AN: The Chronicles of Narnia was my first love, and the Horse and His Boy was always my favorite. However, that has not come out on film yet so I thought I'd give early books a shot. This story takes place after the battle with the White Witch, but before the children return to England.
I was reading criticism on the first book and it gave the ages of the children as 13, 12, 10, and 8. I was shocked because after the first movie I judged Peter to be 16, Susan 14, Edmund 12, and Lucy 8. But whichever ages you decide fit, I think my story will still make sense. In the book, there was a huge gap over the Narnia years while the four children were ruling, and this story is possible scenario that could have occurred.
There will be some OCs, but they will all fit logically into the scheme of the story and the world, and I plan to draw in old favorite characters as well.
This will probably not be one of my best works, but I love the characters and sometimes I need a break from all my heavily structured stuff.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I loved the second movie which you should all go see.
--
It all started four months after the battle with the White Witch, after the glorious bloom of spring and into the beginning of summer. Narnia was beautiful in early summer, everything lush green and teeming with life, a land so wonderful that none of the four rulers guessed that it could offer so many problems.
That afternoon, Peter was holding court. The throne room was pleasantly warm, and some of lower, arched windows were open to let in the sea breeze. Occasionally a butterfly would drift in, and Peter would watch it fly for a few seconds before redirecting his attention back to those approaching the throne.
"We are extremely grateful, your Majesty," a faun was saying, "for the end of winter. Grateful beyond words for the end of snow and ice and cold, but it has been winter so long, we do not have the adequate tools for growing crops or harvesting. A few of us attempted to grow plants inside or underground to keep ourselves from dying of malnourishment and others of us risked the Witch's wrath and smuggled in goods from other lands –"
"But the point of all this, my Liege," another faun rushed forward as his friend faltered, "is that we no longer have the right tools to begin to farm our land. Aslan was good enough to spread seed over fields so we would not starve, and we have fruit trees aplenty, but we do not know how to harvest crops or storage vast amounts of food."
"So, we need to learn," Peter interrupted. He wished Susan was there – she could usually think of some way to direct the court talk towards action in a diplomatic manner. Peter often cut right to the chase, and he feared his bluntness might hurt his subjects' feelings, especially the smaller ones that barely had the nerve to speak to begin with.
"We will have to gather all instruction we can find on the matter," he continued, "as well as sending out people – er, subjects to other lands. Archenland could help us – I hear King Lune is a right old chap ready to offer a hand up to a bloke."
The subjects of the court – fauns, centaurs, woodland animals, and birds – looked at each other in confusion, unused to Peter's British colloquialisms.
"I think he might help us," Peter explained.
The subjects began nodding excitedly, glad their High King understood them.
"I will need to form teams," Peter went on, warming up to his ideas. "I need to know how many fields we have, how many hands for harvest, and what things we have to build barns for storage. We have to be able to support ourselves as a country –"
"Peter," Susan's voice rang out as she ran down the hall, towards the courtroom, "Peter, I cannot find Lucy –"
Susan broke off as she entered the throne room and saw the assembly waiting to see her brother. "Oh, sorry, I thought you were playing about in here, alone."
Peter tightened his jaw at the implication that he would be wasting his time doing nothing, but Susan came forward, sweeping past the two fauns that were bowing most impressively to their good queen.
"I can't find Lucy," Susan repeated, her face worried. "I've looked all over the castle. She said she wanted to try on her new dresses, and I haven't seen her since then."
"She about somewhere," Peter told her. "She's probably playing Hide-and-Go-Seek with Ed. Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Peter Pevensie," her sister said in a loud voice, "Lucy is eight years old. We can't just let her go off and not look after her. Just because the Witch is dead doesn't mean enemies aren't lurking about. And we are on the side of a cliff. She could be picking flowers and the ground could give out and –"
"Do you want me to come and help you find her?" Peter asked wearily.
"Yes!"
"My Queen," a centaur spoke up, "I will accompany you in a search for her younger Majesty."
"I'm sure that's not necessary," Peter protested. "She's probably playing with Edmund. Where is he? Ed?" Peter glanced around the room as if he expected Edmund to just appear right in front him after being called.
"I can't find him either," Susan protested.
"All right," Peter stood, "let's go look for her, and while we're doing so, keep asking me questions."
Sometime later they (Susan, Peter, and a trailing court of subjects) found Lucy up in one of the towers, pretending to play Rapunzel with one of the cats. Lucy was throwing a long piece of cloth out the window and the cat was clawing up and down it. There was a bit of the roof beneath that could catch the cat or Lucy, who was leaning so far out the window that Susan shrieked when they went into the tower.
"Be careful," Susan rushed over to drag her back in.
