peter pevensie (highestking) wrote in revoltic, @ 2020-01-11 07:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: log, -player: natasha, chrestomanci: mordecai roberts, Ӡ -player: lena, Ӡ chronicles of narnia: peter pevensie |
log: peter & mordecai
Peter had taken Caitlin’s warning to heart and had spent the bulk of his evening writing himself notes about all the things he didn't wish to forget - the good and the bad. It wasn't that he didn't trust Mordecai’s skill with a potion - whatever his misgivings about the man’s relationship with Lucy, he knew he was skilled - but Caitlin had a point about them not being absolutely certain it would work for everyone and it was better to be prepared. The letter he left with Edmund, just in case, although he fervently hoped not to need them. His younger brother was under strict orders to give them to him afterwards, should he end up forgetting the last few years entirely as a result of this experiment. It was a risk, he knew, and one he wasn't certain his siblings or anyone else approved of him taking, but it was an important one. It needed to be done and he felt a certain responsibility , as he always did, to shoulder a part of that burden, whether it was truly his to bear or not. Perhaps it was the same foolishness that had sent him on that ill-fated trip to Mars, but Peter felt responsible for the fate of others even when he ought not and this was no different. If their fellow refugees were to gain any agency in any of this, he wanted to do his part in making that a reality. Nodding it quietly to Caitlin, he approached his amber with firm resolve, taking only a moment to study it before reaching out. He'd certainly heard enough from others to feel like he knew what to expect, but no mere words could have prepared him to the sheer force of what happened next. The images that assailed him almost knocked him over and the next thing he knew, he was lying prone with a headache worse that he'd ever been experienced, waking from the experience with a head full of new memories. They weren't of home, not of Aslan’s country as he'd barely dared to hope, but of a place he'd heard some others speak of. Atlantis. His head was still pounding hard enough to make it difficult to process. The new memories swimming around in his head felt like years. It was close to two days before he'd recovered enough to venture out of the house he shared with his siblings. The headache hadn't lingered quite that long, but it was an awful lot to process. Honey needed walking, however, and while he knew LUCY was willing, he wanted the fresh air. He'd already been inside too long as it was. Of course, it would be sheer luck that as he walked the puppy, Mordecai was the first person he would come upon. Nodding in greeting, he found the smile he gave the man was much warmer than usual as his Atlantis memories surfaced. They'd fought together, Peter remembered what Mordecai had done not only for Narnia but for Atlantis as a whole. No matter how he felt about him and Lucy, there was a new respect for the man that Peter hadn't felt before and it shone through in his greeting. Mordecai had possessed a deep respect for all members of the Pevensie clan since his arrival in New York. That had not been at all dimmed by his new memories of Atlantis. He had been aware of the role the four siblings played in Narnia - that their apparent ages did not match their years of experience and wisdom - but his own additional experience had only increased his awareness of the sense of stability and place which seemed to flow from them. That respect was nonetheless mixed with a healthy dose of apprehension when he encountered the eldest Pevensie out walking. Mordecai nodded back, noting something different, almost approaching warmth. He couldn't truthfully say Peter had ever been rude to him (Mordecai suspected a genetic compulsion to politeness in the family), barring sundry implied warnings about Mordecai's conduct in the vicinity of Peter's youngest sister, but nor had he overflowed with warmth. Working together required cooperation and collaboration and sometimes even included an amused observation on fellow board members. It did not require - "-having your good opinion and not just your reluctant amusement." The unprompted recollection almost made Mordecai wince, but the comparison fit. With the possible exception of Thea, he'd always assumed his fellow board members regarded him in much the same way that Chrestomanci's staff had - valued for his talent and skill, but patronizingly. Mordecai actively fostered that impression. How better to guard against anyone becoming too reliant on him than to make it clear he was unreliable? There were those who insisted on looking past the careless dandy, but they had rarely found much to warrant the search. Unlike Lucy (and very likely because of Lucy) Peter had not struck Mordecai as one to try. Regardless of his surprise, Mordecai smiled. "It's a good day for a walk." “Yes,” Peter agreed cheerfully with a quick