Hello beautiful people! For those of you who read my M*A*S*H fic, don't worry, I'm still working on it. I've had the idea for this story for a while now, and I've got the first few chapters of both stories written, so I figured I would go ahead and start posting this one as well. I'm aware that many of the plotlines (i.e. former Narnian queen OC, arranged marriage, etc.) are not the most original, but hopefully the way I've combined them will prove to be both unique and interesting. For those of you who are new to my work (which is an easy feat, considering how new I am to writing fanfiction), welcome!

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Anything thing you recognize from Narnia or any other source is the property of its rightful owner. I lay no claim on the characters, settings, plotlines, etc. found in Narnia, although I am honored to have to opportunity to work with them throughout this fanfiction (emphasis on the "fan" part). All I own is my OCs and whatever original plotwork is related to them and their stories.

I first met Peter Pevensie the week before our wedding. I'm sure you can imagine how awkward this was, him being little more than a child at seventeen years old and me being a thirty-something queen from another world. Of course, this last part was a closely kept secret at the time, so the awkwardness in that respect was mostly limited to myself.

Let me elaborate. It is true that I am from a different world. No, it's not Narnia, no matter how much simpler that would be. Rather, I am from a world where Narnia, the Pevensies, and all things relating to them were considered to be fiction, nothing more than a set of interesting stories contained within the covers of a popular series of children's books. I had read them when I was younger, but it had been awhile even before I ended up in Narnia, and even longer after I finished my reign and found myself in a pile of rubble in twentieth-century London.

That was a disturbing experience. I had gone from a land of magic and beauty to one of fire and dust. For a moment, I thought that I had somehow ended up in hell, and that the voices surrounding me were those of demons waiting to attack. I am not ashamed to admit that I cried like a child when I realized that the hands pulling me from my hiding place belonged to rescue workers, not monsters.

By my judgment, I was about thirty-seven when I left Narnia, and I woke up in England at about seventeen – physically, of course. Because I appeared so young, one of the rescue workers volunteered to let me stay with him. As I wouldn't be born for almost six decades, even if I had ended up in my original world, I had few options other than acceptance. Which, unfortunately, also meant that I had a level of dependence on my guardian that proved to be difficult to readjust to. Especially when he informed me that, as he had been drafted into the war and would be reporting within the next few weeks, he had decided that I would be married off to the son of one of his old friends so that I would have someone to provide for me.

I was a self-identified feminist from the twenty-first century. Despite my shyness, I was considered an accomplished actor, musician, and writer. After being sent to Narnia, I had become the queen and sole ruler of a great nation. You can imagine how I reacted to the news that I was expected to graciously submit to an arranged marriage with someone I had never so much as made eye contact with.

"What!?" At times even I am surprised by the sheer volume and range I can achieve with my voice. "Please, tell me you're joking."

My guardian, John Roberts, sighed. "No, Alice, I'm not. You are a young lady, completely alone in the world. You need someone to take care of you. Peter is a nice boy and—"

"There is no 'and' Roberts!" I shrieked. I knew that it wasn't the most dignified way to get my point across, but after being suddenly reverted to a teenager again, the sudden influx of hormones mixed with the change in brain structure made it hard to be rational. "I don't care if he's nice or not, I don't want to marry him!"

"Alice…"

"No, no, no, and no. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Just let me use the house. I'll get a job at a factory, or wait tables somewhere – I'll even pay you rent, if you like – just please don't make me get married!"

His glare shut me up. "Alice, you are seventeen. I am your guardian, and if I tell you that you are getting married, I expect you to obey me without these ridiculous demonstrations." He paused for a moment. "Look, I'm not happy about this either. When I agreed to take you in, I never thought that I would end up having to send you away. But it wouldn't be proper for you to live on your own, and marrying Peter will give you some level of security." He smiled. "Besides, the two of you may very well end up getting along. You never know, and he is around your same age."

I had to bite my tongue to keep from continuing the argument. In my own time, it would have been perfectly acceptable for a woman to live on her own, albeit seventeen wasn't ever a common age to be legally independent. Instead of pointing this out, as I so badly wanted to, I settled for saying, "Fine. When do I get to meet him?"

"We're going over to the Pevensie's tomorrow," he replied.

At that point I had to leave the room to keep from throttling him. Tomorrow? The night before I had to meet my possibly-future-husband, and that's when he decides to inform me of my impending marriage? I went upstairs to the room that had been designated for my use and curled up on the little bed inside. The name Pevensie wouldn't stop echoing inside my head. Peter Pevensie. Hadn't I heard that name somewhere before? I knew I had, I just couldn't remember – like I said, it had been a long time since I had so much as thought of the books about Narnia. I tried to put it out of my mind as much as I could, but it proved to be impossible. I drifted off to sleep still turning the name over in my mind.

Early the next morning, around eight, we made our way through the city to the Pevensie's house. It was a cute little building, just a few blocks from Roberts' home. The only problem with it was the bomb shelter in the backyard that Roberts had mentioned. I suppose he was trying to reassure me, but it only served to remind me just how far I was from either of my homes. Anyways, we got there at about 8:15, and Roberts hardly had a chance to knock on the door before it was yanked open. Suddenly there was some sort of whirling dervish wrapping its arms around my waist, and a pair of excited blue eyes staring up into mine.

"Are you my new sister?" asked the girl who was clinging to me.

I froze for a moment. "Um…"

"We'll see." Thank you, Roberts! "May we come in?"

The girl blushed, releasing me. "Sorry." She stepped back to let us in. I gave her a smile to let her know that I wasn't upset.