"We're just playing," Lucy protested, frowning at her bossy sister.
"I would never let her fall, my Queen," the cat – Reginald was his name – said as he skimmed back up and perched on the stone window ledge.
"You have to be careful," Susan scolded as she pulled the cloth into the tower. "We couldn't find you."
"I was right here all along," Lucy insisted. She glanced at Peter, hoping he would take her side and soothe down Susan's ruffled feelings. But Peter, who had tried to hold court while searching the castle and found the two things didn't mix well, leaned against the wall. He was tired and cross and wished he could lounge on his huge bedroom and just eat pastries for the afternoon. Narnian food was so much better than the plain fare they got back in England, especially during the war, and he found himself hungry for it all the time.
"Where is Edmund?" Susan asked as they started back down the stairs, an entire entourage of Narnian creatures following them. The centaurs had balked at going up the narrow stairs, and they waited at the bottom.
"I don't know," Lucy concentrated on holding up the hem of her long dress as they went down the twisting stone steps. "I saw him at lunch and he said something about wanting to play on the beach and look for shells."
"He's playing in the ocean by himself? The tide could be coming in."
"It's too early," Peter protested, but Susan was already heading for the door, dragging Lucy with her.
Five minutes later, there was a crowd crossing the beach.
Susan spotted him first – young King Edmund in just his trousers and a loose linen shirt, splashing in the waves of the beach. A brown horse was with him – Philip, who kept galloping around Edmund, thrust his muzzle down into the water and splashed water up onto the laughing, sand-splattered boy.
As the group neared them, Philip stopped splashing, and Edmund glanced up to see why. His dark eyes opened wide as he saw the parade going down the beach, led by his siblings. In flash, Edmund raced up onto the sand, his bare feet thudded dryly as he dashed.
"What's wrong? What happened? Are we under attack?" Edmund demanded in breathless pants. "Get my sword and my armor – I can ride Philip into battle."
"Nothing's wrong," Peter hastened to assure. "Susan was just worried about you."
Edmund blinked. "You all came down with everyone because Su was worried about me? You scared me half-death."
"You scared me first," Susan accused. "You can't just wander off without telling anyone."
"I'm king – I can go anywhere I choose," Edmund retorted.
"Peter!" Susan turned to Peter for support.
Edmund began protesting that he wasn't a baby, and Susan started arguing that she was right as always, and Lucy began begging to go swimming as well, which she claimed was only fair if Edmund got to. As they quarreled, Peter stared out to sea and wondered, if he got on one of their three-mast ship, just how far he could sail away from his siblings.
--
Much later that day, into the cool hours of evening, the four were upstairs, preparing for bed. They had ended the fight on the beach with letting Lucy and Edmund play in the ocean with Philip until Susan said they would get sunburned and made them come in. Then came a wonderful dinner, and the children eventually wandered upstairs for bed, the younger two needing constant reminders that they couldn't stay up all night now matter how much they wished to. As was her custom, Susan sat in Lucy's room at her carved table and huge mirror while Lucy got ready for bed. The younger girl changed, but began to dance about in her long white nightgown.
Susan brushed her dark hair and frowned at her reflection. "I wish my hair were longer. Queens should have long, sweeping hair. Like Guinevere or Queen Elizabeth the I. Pity mine's dark – I should love to have hair like spun gold and eyes blue as sapphires."
"My hair is shorter than yours," Lucy laughed as she tossed her pillow up into the air and caught it. "But I don't care. Oh, I wish I could fly – how glorious to fly. Remember when you read me Peter Pan and we pretended to fly?"
"That was years ago," Susan replied, though it had only been a year ago that she and Lucy had read the book, snuggled close together on rainy summer days while Susan read aloud to Lucy.
"I believe in fairies," Lucy climbed up on the bed and started hopping up and down on the soft mattress. Her short hairs fly out in the air as her eyes shone with happiness. "I do, I do, I do believe in fairies."
"Don't jump on the bed," Susan said absentmindedly as she put the brush down and stood up.
"Oh," Lucy jumped down, still clutching the pillow, "will you brush my hair? Please brush my hair."
"You have your own brush," Susan looked at herself in the mirror one last time, sighing that her hair would not grow faster. "And your hair looks fine as it is."
Lucy's face fell, but she tried to remain cheerful. "Will you stay and sleep in my bed? It's so big – we could pile up all the pillows and make tents and tell stories late into the night and –"
"No, I want to sleep in my room," Susan said, "and I have to talk to Peter about something."
"Let me come," Lucy urged, "and then I could sleep with you in your room."
Susan hesitated, glancing to her little sister. "Luce, are you scared to sleep in here by yourself?"
