There are mountains where you go to sleep
There are the mountains where I lived
Early one morning in a wide field not too far from Cair Paravel, a boy waits. He waits patiently, although he is not quite sure what he is waiting for. The small birds are going about their business- a titmouse flutters here, a crow screams there- and the air is filled with the sound of birdsong, songs to rouse the sun. The wind rustles the tall grass and High King Peter waits. He woke suddenly in the small hours of the morning. He doesn't know what woke him (a lion's roar, far off), or what drew him to this broad field above Cair Paravel, but because this is Narnia, he trusts his senses and waits in the dark to find out what called him here.
He was dreaming before he awoke, dreaming of a strange world where everything was dull and dark, and the only person in his dreams was an old lady. She was sleeping in a small bed in a plain room (a small room in a big house, and her the only one there), and her pale face was turned away from the window and towards a huge cherry wardrobe. She had a face that he almost recognized, he remembers, and maybe if he had seen her eyes- but her eyes were closed, her dark eyelashes dusting her red cheeks, her withered white hands grasping the edge of her blanket. In his dream, her hands tightened on the cloth and when she opened her eyes and looked at him, she seemed just as shocked as he was-
But now the red light of the sun is touching the tips of the treetops, and the great lion comes padding out from the darkness of the woods. He gleams, refulgent with his own light. There is someone walking beside him with her hands in his mane. Peter stares for a long moment, hardly able to believe his eyes (surely he is still dreaming), but there, standing tall and slender and black-haired beside Aslan, is Susan.
He lets out a great shout of joy and grief and love- and takes off running towards the girl and the lion, heedless of the grass whipping against his legs. Susan sees him at the same moment, and then she, too, is running towards him. When they crash into each other tears are streaming down her face and she throws herself into his arms, pressing her face into his shoulder.
"Peter," she says, hiccuping a little with her tears. Her fingers twist into the fabric of his tunic.
"Susan, you came back-" he says, and he takes her face in his hands, tears slipping over his fingers, and kisses his sister on the lips. "Don't cry, please," Peter says, although he's crying a little bit himself. And then he pulls her closer, wrapping his arms around her shaking shoulders and pressing his face into the crown of her head. He can feel her heart pounding through her back, and her body presses against his own with every shuddering breath she takes. He revels in the feeling (he had forgotten how tall she was, and how dark her eyes were, but never again). They cling to each other until Aslan comes up beside them, when Susan reluctantly pulls away, looping one arm around her brother's waist and taking his other hand in her own.
"Welcome back, daughter of Eve," Aslan rumbles. "Narnia has missed you." And then he throws back his shaggy head and roars, and it seems he calls the sun up (and with Aslan, you never really know) so that Cair Paravel glitters in the light. Susan sighs and leans into Peter. He presses a kiss into her hair.
"I won't leave again," Susan says, "it was horrid, not having you with me."
Peter pulls her up onto his mare, and touches her arm where it's wrapped around his waist. "No," he says. "I won't let you leave, Susan. You won't ever have to." Aslan is with them when they leave the field as the sun crests the top the the trees, and go to find Edmund and Lucy and Narnia.
Two minutes before you go to sleep
He had never flown in Narnia, but now, hovering miles over London in the dark, with the wind in his hair and clouds curling around his feet, Peter Pevensie recognized the feeling perfectly. Magic tingled and prickled over his skin, as if his entire body had gone to sleep and was only just waking up. He breathed in the cold, clean air and remembered a draft of cold winter air in a closed wardrobe, fur coats and pine trees scratching at his skin, the first terrifying glimpse of Narnia.
"Come on!" Peter Pan was waiting for him, impatient as ever, Tink a shimmering star over his shoulder. "We have to go before it gets light!"
"I'm coming," Peter said, and he took one last look at London, a glowing patchwork of streets and windows, punctuated with patches of darkness where the bombs had left their mark.
Lucy was down there, fast asleep in her room, and he wondered if they could go back and get her, or Susan, or Edmund. But Peter had said there was no room for more lost boys, and there certainly wasn't any room for girls, or mothers, not in Neverland. He was tickled at the idea of another Peter, though.
"Old Hook'll never see that coming!" he'd crowed, perched in Peter's window like a strange, agile dwarf.
You have no idea, Peter thought. He looked up from London, took a deep breath, and plunged into the sky after Pan.
*
When the clouds cleared and Neverland appeared in the distance, set in the sea like a tiny, glittering gem, something in his chest tightened so painfully that he lost his balance and plummeted out of the sky. Pan followed him down, turning somersaults and laughing gleefully at Peter's predicament, and he caught Peter by the ankle just before they hit the water.
Peter had seen lovelier sights; he had seen rivers in full spate at the end of winter, and he had seen naiads dancing in the spring. He had crested high mountains at the head of armies, and watched as the sun painted rainbows over distant peaks. He had sailed on endless seas, flanked by mermaids and sea-folk, and he had danced with Bacchus on summer nights.
He had seen lovelier sights, and known greater worlds, but Neverland was still enchanting. Almost as soon as he'd broken through the clouds, he'd known he could never stay there. It was too familiar, and too strange. Everyone here was young, and careless, and adventures were just that- almost never dangerous, not really, because what child could imagine the horrible finality of death? Peter was too old, and he had seen too much of life- carried a king's burdens, lost loyal subjects and good soldiers- he'd grown up too quickly to stay in Neverland.
Lucy might have liked it better. Lucy might have stayed.
*
He spent most of his time rambling around Neverland, or sitting and watching the mermaids in their lagoon. He felt lost, here, restless and off-balance without the weight of a sword on his belt and without a crown on his head. The Lost Boys wanted him to help them in their battle against Captain Hook, but he would not show them how to defeat the pirate. He didn't want to sully this dream-world with with the blood and devastation of real war.
Instead, he told them stories about a world that was locked in winter and under the rule of a powerful witch, and about four children who defeated her and lived happily ever after.
"Did they hunt down the lion?" Curly asked him, leaning in over the fire.
"No," Peter said. "They couldn't have caught him even if they'd wanted to. He's- he was a wild lion."
"We should have a hunt tomorrow," Peter Pan said. "There's all sorts of horribly dangerous creatures in the woods. The Indians can help us!" His eyes were gleaming, and the Lost Boys chimed in enthusiastically.
Peter smiled at their excitement, but he didn't join in. "Peter?" Pan said. "Are you all right? You seem awfully down."
"I want to go home," Peter said. "I'm too old to fit in here, Peter Pan. Neverland makes me miss my home."
Pan pouted, and for a moment he looked almost as if he was about to burst into tears. "Fine," he said, and he kicked dirt onto the fire so that the den was plunged into darkness.
Peter went out to sleep under the the stars. He dreamed of the Lantern Waste, and the white stag in the woods, and the look on Susan's face when they fell out of the wardrobe.
The next day, they left the Lost Boys sharpening stakes and planning traps while they flew away home. Pan was sullen and silent, and Tinkerbell's sparkle was a little duller than before. Peter took it in his stride- it was, after all, the third time he'd been booted out of the world by a bad-tempered king. He had no claim on Neverland. He would not miss it.
And perhaps, when he landed gracelessly in his own room in London, he would miss Narnia a little less than before.