Lucy the Valient, queen of Narnia, was bored. Or so stated her letter to Prince Corin of Archenland. Not a lethargic, lazy, moping bored with things to do around every corner but no motivation to get to one's feet, nor yet a real, earnest bored, where there really isn't anything to do and if one doesn't find some form of entertainment one will do something unadvisable and usually bordering on mad. Not even the brand of boredom where - never mind, thought Lucy, flipping her quill pen around and brushing at the words. (She had never quite gotten used to having no erasers in Narnia.) Maybe "bored" is the wrong term. She wasn't bored.

She turned the quill to its right end again.

She was discontented; restless; stir-crazy? No, Corin wouldn't know what that meant, she thought. And heaven help the person who trusts him to figure anything out on his own. If only his mind were as quick as his fists…

Lucy growled and crumpled the paper. It had been a bad day. There was no other way to describe it, lamentably enough. She concentrated on pressing the letter into as small a mass of ink-smeared complaints as possible.

Perhaps she would throw it at something. She was in a mood to throw things now.

Maybe the window. Or the door. Or the fly on the wall that she was sure was sneering at her. Finally she settled on the fireplace. Not literally, of course, for there our story would end. End in flames and smoke and screams most befitting to conclude a day like this one. That is, if the fire had been lit. So then. She was even to be denied the lip-curling pleasure of watching a paper burn.

The letter landed in the cold ashes with a plop and a puff of smoky dust. Lucy glared. If looks could ignite paper…

Susan poked her head in. How many times had Lucy asked the Cair's master carpenter to fix the lock? Oh yes, once. An hour ago. Lucy raised her glare to Susan. If looks could ignite sisters…

"Lucy?"

"What?" How could one word sound so sulky and childish? Lucy decided to keep her mouth shut.

"Are you well?" Lucy's decision sprouted wings and flew out the window.

"'Am I-' no! No I'm not. So go away and leave me to the unendingly exasperating - no, maddening existence fate has dealt me."

Susan did.

"The unendingly exasperating-slash-maddening existence fate has dealt you?" Edmund, king of Narnia and Duke of Lantern Waste emerged from behind the bookshelf.

"Ed, go away." How many times had she asked the Cair's master carpenter to board up that secretly installed crawlspace between their rooms? Oh, yes. Once. An hour ago.

"Been reading the dictionary or something?"

"No, I've just had an overdose of you." Lucy retorted tartly. Ed was the worst for teaching you long words (the curse of court language) and turning up when you tried to use them. Note to self: use words of only up to two syllables when you think you're alone. Well, alone with your older sister who, however much of a plod she might be, would never make fun of you for broadening your vocabulary.

"Oh, oh, ohhhhh, you've killed me." Edmund clutched his heart and staggered around until he tripped on a stack of books and toppled over, twitching his face into mocking contortions. Lucy knew all of this without looking. Perhaps if he'd changed the routine once or twice since he turned eight…Lucy flopped in a chair and went back to her moping. Silently this time.

Presently Ed popped up, looking rather sheepish, and wandered aimlessly around the room till he ended up in a chair in the corner opposite hers. Well, technically both chairs were hers, both being in her room, but behaviorally this was never observed. Of course, it wasn't like she could sit in both of her chairs at once, seeing as how they were about 30 feet apart, but he could at least have asked.

As if reading her mind, Ed stood again, and addressed her with a smile and a bow. (Lucy never could decide which was the more responsible for all the younger foreign noblewomen falling all over themselves, sometimes literally, in his presence.)

"Oh, pardon me your highness, but might I make use of one of your lovely, alluring, and otherwise charming armchairs?"

Now if only he could learn to use such words when talking with or about aforementioned noblewomen, perhaps their instant infatuations with him would last something more than a few minutes. The all-time record was an hour. Ed had been so preoccupied with his food that he'd forgotten to mention immediately to the fawning Tarkheena how rare women of her sort were. In his own words, "who can light up a room simply by leaving it." Needless to say, after that particular day, Peter would send him out hunting or something whenever they entertained dignitaries, seeing as how his presence was rapidly proving to be so devastating to foreign relations.

Edmund pulled out the dagger he insisted on wearing even in the castle, and began cleaning dirt (real or imagined, Lucy couldn't tell) from under his fingernails. He used to pick his teeth with the same implement, but had stopped after his elbow had been bumped one too many times. Even Edmund wasn't immune to the human instinct for self-preservation, Lucy reflected smugly. And if that meant giving up habits reminiscent of 18th century pirates in novels, so be it.

A few minutes of silence passed, Lucy still brooding. Edmund finished with his nails and began absently drilling a hole in the polished wooden arm of the chair with his dagger tip. Lucy didn't notice. Finally Ed spoke.

"Care to talk about it?"

Author's notes:

This is my first story ever to publish anywhere, so do be kind, if you would. It's probably unnecessary to state (most of you probably being authors yourselves) but I would love reviews! Positive ones would make my day, but constructive criticism is equally welcome (albeit in a rather reluctant sort of way). I hope you enjoy it!