is all right, Amy. Thank you. For everything, all along. I'm awfully glad to have known you."

[kitchen_maid]

"And I you.

"About this," she says, and the gesture with her free hand takes in the table and the two of them, "I have no regrets. You were, you are, you always will be a good in my life."

[highking]

"Nor I," he agrees. "Good friends are a very rare treasure, Amy. I'm so thankful for you."