Peter was caught in a constant effort towards balance.

He tried, for awhile, to take example from his siblings, but such undertakings were ill-fated.

Susan seemed to live only in England. She rarely let the Gentle come forth; it was inessential and encumbering. It was for another time and place — one that seemed pale and distant to the present, but unceasingly vice versa. There was no place for a Narnian, not even for a Queen, at parties and social gatherings. The Gentle Queen was well-hidden underneath lipstick and lines of ink. The wine satisfied her, even if it lacked the burning sweetness of Calormene spices, and her gowns were elegant, even if they were not nearly as beautiful or comfortable as they had once been. Perhaps Susan had forgotten the fineries she once knew, but perhaps that was just as well. The comparison was enough to oblige anyone to madness; perhaps it was simpler to merely be English.

Edmund lived in England, but kept always the lessons he learned in Narnia. He needed them, if he would not fall prey to the devil that gripped him before: beastliness, bullying — betrayal. He considered his mistakes, his trials, his tribulations, the many tokens of Justness and adulthood — though not all were earned as such — that he bore again in childhood. He would repeat neither mistakes nor penance, as confusing as it could be to figure out one's age. He hoped that the arguments he constructed would never be so circular.

Lucy was a Narnian, through and through. She had a wildness to her that could only be learned from Fauns, from Nymphs, from Dryads, Merpeople, Beasts — inexplicably and yet explicitly Narnian. She was the Valiant still, her innocence and love of life always undeterred. For, though the trees would not catch her if she fell, and the Naiads she expected in the nearby pond never greeted her, she lived, and she remembered, and she passed on the gifts she was given. Some of her peers were still young enough to believe her stories of all the wonderful things they had known briefly and impersonally in books, until age and societal standards would condition them to disbelief — and it was skepticism and childishness, however it might be seen as "undeceiving." Still, Lucy unfailingly gave a glimpse of the Truth to whoever would heed her.

Peter could not find solace in somewhere between all his siblings; he had trouble enough finding somewhere between England and Narnia. He was supposed to be a model, a leader — why was it so difficult?

It seemed a perpetual turning of powers.

Some days, the lightness would overwhelm him; he would be captivated by how sudden the lifting of his many burdens had been. He would be light, free, yet insecure in his vulnerability.

Then, there were the days when the void would press down upon him, suffocating him, the pain that was his body yearning to compensate for the sudden lack of substance. He once bore muscle, armor, sword and shield, bejeweled crown — responsibility, a kingdom, Magnificence — all with a gravity that this world could never provide. His very being screamed in protest, wanting for relief from the emptiness that was a greater burden than any.

Could this be balance, this constant tug of opposites? Peter hoped not.

Sometimes, he longed for the etiquette classes he had once bemoaned.