The inside of the house was just as nice as the outside, if a bit old-fashioned for my taste. (I never did like fancy furniture. I was always afraid that it would break if I sat on it.) It struck me as odd for a moment, until I realized that there was no television, which for some reason I had been expecting. Instead there was a set of large bookshelves set against one wall, with an armchair strategically positioned between the shelves and a lamp. The chair was currently occupied by a girl of perhaps fifteen, who was observing me curiously from a pale face surrounded by a shockingly lovely set of dark curls. A middle-aged woman, standing in a doorway that appeared to lead into some type of kitchen area, was also watching me with a small, soft smile on her face.

"Ah, Peter, there you are!" I jumped, surprised. My reflexes were still a little bit off, after everything that had happened. I glanced around to see Roberts stepping forward and clapping a golden-haired young man on the shoulder. Not bad, I decided, observing his muscle and bone structures. Relatively athletic, nice skin, good smile . . . I suppose I could learn to tolerate him. Back in Narnia, I used to judge my . . . companions . . . based on similar characteristics. If I was still queen, and if he was a few years older, I might consider getting to know him a lot better than I was planning to at the moment.

"Come and meet your new wife!" Roberts gestured towards me with a grand sweep of his arm.

Peter turned to look at me, blinking slightly as if just noticing my presence. I could see him measuring me up, just as I had done to him. With the eyes of everyone in the room directed at me, I wanted nothing more than to find somewhere to hide away with a good book or a pencil and paper, and spend a few hours escaping into a realm where girls weren't forced into unwilling marriages. Instead, I straightened my shoulders and back, lifted my chin, and looked Peter Pevensie straight in the eyes and said, "Hello."

Apparently deciding that I was worthy of his notice, he nodded towards me and responded with an equally detached, "Hello."

The smile of the woman in the doorway had grown slightly uncomfortable upon seeing the stiffness between us, but Roberts was apparently determined to see the best in the situation. "Well, then," he clapped his hands together, beaming at everyone and letting out a chuckle. "Peter, this is my foster daughter, Alice Littleton. Alice, this is Peter." We looked at each other uncomfortably, each of us trying to avoid meeting the other's eyes while at the same time judging their reaction to the situation. The silence in the room was thick and tense. I imagined it like a sort of strange membrane, pulsating and throbbing in time with the unspoken thoughts of the people present.

I decided to break that membrane. I was Alice the Brave, after all, and if anyone was going to take the first step, it might as well be me. I walked towards the staircase where Peter had been perched the entire time, and stretched my right hand towards him. "Nice to meet you, I suppose."

He shook the offered appendage. "Likewise."

Roberts' eyes were following the exchange closely. When he decided that we were going to get along (probably with some level of relief that I wasn't just going to insult my intended to the point where he wouldn't want anything to do with me right off the bat), his grin grew even more. "Excellent! Now, as I said, this is Peter, and the young lady in the corner over there is Susan, and of course you've already met Lucy . . ."

He paused, looking around. The woman in the kitchen door noticed this and said, "Edmund is still upstairs. He just started at a new school, and he's working on some of the work that his teachers have assigned him for the break."

"I'll get him," Peter said, rolling his eyes and running up the stairs behind him. I could hear his footsteps echoing on the floor above.

The woman in the doorway now strode across the room. "Hello Alice," she said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. She led me to a sofa and indicated that I should sit down. I complied; she seemed like a nice woman, and I was happy to do as she asked. "Would you like anything to drink?" I could hear yelling upstairs.

I nodded. "Could I have some water, please?"

"Of course! Lucy, could you please go get Alice a glass of water from the kitchen?" At her mother's request, the little redhead jumped up eagerly and darted off to the kitchen. A few moments later, the sounds of clinking glasses and running water drifted through the doorway. If I listened closely, I could hear two voices engaged in a shouting match upstairs. Mrs. Pevensie shot me a nervous smile.

"So . . ." Roberts broke the silence. "Peter's grown into quite the young man hasn't he?" I had to consciously refrain from rolling my eyes at him. The shouting match continued upstairs.

Mrs. Pevensie smiled. "Yes, he certainly has. Although," she sighed, "I do wish that he didn't have to take on so much responsibility at such a young age." I sent a startled glance in her direction. Perhaps she is as against this wedding as I am? She must have noticed, because she hurriedly assured me that her words weren't meant to apply to me. "I simply meant that . . . well, it's been hard on Peter – all of the children really – to have their father off in the war. We all miss him dreadfully." She trailed off.

I took a sip of my water, and nearly choked as footsteps thudded down the stairs. "Ow, Peter, get off." I glanced over at the source of the new voice, a black-haired boy being dragged into the room in a headlock.

Once Peter and the new boy had reached the center of the room, Peter released him from the headlock. "Come on, Ed, it wasn't that bad." He shook his head and folded his arms.

Mrs. Pevensie once again spoke up. "Alice, this is my younger son, Edmund. Edmund, this is your new sister Alice."

New sister? Already? "Nice to meet you." I smiled at him

"Hello." He grunted.

"Ed!" Peter admonished.

I blinked, not seeing what the problem was. Edmund apparently knew, though, as he sighed and responded, "Nice to meet you, too."

Roberts let out a nervous chuckle and clapped his hands again. "Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I think this is going splendidly."

"So, what did you think?" Roberts asked me as we made our way back to his house. "Peter seemed very nice." I made a noncommittal noise in the back of my throat. "Aw, Alice," he looped an arm around my shoulders. "You know this is necessary." No. "You'll be fine, I promise."

I can't believe how often I forget the difficulty of smothering both temper and tears simultaneously.

And that's it for the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and please fell free to leave a review with any comments/critiques you might have. See you next time!