The War of The Wine

Chapter 1

A/N: Set in the Golden Age of Narnia, 4 years after Jadis's defeat. If you've read "Beloved" or "Frozen Memories", you probably know that I do not support slash of any kind. Rated PG (K+) to be safe. Don't worry, "Frozen Memories" will be updated soon, I promise!

Cair Paravel, Narnian year 1004

"Come on, Peter, pleeeease," Lucy teased, attempting to make her blue eyes as cute as possible.

"No, Lucy, you can't use the lower dining hall today," Peter answered for the tenth time. His voice, congested with a cold, betrayed impatience as he marched across the airy office at Cair Paravel. "I need it for the banquet with the governor of the Lone Islands."

From her seat on the other side of the office, Susan spoke up worriedly: "Peter, which colour napkins should I use?"

"Do I care?" Peter groaned irritably. "Just use the red ones."

"The red! But they're not—"

"Oh, come off it, anything's good enough for that silly Governor Dalmas." Peter sneezed as he threw a drawer open and began leafing through a bundle of papers.

Lucy tugged hard on Peter's sleeve. "But what about my spring party?" she whined.

"Just have it in the courtyard."

"But it's raining!"

"That's not my problem," Peter replied shortly. "Ugh, where is the copy of that miserable tribute agreement, Susan?"

"I don't know. I'd better find the housekeeper and tell her about the napkins," Susan stood up and quietly exited the office, saying, "If you go outside today, Peter, be sure to dress warmly; we don't need your cold getting worse."

"I'm Queen of Narnia just as much as you are King," Lucy groused at Peter as she slouched in her chair. "So I have as much right to use whatever room in this castle—"

"Actually, you don't," Peter snapped, slamming a drawer shut. "I'm High King, and I got the lower dining hall first, so you just have to suck it up!" With that and another sneeze, Peter flung out of the office.

Lucy sat up straight in her chair and shouted angrily, "You'll be sorry for lording it over like that, Peter! See if you aren't!"

"Edmund!" Lucy called, hammering her small fist against her brother's door. "Edmund, get out of there, I need you!"

From the other side of the tall door, Lucy heard her Edmund's annoyed moan and quick footsteps. The door did not open, but Edmund's voice replied, "What is it, Lucy?"

"I'm going to get Peter back for hogging the lower dining hall and being a prig," Lucy announced, folding her arms against her chest.

"And?"

"And I need you to help me," Lucy finished.

Finally, the door opened and Edmund appeared, dark eyes glittering with mischief. "What did you have in mind?"

"Isn't there some bad wine left in the kitchen?"

Edmund nodded. "I told the housekeeper to get rid of it, but they've all been so busy getting ready for Governor Dalmas that there may yet be some barrels down there."

"That's good," Lucy clapped her hands together. "I'm going to need some."

Though the servants continually protested that the kitchen was below Lucy's station, she liked the warm, homey place and visited there frequently to chat with Finola, a dryad who swept the floor. but this afternoon, she was on a mission for revenge.

"Finola," she began, entering the kitchen.

Finola looked up, and, pinching the sides of her mossy skirt, ducked into a curtsey. "Good afternoon, Your Majesty. You look lovely today."

Lucy smiled at the compliment, and spoke again. "Finola, dear, might I have a flagon of that wine you're about to get rid of?"

An unmistakeable surprise appeared in Finola's eyes. "Ah...Your Majesty, that wine has gone bad, you know."

"I know," Lucy echoed urgently. "But Edmund's stomach is upset. You know how he always gets the quissies on cold spring days."

"Oh," Finola nodded understandingly, "but...wouldn't it be better to give him new wine?"

"Ah, well..." Lucy stammered, scouring her brain frantically for another lie. "Well, I--I didn't--uh, old wine works faster. And h-he is quite out of temper; we need to get him better as soon as we can."

Finola readily picked up a wooden flagon and moved towards the barrels.

"Uh, Finola," Lucy said quickly, "I need the crystal flagon."

"Crystal? Why, what for, Your Majesty?"

Lucy tried to make her face grave and hopeless. "Edmund's in a very, very bad mood. It must be a terrible stomach-ache."

At last, much to Lucy's relief, Finola had given her a crystal flagon, brimming with the rancid wine. With polite thanks, Lucy retreated from the kitchen. Edmund waited outside the door, barely able to control his laughter.

"Don't go on like that," Lucy shook her head. "Well, at least she let me have this wine." She marched up the stairs, carefully balancing the flagon in her small hands.

Edmund followed quickly, saying "There's just one thing. Won't Peter be able to tell that it's bad wine?"

"Of course not," Lucy negated. "He can't smell or taste a thing with his cold."

"So what are we going to tell him it is?"

Lucy stopped and faced Edmund, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "Do you know how much Peter likes mulled apple cider?"