Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia. So here I am…a complete and utter dork who owns nothing legitimate. This was written for Deitra Pawley who requested another fic featuring either Peter or Lucy at a young age.
Mrs. Pevensie's rouged lips formed a tight line as she entered the doors of the school house with the baby on her hip and three year old Edmund toddling near her side. The anger she had quelled up in her seemed to escape, like steam from a teapot, from her flared nostrils as she approached her eldest daughter, Susan, who sat on a long wooden bench . The five year old's head was bent in contrite shame and did not look up as her mother approached.
"Susan Muriee Pevensie." Helen frowned behind Lucy's hand exploring her mother's left eye. Mrs. Pevensie left the scold at that, unable to express her supreme anger.
"You baaaaaaaad." Edmund quipped, elongating the word 'bad' to gauge the level of Susan's naughtiness.
"And where is Peter?" Mrs. Pevensie asked with a frown. And received a quiet reply of 'in the principal's office' from Susan. "Make sure Edmund doesn't run off." Helen told the eldest girl as she walked into the office with a mumbled 'yes Mum' trailing from the bench.
The office looked cold and uninviting. Furnished by a few filing cabinets, a large leather chair and a neat yet sparse desk, Helen's oldest boy appeared to shrink in the presence of the furniture. In truth, she felt smaller than when she had entered the school. And wondered how much smaller she would feel when the principal entered to make her feel more ineffective in her mothering than what she had felt when she received the lunchtime note asking her to come to the conference.
Thankfully Mr. Cumbergail had not entered the office, warranting a brief whispered talk with her son who was sitting in a slouched position across from the desk. "Peter Alan Pevensie." She began in a fierce whisper as she knelt to her six year old's level. "I heard all about it in the note Susan brought home at lunch time. What in the blue blazes were you thinking shoving that boy at recess? You know it's wrong to shove or hit." She paused noticing that her boy's gaze did not waver from the wall. Lucy voiced her opinion with a gleeful 'aah!' followed by a gurgle and ending in a short, unimpressed 'gah' as she reached for Peter's hair. Although she was but a year old, the baby echoed her mother's sentiments. "Well, answer us."
A long moment passed as Peter sat almost apathetically without saying a word. He did nothing wrong and he knew it. There was no other course of action he could have taken. Although Mum, Mrs. Drooley and Mr. Cumbergail begged to differ, he was sure. Feeling very much the victim of the situation, he had decided on stony silence. That is until the baby made it quite clear to their mother that she wanted to be held by her brother. And so, being set in her big brother's lap, Lucy reached for his nose and grasped it as if deciding on if it was a nose or an ear and uttered a 'gooooh'.
Peter cocked a half smile. Even as a small child, he knew Lucy was surprisingly perceptive for her age. It was as if she knew about the perplexing world of the grown-ups as well as the other three children and often, in her own way voiced her take on the situation. Today was no different for it was almost as if she was encouraging her brother to tell the truth about that day at recess. Heaving a sigh, Peter mumbled, "A boy was teasing Susan. She told him to stop but he kept calling her 'crow head'. So I made him stop."
"By pushing him?" Mrs. Pevensie wondered, the edge of her anger dulling at his side of the story.
"She was about to cry. What was I supposed to do?" He wondered, his tone growing nasaly as Lucy squeezed his nose shut.
Mrs. Pevensie's features softened at the thought of her eldest standing up for his little sister. It was a hearting notion for they did have their quarrels at home especially when Susan felt left out of Peter's games. Her son's words evoked a smile that was tugged by anger at him for pushing the boy and pride for standing up for his sister's feelings. At length Helen Pevensie sighed and rested her forehead on Peter's head and ran her hand over his golden hair. "You're a good man, my boy. It was good that you stood up for Susan. But there are other ways to deal with these things with out pushing or shoving."
"Are you mad at me Mum?" he wondered with a small hint of fear. The last thing the six year old wanted was to disappoint his mother.
"No, darling. I'm glad that you stood up for Susan in the only way you knew how. But we do need to talk about this with your father when we get home."
The prospect of Dad being upset at him for this worried Peter. "Am I still in trouble?" he queried and received a small smile from his mother.
"Let's see what the principal says, alright?" She suggested before adding, "Promise me you'll always look out for your sisters and brother in the best way you know how."
The boy who would be sung by bards as the Magnificent nodded. He was unaware of the extent of his promise then in the drab office but knew that it had to be done. He was the oldest after all, as Dad had told him, and as such had to keep the others content. And so Peter nodded in agreement, unaware of his potential to fulfill the vow to his fullest extent.
A/n: I really like this fic. The mental image of Peter trying to look ashamed but failing due to Lucy sitting on his lap and playing with his nose was too cute. I actually had to glomp my royal air moose while writing this. So please review and enjoy. This is dedicated to my pal Kenz whose mental chicken chasing session today on potential was the catalyst for this fic.