nod. “I grew tired of being cooped up on such a nice day.” He'd spent entirely too much of the past day or two - it had become difficult to track the true passage of time - nursing a headache and adjusting to the number of new memories in his head and had finally reached a point where he just needed to get out of the house. Edmund and Lucy were alright for company and so was Honey, but he'd found he needed a bit of fresh air and a change in scenery. Others had spoken of Atlantis, he knew, and he wondered how much Mordecai knew if it. He hesitated only a moment, not wanting to give too much away of a place he wasn't certain the other man knew much about, before speaking again. He knew Mordecai had been one of the volunteers but not precisely what memories he might have gained. “How much have the others said to you about Atlantis?” He recalled Clarke and Alicia, at least, had been close to Mordecai there. "Ah." Mordecai smiled carelessly. So that was what this was about. Mordecai had not pressed Caitlin for a list of her volunteers anymore than he'd advertised his own participation, but it was very possible that Peter had been among them. Probable, even. If any phrase better described Lucy's brothers than 'running in where angels fear to tread' Mordecai couldn't have named it. "A moderate amount: the general thrust of the war, some items of only personal interest." Mordecai shrugged. "It's a hard thing to balance, I imagine - say too much or say too little. Both Clarke and Alicia mentioned things I had difficulty picturing, even so." He wasn't quite evading the question. Peter had not asked if Mordecai remembered Atlantis, after all. He was clearly trying to be tactful about the inquiry, and circumlocution was rather an ingrained habit for Mordecai. In their respective ways, however, Atlantis, Breckentale, and New York - not to speak of the people in them - had all rattled the framework he'd built. With another smile, this one almost sheepish, Mordecai added. "I still do, to be quite honest, even with the evidence of my own - eyes, I suppose I should say?" His interaction with the amber was almost like a very extended spirit trip, in a way - the new experiences now made very much a part of him, but his physical body unchanged. "It was nothing like I expected - Atlantis or Twelve-A." Mordecai’s initial answer left Peter believing his knowledge of the city was only second hand until the latter part of his statement and he found himself pleased to know that Mordecai remembered the place. It was a feeling he wasn’t used to having around the man. He’d liked him well enough before, as a person in general, but he was hardly someone he would have trusted with his youngest sister. He still wasn’t quite certain how he felt about was was clearly brewing toward the pair, but his Atlantis memories did give him a new layer of confidence in the man. “I don’t think any descriptions could really do it justice,” he agreed. Atlantis was a place that defied explanation. People could tell stories about what it had been like there, but until Peter had felt those memories invading his mind and had seen those images that came along for himself, he couldn’t have come close to imagining what it had been truly like. Chief among those memories, at least in terms of current relevance, has been that Mordecai was a friend. Not just to Peter or to his family, but he was a Friend of Narnia. Peter had only arrived at the tail end of the mission that had sent others to a place he considered to be home, but he knew what Mordecai and the others had done for Narnia and he was certainly grateful. “I heard you’d been one of the volunteers. It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” More than you could know, Mordecai thought. "Quite," he said aloud. "To think I considered myself rather experienced before." He didn't offer his reasons for volunteering, although it occurred to him that both Ellana's and Thea's conditions would be matters of concern for Peter. One thing Mordecai could appreciate was a desire for privacy. He hadn't advertised his own situation, after all. Julia had simply been too perceptive for anyone's good (that was another matter Mordecai would have to deal with eventually. Hopefully, the other projects in hand would distract her from pursuing it). "It was enlightening." Comforting, even. It was a relief to know that Christopher and Flavian, at least, no longer hated him. Abruptly - that train of thought led in less pleasant directions - Mordecai said, "It's beautiful. Your world." Beautiful didn’t even seem an apt description, Peter though. He knew which world Mordecai referred to. Home was Narnia and he knew Mordecai had been there. One would have hardly used such a word to describe his earthly home, at any rate. “Yes, it is,” he agreed a little wistfully. He couldn’t help feeling a little envious of those who had been able to see it more recently. Peter had hoped for another glimpse of it, himself, when he’d volunteered for the experiment. “Thank you, for what you did to help defend it,” he added. