Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I'm tired and I
I want to go to bed
𝘼𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥 - 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙨
♕
The air-raid warning sirens were overpowering and the German engines rattled the streets of London. Over the past month, it had been a constant, and yet James Pevensie still hadn't gotten used to the sound. Darkness had fallen over them hours prior, but there would be no light until morning. Anyone who made it to then classed it as an achievement.
The bombings had started for the night. It was close to one in the morning by the time the siren blared through the streets, and the Pevensie's were in a panic. They were no different to every other family, only, their broken routine never seemed to get better. Everything fell to pierces the moment it came into practice.
There were five children running through the house, all trying to achieve opposing goals with their frantic mother darting around like some sort of madwoman, just so that their Anderson Shelter would be as comfortable as possible. James could already tell that the night ahead would be long and gruelling. He would probably go sleepless for another night, with restless legs, and a racing mind.
The Anderson Shelter was what he hated the most about the raids. It was their only hope of survival, and yet, it was nothing more than corrugated iron and pack by slabs. Despite being decorated on the inside with embroidered cushions and blankets to give it a homely feel, it was still grey. It was still dull. But it did keep them safe, and that was enough, he supposed.
Edmund Pevensie was a raven haired boy with deep brown eyes who, like many boys his age, had a fascination for battle. Perhaps that was why he was so foolish. That boyish nature. He shouldn't have even been awake in the first place. In the front room of the house, which had a sickly green wallpaper plastered onto the surfaces, was a large bay window. There he stood, watching the explosive shells fall to the ground with a ferocious fire following swiftly.
Edmund knew how stupid he was being. He had been told far too many times, not just by his mother, Helen, but by both of his elder brothers. Despite its danger, he could hardly help himself. It was something so rare. Frankly, it was just too exciting to miss.
Shock rang in the air as Mrs Pevensie, how could be no older than forty, ran into the room. Her face contorted into one of pure pain and horror seeing as her son just stood there, in awe.
"Edmund!" Her hands stretched to pull the brown eyed boy from the glass, shakily pulling the curtains so any light was blocked out. "Peter!" Helen cried out for her second son, knowing the eldest would be busy, checking the youngest for any scrapes. "What do you think you're doing?"
Thankfully, he was free of any. It would be difficult to clean his wounds in the dim light of the shelter. There wasn't much in there at all.
Again she called for her son, and that second time, a blonde haired, blue eyed boy raced into the room. Fear was held in his face, mirroring his mother's image, but kept calm as the orders were sprung upon him.
"Peter!" She commanded. "Quickly, the shelter! Now!"
It took barely a second for him to grab onto Edmund's jumper before running towards the garden. "Come on!"
The brown eyed boy's fingers stretched out to the oak coffee table, reaching for a picture frame, but was left empty handed. Peters doing. "But-"
"Come on! Leave it!" He cried as they rushed towards the back of the house. It was unsafe. The whole of London was unsafe.
Meanwhile, James and Susan Pevensie were rushing around the house collecting the groups entertainment for the coming hours. Even in a time of crisis, the British were composed. Someone had to be. Together, they had checked every room on the ground floor for books, packets fo cards and pens. This meant the last place they needed to go was the shared room between the two Pevensie sisters- Susan and Lucy.
James pushed open the white painted door, chocolate eyes glimmering in the dim torch light as Susan checked the spines of the books upon her bedside table. The siblings hadn't expected to find a small girl in her warm bed. If she hadn't cried out for their mother, they mightn't have found her at all.
"Lucy, come on!" Susan encouraged, running from the room after filling her arms with books.
The eldest Pevensie, who's left hand was still firmly gripped on the torch, moved over to his sister, offering his right. Instantly, she took it, afraid. "We need to go, Lou." He called loudly to overpower the ringing of distant explosions. Lucy nodded as they followed the footsteps of their sister, darting out of the door and down the stairs. Not once did she let go of her brothers hand.
When the cold air hit James' face, he felt like a wall of ice had collapsed on him. The house had been humid, and within a second, his breath was visible in the autumn chill. He pushed forwards Lucy, ensuring that she would reach the shelter before he would. However, the freckle-faced girl refused to stray to far from his side. James was somewhat of a comfort blanket to her, which he could understand, though it wasn't the most convenient.
"Run!" Cried Mrs Pevensie as she lead the way to the shelter. More flashes came from houses all around, only increasing the magnetic terror radiating from the children. James felt his heart beating in his ears as the blood rushed round his brain and bile swiftly had risen up his throat.
