Kingdom drabble: Peter and Simon as boys

[triedunture]

Title: Everybody's Waiting
Rating: G
Words: 890
Warnings: Spoilers for season 2 finale
Summary: Peter and Simon as boys--a short scene

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'Everybody's waiting. Let's go!' Peter called, threading his way through the tall grass. 'Simon?'

When you've lived in the same town all your life, there isn't a corner you can turn that doesn't remind you of something or other. With every tiny change you see, you say, 'Here, now, this used to be an empty field belonging to Mr Jenkins.'

'Simon!' Peter shouted again, cupping his hands around his mouth.

In Market Shipborough, lots of things now stand in what used to be an empty field owned by Mr Jenkins. One in particular is now the town's memorial garden-stroke-dog park-stroke children's playground. But years ago, when Peter Kingdom was still a boy, it was just an endless field of head-high grass that waved in the breeze. It smelled like wet earth and organic decay, and Peter had hated it.

'Simon, I'm being very serious now. Come here!' Peter cried.

Of course, the very things that made Peter hate the field meant that Simon loved it.

Peter saw the movement out of the corner of his eye one second before Simon pounced. Simon, flushed with excitement, crowed happily as he barreled into his older brother. The two boys went flying, Simon laughing, Peter squeaking in surprise. Though he was nearly twice his brother's age, Peter was often caught off balance like this by Simon's antics. Simon was the wild one, always getting into trouble. Peter preferred to stay indoors with his books and records.

At the moment, he longed to be back in his room with his worn copy of The Importance of Being Earnest (his school wanted to put on a play, and he had volunteered to find the perfect vehicle) but he had been forced by his mother to go search for the wayward Simon. Peter cursed the task as he rolled onto his sore back to look up at the blue sky. There was grass down the back of his neck.

'Simon,' he said with a tired air, 'you're going to have to come home and wash up for supper. Mum's been wondering where you are.'

Simon ceased his cavorting in the dirt beside Peter and scowled. 'She knows where I am. I told her I was going to play. She never listens!' This was another of little Simon's quirks: his moods swung drastically from sunny and carefree to angry at the drop of a hat.

'You're seven years old. You can't be running round out here on your own with the sun going down,' Peter said. He made a grab for his brother's wrist, but Simon jerked away.

'Catch me if you can,' the little curly-headed devil chortled, and dove into the underbrush.

Peter hoisted himself to his feet with a frown. He pushed his floppy brown hair out of his eyes and began picking straw from his shirtsleeves. 'I don't have time for this game, Simon,' he said. 'Let's go.'

'Stop acting like you're Dad!' Simon's voice floated through the grass, carried by the wind so Peter couldn't pinpoint his location.

'I'm going to count to three,' Peter threatened. He was met by silence. Peter wondered briefly if there might be any snakes hiding in the grass, and he shivered at the thought. 'One!'

Nothing. 'Two!' He took a step forward, crackling the dry straw beneath his scuffed shoe.

'I mean it,' Peter said.

He heard the twig snap before he saw Simon leap at his knees again. At the attack, tall and gangly Peter fell once more. Except this time, he went face first into the ground, smashing his nose against a stone that had lain hidden on the grassy ground.

Simon sat up with a giggle. 'Oh, Peter, you should have seen your face.'

Peter sat up, clutching his bloodied nose. At the sight of the carnage, Simon's mirth stopped. His gap-toothed grin fell from his freckled face.

'Peter?' he asked, tears welling up in his eyes.

Peter couldn't speak without tasting the tang of salty, warm blood, but he murmured anyway: 'Come on. I'll tell mum I tripped.' And together, the two boys walked back to the market square, and home. Peter's nose, they found out later, was broken. But it was too late by then; it had set at an awkward angle. Simon would stare at it while they ate dinner, sometimes squashing his own nose to the side of his face as if testing to see what it would feel like.

Peter never told on him.

Now the patch of earth where he had fallen (no, been pushed) was home to a swing-set for children to play on and a water spigot for dogs to drink. Peter had watched this transformation, and he wondered at it, the transience of it.

'Peter?' Beatrice shook his arm. She was clad all in black, as was Peter. 'Are you ready?'

Peter didn't answer, just touched the side of his crooked nose. Why is it, he wondered, why some things can't ever change, while others can change in the blink of an eye?

'If you don't want to go to the service,' Beatrice whispered, 'that's fine. I don't really want to go either.'

'No, no.' Peter finally looked up from his reverie. 'Let's go. Everybody's waiting.'



fin.



EDIT: Download the podfic here.

Comments

[lady529.livejournal.com]

I probably commented on this before, but I just reread it, and I love it so much I have to comment on it again. Esp. how you've managed to keep their personalities even though they're kids, and still included that fact (that they're kids, I mean).

Basically, love.

The Lady 529