irrelevant. || peter pevensie || complete

epilogue, part ii

[yes this is the last chapter, the sequel 'unforgettable' is out now, and it is complete]

[ (11.01,19) wow!!!! #1 in 'peterpevensie'!!! that's actually insane thank you all so much that was my goal for so long while I was writing this and now that it's complete ive finally hit it and that's down to you guys!! so much love 💓💓]
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Phoebe broke free from the dark as if it was a wave, gasping for air as she fell forwards. Her hands hit something soft, and as she blinked frantically to return her vision to normal, she saw that it was sand. In fact, perhaps the sensation of drowning had been all too real, as she shot a glance over her shoulder to see a massive rising wave. It appeared ready to break at any moment, and yet it didn't. In fact, she was clearly still drenched from where she'd emerged out of it.

Where was she?

She moved around into a sitting position, rubbing her forehead to ease some of the tension there. Suddenly, as though a dam had broken, the memories returned. Narnia. Aslan. Her death. The Pevensies. Peter. However, even in all of her memories, Phoebe had no recollection of a place like this. On weak, shaking legs, Phoebe stood up, turned around, and promptly fell right back down again.

Aslan was standing there, an almost humorous expression on the lion's face. Once Phoebe recovered from the initial shock of seeing him, she once again stood up (a bit steadier this time). If Aslan was here, she had to still be in Narnia. But how was that possible? Wasn't she supposed to be dead?

"Welcome, Phoebe, to my country." So that's where she was. Aslan's country. At his camp - when she'd still been alive, if she wasn't alive now - she'd heard whisperings of such a place. "I'm here to offer you a choice, my dear, but there are some things you ought to know before you make it." Okay, if she hadn't been confused before, she undeniably was now.

"What do you mean?" Her voice was hoarse and dry, each word scraping its way up the back of her throat. Absentmindedly, Phoebe reached a hand up to rub it, as if would help. The lion simply looked at her as if he was analysing her.

"Things about your family, Phoebe. More specifically, your mother." If she hadn't locked her knees in place, Phoebe knew she would've fallen over then. How did Aslan know anything about her mother? She'd been given to Professor Kirke when she was barely a few months old, her mother had most likely been an alcoholic, and she'd been born in London. That was all there was to it.

"What do you know about my mother? How do you even know anything? You're not - you're not my dad, right?" Phoebe was aware that she was jumping to conclusions, but she genuinely had no idea how Aslan could know anything about her heritage. However, that thought was dismissed immediately - Aslan laughed, and Phoebe felt her cheeks heat up, a clear show of her embarrassment.

"No, child, I'm not your father. I did, however, know your mother." Phoebe lowered herself back down onto the sound, knowing that this was her chance to listen. Her curiosity was practically burning her from the inside out. "Back when Narnia was still young, there were many rips in the fabric which divides our world and yours. Your mother was fortunate or unfortunate enough to have stumbled through one of those very rips when she was young." Phoebe wanted to know who her father was, then - surely there hadn't been any other humans in Narnia when her mother had found herself there. "I'm afraid I don't know who your father is, Phoebe. Your mother was already carrying you when she arrived here. The Witch was hunting all people from your world at that time, too fearful that the prophecy would be fulfilled. However, your mother found myself and my followers before the Witch found her."