"No," Lucy answered, too quickly, "no, of course not. I just thought we could have fun together – we never have much fun anymore, just the two of us."
"I'm busy now. Why you don't go on to sleep?" Susan headed for the door.
"Will you come back and tell me good night?" Lucy asked as she clamored up into the huge bed. "Maybe a short story? Or a fairytale?"
"We've living a fairytale. Why do you want to hear one? Just go to sleep."
Lucy fell back on the pillows, wanting to ask again, but not able to get the words out.
"Good night," Susan blew out the candles and stepped out the door. She really had to talk to Peter before he settled in to read for the night. Once he got in bed with a thick volume from the castle library, there was no getting him to talk. No matter what she said, he answered in noncommittal grunts, refusing to even look up from his book.
A thudding noise was coming from Edmund's room, and Susan stopped long enough to lean into the room to see what he was doing. Holding a large pillow as shield with one hand, Edmund was hacking at the bedpost with a sword. Before Susan could object, she realized the sword was wooden and he didn't seem to be damaging the post too much. Besides, sooner or later, Edmund tore everything up so Susan saw reason to scold in vain.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" she did ask, resisting the urge to put her hands on her hips. After the whole matter with the Witch, Susan tried not to tell him to go to bed every night, wanting him to make his own good decisions. But so far, she had to hint at it every night, and he would stay up to all hours if she didn't put her foot down and say that all candles had to be out by midnight.
"Not yet – I'm slaying the dragon," he told her. He jumped around in his nightclothes, ducking behind the pillow to avoid imaginary fire blasts.
Unlike his sisters who had willingly worn all traditional Narnia clothes, Edmund had flatly refused to wear the long white nightshirt provided for bed. Declaring he was not putting on a girl's nightgown, he persuaded the seamstresses to make him plain trousers and a shirt of creamy linen. He had hoped they would look like the pajamas he wore in England, but the seamstresses couldn't resist adding a few frills. Rather than straight-hemmed sleeves, his shirt sleeves were drawn snug with a cord and boasted crocheted ruffles at the end. Edmund would have pulled the ruffles out, except that he didn't want to hurt the seamstresses' feelings.
Peter had laughed over Edmund's need for boyish clothes, but Peter had also asked for the same nightclothes rather than the nightshirt.
"Aren't you tired?" Susan tried to coax him. "Don't you want to crawl in your nice warm bed and snuggle down in the covers for a long sleep? You must be tired from playing on the beach all day."
"No, I'm not," Edmund tried to say, but he yawned so wide he couldn't finish the words.
"Go to bed," Susan said before she could stop herself. She headed for the door, not wanting to stay and hear Edmund call her bossy.
"You're always telling me to go to bed," Edmund huffed. He gave the bedpost a few more whacks, but they were half-hearted. Once he was sure Susan was far enough away not to hear, he blew out the candles and climbed in his bed, tucking his bone-weary limbs under the soft covers and closing his eyes.
Susan found Peter in the washroom off his bedroom. Well, back in England they would have called it a washroom or a bathroom, but in Narnia those were rather trite names for the large room that boasted a golden-edged tub big enough for a centaur with marble walls and all kinds of soap and brushes on three shelves. Against one wall, fresh water poured continuously out of a silver spout, sparkling as it fell in shiny waves.
In his pajamas as well, Peter was standing in front of the wall-length mirrors, running his fingers through his hair, making it stand up and then lie down as he turned his head back and forth to find the best angle of his profile.
"Posing for your portrait, High King?" Susan asked.
Peter jumped and spun towards her. "Don't sneak up on me like that! I was just looking at something. What do you want?"
"I think we need to talk."
"I didn't do anything," Peter protested.
"You're not in trouble."
"That's right," Peter nodded. "I'm the High King – I tell you when you're in trouble."
It was so completely arrogant that Susan wanted to fly into a rage and demand that he listen to her and do what she said. But instead she shrugged,
"Very well. I had ideas about how we should run the kingdom and the castle so we don't starve to death or get slaughtered in our first year, but I bow to your rule, O High King."
She barely made it out the door before he scrambled after her.
"Wait, Su, I'm sorry. I was being ass, I know. I'll listen."
Susan was tempted to stalk out the hallway and make him chase her all the way to her bedroom. A little groveling might be good for Peter's ego which had a tendency to get out of hand at times; Susan often wished he had never been named High King, as he never seemed to get tired of hearing it. But she didn't want to risk the younger children hearing them argue. Lucy especially was easily worried when Susan and Peter disagreed about anything.
"All right," Susan sat down in the huge chair near Peter's bed and motioned him to sit on the bed, "I've been doing a bit of thinking lately, about the four of us. We're the kings and queens here and will be until Aslan sends us back to England, if ever. But we're the sole leaders of a new country, and though we might know a few things about battle now, we know nothing about ruling a country."