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever said it properly in Atlantis, but he was grateful. "Ah, well," said Mordecai uncomfortably. "It was a job for me." One he'd been anxious to do well at the time - even desperate, considering the alternative had been returning home. He couldn't miss the wistfulness. It reminded him of Lucy's overly bright references to the past. Some people, however long their time away, had homes that they missed, Mordecai remembered. It probably wasn't politic to downplay the significance, even if his role had primarily been support. "Others did more." Whether it had been just a job or not, Peter was grateful. It was strange to think that virtual strangers had gone back in time to a point he’d already been to, but they’d prevented COS from changing the way things ended up and as far as Peter was concerned, everyone who had taken part was a Friend of Narnia. “You all played a part,” Peter said firmly. “Not everyone can be on the front lines, but everyone who was there played a part, you included. I am in your debt, regardless.” "If you insist." It was hard to argue with that kind of insistent sincerity. Mordecai glanced down at the puppy on her leash while formulating a reply. He leaned down to scratch the dog's ears before looking up at Peter again. "All things considered, you - your family has been exceptionally welcoming in making this a home for those of us without one. Your friendship is repayment enough." Peter grinned warmly at that. He had, perhaps, not been entirely kind to Mordecai here in New York or at the very least, he’d judged him more harshly that he may have deserved. It was difficult not to when protectiveness over his youngest sister was there to cloud his judgment, but his memories of Atlantis tempered that a little now and he extended a hand to the man. “You’re a good man, Mordecai,” he said with full sincerity. “I should be honored to call you a friend.” Accepting the hand - or at least the accompanying words - was one of Mordecai's more egregious lies of omission. "I don't know that I have received a higher compliment," he said, shaking it. Except, perhaps, from Lucy, but Lucy's opinion had always been over generous and tinged (much as Mordecai tried not to know it) with bias. Lucy aside, he meant it when he added, "The honor is mine." It was very tempting to leave it there. Mordecai phrased his next words carefully. "I did research for the mission to your world," he said. Both before and after, in fact, as he had been inspired to read up after conversations with his teammates. "It is my understanding that there was a period in your family's history where - for reasons not entirely within anyone's control-" He certainly did not want to ruin any ground he had gained with Lucy's siblings by mishandling a delicate subject. "-affection did not necessarily equate to reliability." He hurried on in hope of forestalling an angry defense of Peter's brother. "I would call that a lesson at least equally applicable to dealings with outsiders." Transparency did not come easily with Mordecai, but he couldn't let such an unprecedented gesture of trust go unacknowledged, especially not when - well - he had his own share of protectiveness where the lady in question was concerned. On that point, they would have to disagree, but Peter didn't argue the point. In truth, he supposed they were both fortunate to have the other's friendship, a fact Peter hadn't truly appreciated over the last few years. Even that, he felt, was an error on his part. He hadn't been willing to see past his protectiveness over Lucy. It could be hard to admit when one’s youngest sister had truly grown up. That much was still difficult. “If you've studied our history,” he said allowed, fixing Mordecai with the firm gaze of a High King who expected no argument, then you also know how I feel about second chances.” The implication was that Mordecai had earned his, just as Edmund had. He'd never regretted the trust he placed in his brother; he rather hoped Mordecai would prove worthy of them same. Based on what he remembered of Atlantis, he was almost certain of it. Some people couldn't be argued with, Mordecai reflected. Truthfully, he didn't entirely want to. He still wasn't wholly at ease. Whatever might have happened in that other life, the events that had changed that man, though Mordecai remembered them as if he had lived them, he had not. There were no new scars (thankfully) nor added years (he'd hate to turn prematurely gray), and that ephemeral anchor was still worlds away. Then again, nor was this life (as certain formidable individuals insisted on pointing out) either of those. If not in that (admittedly essential) way, if only in his circumstances, and in the presence of said individuals in his life, then still Mordecai had changed. With a rather different twinge of apprehension than when he had first stopped to talk, Mordecai smiled and said, "I'm not such a fool as to refuse that." |