Screams. "Hurry!" Rushed Susan, willing the family to move faster from her position by their mother.
"Mum!" Weeped the youngest as the shells continued to land. Tears fell freely from her deep eyes, not caring for the ugly sobs that escaped her.
Their garden had never been large, not even when he was small, but suddenly- to James- it felt miles long. Was it the pressure from both time and bombs? Or was it the ache to lead his family to safety? He couldn't know. What the blonde did know was that he was afraid- and he'd be a fool to deny it.
As Helen reached the iron doorway, she flung it open so that Susan could throw herself inside and onto the bottom bunk. James had made sure Lucy was second, safely passed into the arms of his other sister. They cowered in fear: the only goodness from it was that they didn't have to go through it alone. Just as Peter and Edmund came to where the Anderson Shelter was, the latter paused. His face morphed into one of horror.
"Wait!" He screamed. "Dad!"
Edmund ran in the opposite direction, back to the danger-ridden house, and Peter, desperately, tried to hold on. When his fingers slipped and grip faltered, he screamed. "Ed!"
"Edmund, no!" Their mother called frantically. The eldest child paused from outside of the shelter, dread filling him to the from the toes to his brain.
He was going to lose his brother.
"I'll get him!" Peter assured, heroically, sprinting after his dark-haired brother, knowing he could easily catch him.
"Peter, come back!" James was going to lose both of his brothers.
He didn't think. "I have to go too." Muttered the blonde before kissing his mother's cheek, swiftly. "I'll only be a moment.
"Ed! Come here!" Called Peter as Helen sobbed in despair.
"James! Come back here!" At the beginning of the night, she had five children, now she'd be lucky to escape with two.
Directed at his younger brothers, hoping they could hear him over the wailing sirens as they ran through the back door, James shouted. "Boys!"
The eldest had barely made it to the front room, where minutes before they had been, when an almighty boom crackled. A bomb, right outside of the house. The window shattered instantly. James caught sight of Peter pushing Edmund to the hardwood flooring, breathing a sigh of relief as he did the same. Glass laced the floor, embedding itself into every surface, which unfortunately included the three Pevensie brothers. Each would be leaving the house with at least one bleeding wound- that was certain.
"Get up!" James shouted angrily to his siblings as soon as the moment passed.
"Come on, you idiot!" Peter replied, pulling Edmund from the floor and away from the corner they had landed in. Once again, the dark haired boys fingers stretched out.
"This is not the time!" Cried James. "Get out!" His hands pushed his brothers out of the doorway and towards the garden.
James' face ached, as did most of his body. The impact of hitting the hardwood was surely going to leave a few unsightly bruises, just as the glass would leave some nasty wounds and potential scars. That was the least of his worries.
German planes flew overhead, their shadows cast over the ground with light from the moon. It was like a battle of their very own. Could they reach the shelter before a bomb dropped. When a bomb dropped. James didn't know. Frankly, not knowing was terrifying.
"Hurry!" Shouted their mother, panicked.
So, in all of his wisdom, Peter pushed Edmund through the door of the Anderson Shelter. He was lucky that the dark haired boy landed onto one of the canvas bed, which lay on the concrete.
An object fell from his hand. Small shards of shattered glass fell to the grey stabbed ground- a wooden picture frame lying face up. A black an white photograph of a man in army uniform. Suddenly, James understood why his brother had cried out.
It was Dad.
It was clear why Edmund wanted to return, now. That was the only thing they really had of his, bar his clothes, now that he was off fighting. In little over a year, James would be expected to do the same thing- but he wasn't ready. The only reason the blonde would ever even consider taking a life would be in order to save his siblings.
Peter rushed inside of the shelter, and James followed swiftly. He slammed the door shut, locking it, so the light wouldn't cast any unwanted attention onto them. It would mean the end of their lives. Then, a beast emerged.
"Why can't you think of anyone but yourself?! You're so selfish! You could've got us killed!" Peter's words were harsh, partially true, but severely unnecessary.
"Stop it!" Cried Helen as she watched her smallest boy breathing heavily from the bed.
Pushing past his blonde haired brother, James sat himself beside Edmund. "I wouldn't worry. He's not right." At that, the dark eyed boy flung himself into the arms of his oldest sibling, sobbing silently.
"Why can't you just do as you're told?" The tone was softer, but words still harsh.
"I think that's enough, don't you?" Said James, coarsely, keeping Edmund close. "Why don't you do what you've been told and go to bed?"