"I do," Peter objected.
"Peter, having two school terms on the dead monarchs of Britain does not mean you know how to run a country. Yes, we defeated the Witch, but what if her followers have gone into hiding and will come back later? What if we fail in providing food and clothing and shelter for our subjects? And we know nothing about Narnian manners. There are a thousand customs that we might fail to notice in our own country, not to mention in representing Narnia to other counties."
"I had thought about that," Peter admitted. "But I've been reading and between the two of us, we can struggle through."
"But what about the other two? You and I might be able to force ourselves to read and study and hold court, but Edmund would rather frolic on the beach all day and Lucy just wants to have larks all the time because she's still a child. Edmund is, too, though he'd deny it to the end of time."
"Aw," Peter groaned, "are you going to make us play school? You used to make us all the time, and you always got to be the teacher, and I had to play the lazy student just so you had someone to scold."
"No," Susan replied evenly, "we're not going to play anything. We're going to approach this like adults. We're going to hire people to teach us."
"What?" Peter asked, startled.
"I think we should hire people, or creatures if you want, to help us learn the customs of this world. Maybe a tutor and an etiquette teacher and some kind of woman to look after Lucy and someone to see that Edmund doesn't run all day on the beach –"
"Four people?" Peter was wide-eyed. "That would cost – well, I have no idea how much that would cost, but I'm sure a lot!"
"That's the idea," Susan insisted. "How are we ever going to know how much to pay anyone? Suppose you want a new horse, a non-talking one, of course – do you pay a hundred silver coins or a thousand gold ones? I want to buy foreign cloth – do I pay with Narnia money or is there some sort of foreign coin we need? Our subjects are helpful, and the centaurs are wonderful and always ready to offer advice, but I don't want to have to ask questions every time we need to do something, It's like dancing lessons. It's much easier to learn on your own time with just a teacher than to try to figure out in the middle of a crowded ballroom."
"I am not taking dancing lessons," Peter said flatly.
"And how is it going to look with you as the High King if you have to whisper questions to the creature beside your throne every five minutes?" Susan added, deciding to let dancing lessons go for now.
"So, we hire people to help us and tell us how to do things," Peter finally agreed. "Who do we hire?"
"I was thinking about that, too. I really think we should request foreign help, maybe from Archenland."
"Su," Peter sat straight up, "how can we choose foreigners over our own subjects?"
"How can we choose among our subjects?" Susan replied. "Should we choose a centaur for a tutor? Why not a faun? Should a rabbit instruct us or a beaver look after Lucy? We could never decide who to choose, and everyone else will feel left out."
"Then we say we want humans to teach us because we're human?" Peter shook his head. "We are not going to last as kings and queens here. They're going to revolt."
"I'm open to any other ideas you might have," Susan put her hand over her knees, feeling the soft fabric press into her palms as she waited.
Peter got up off the bed. He began to pace, and he tried to stick his hands into his pockets. After three failed attempts, he realized he did not have pocket, and he stopped pacing.
"I don't want adults telling us what to do," he stated. "I'm tired of them telling us what to do. Before we came here, we were hiding in a wardrobe just so visitors to the manor wouldn't have to see us. I fought in a war, Su – we were nearly killed, all of us. I'm not going back to being a schoolboy who's scared of everything and gets sent to the countryside with an address pinned to his coat like an idiot. I'm king now, and I'm not backing down."
"No one wants you to back down," Susan leaned forward. "But Peter, we have to remember that we still have growing to do. We're not finished learning, and if we want to lead this country, really lead it, we have to be prepared to sacrifice our wants to better ourselves."
He looked at her for several long seconds before signing admitting, "I think I liked it better when we played school. Fine, fine, we can hire them. But I swear, they try to boss me around, and I'm kicking them out of my castle and my kingdom."
"No one is going to take your kingdom," Susan assured him. "Remember what Aslan said? 'Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia.'"
"I bet he wasn't counting on us hiring our own tutors and nursemaids," Peter grumbled.
"I wouldn't underestimate Aslan. He had a way of turning up when you least expect it."
Peter looked at her prissy expression – eyebrows arched and lips pursed together, as if she knew everything. He grabbed a pillow off his bed and flung it at her. It bounced off her head, but she was shocked.
"Is that the way the High King treats a queen of Narnia?"
"That wasn't the High King," Peter retorted. "That was me telling you to stop being such a know-it-all."
"Apology accepted," Susan stood up and headed for the door. "Let me leave his Most Royal Majesty to his reading. And you look ridiculous in those sleeves."
Peter lunged for another pillow, but Susan was gone.