Peter seemed to be left in disbelief for a moment before realising that his brother was being entirely serious. So, to save any real arguments, he jumped onto the top bunk above his sisters and sat in silence.
James was aware that his sisters were huddled together, still cowering, and that pure terror was scattered across his mother's face. He was helpless in ways to aid them. In an attempt, he offered his mother his left hand- as his right was stroking the back of Edmunds hair comfortingly. She took it, squeezing it for reassurance, further proof that he was beside her. Clearly, Helen could tell that he son was in distress, even when he pulled a stone-like expression.
"Are you hurt?" Whispered the eldest to the younger boy.
He had to make sure that if there was glass anywhere, it was removed as fast as possible. There was too high a risk of infection to waste time. James was lucky that none had stuck to his skin, only leaving large red gashes which were oozing blood all over his body. The stinging above his eye was evidence of the event, but he hadn't the time to check it: the severity was unknown.
Edmund shook his head. "No."
"Are you sure?" The eleven-year-old boy nodded.
"You are." Mumbled Helen to her firstborn, who simply nodded.
"Just a little, don't worry about me."
"But you're bleeding." A small voice called out, timidly. Lucy had sat up to look at her brothers head in the light.
"Only a tiny bit." He grinned reassuringly, not letting go of Edmund. "Nothing to worry about, Lou." James repeated.
With a smile, despite the situation, Mrs Pevensie looked her son in the eyes. She was glad that he was the image of his father. It was a piece of her husband, only a fraction more than the other children, that kept her alive whilst he was away. "It's our job to worry. We're your family, I'm your mother. If we don't, if I don't, then we're not doing our duty as a family, and I won't be doing mine as your mother."
James offered a solitary nod. He understood duty. "I'm sorry."
"No, it's alright." Helen mustered. "As long as you're safe, it doesn't matter. You're all safe."
"But we upset you, and that's bad. We should've listened and never have gone at all." Edmund shifted in his arms slightly. His mother just forgave him once again, and grinned like mother's do.
James didn't know what he'd do without her. She was the most wonderful mother that he could've ever asked for. Helen Pevensie always knew what to do, and that was the best thing that James could've ever asked for. More particularly, it was brilliant for Helen as a mother because it meant she could aid her children in every way.
There was a silence, this time not an uncomfortable one. It was, truthfully, quite pleasant and much needed. The Pevensie's were sat in their Anderson Bomb Shelter, waiting for the raid to pass, with the company of each other. James had spent his days and nights in much worse situations, though this one was still unideal.
"Do you want one of your books?" Susan asked quietly once Lucy had finally drifted off to sleep- it seemed that Edmund was in a similar situation as his head nestled into James' lap. The boy was unsure of Peter's situation, but it didn't matter. After all, he often stated how he was grown up enough not to need James' help, so if he didn't want it, he wouldn't offer it.
"Which ones have you brought?" James asked his sister, aware that all of their family were more than likely unconscious.
When she lifted the spines of the books so the blonde could read them, he had to squint slightly in the candle-light so he could understand what they said. "Jane Austen, Dickens, a little Shakespeare, and Margaret Mitchell if you want it."
A cheeky smile spread across his lips. "Jolly good." James said, taking two from his sisters hands, and opening one of them to the first page.
For Helen Pevensie, that night has been the final straw. In a matter of seconds, she could've lost all three of her sons, and the mere idea of it happening was enough to bring tears to her eyes. They all looked so peaceful when asleep, and it was sickening to even think about them dead. The woman had little choice in the matter as it was happening to almost every child in London, but maybe it was for the best. Her children would be out of the way, out of trouble.
Evacuation.
The word felt like poison on James' tongue. When his mother had told him, before the others, the sixteen-year-old had wanted to burst into tears. However, he refused to: not until he was alone.
Of course, he couldn't disagree. James knew that. It was for safety, it was for his younger siblings, and himself. The chance was unmissable.
It was the idea of leaving home for so long which felt like the fires of hell coursing through his veins. It was like Mount Vesuvius erupting inside of his body. Not adrenaline. Pain and anger and fury, which, when James was finally left alone, turned into stray tears.
Home.
Home wasn't going to be Finchley for much longer.
"You won't be away for long." Helen promised, whispering in her sons ear as an attempt of comfort.
"You don't know that."
𐫰 ♕ 𐫰
Disclaimer!!!!
I don't own anything to do with Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. I'm just a fan of C.S.Lewis' books and the films.
The only thing I do own is the character of James Pevensie and his story line.