I'm blaming this entire oneshot on King Caspian the Seafarer. It really is His Majesty's fault my obsession with Arthurian legends has not yet died...

To be king and to wear a crown is more glorious to them that see it than it is a pleasure to them that bear it.

~ Elizabeth I

Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.

~ Shakespeare, Henry IV

Peter, High King of Narnia by gift of Aslan and by conquest, sat with his legs dangling over the parapet, turning his crown in his hands.

It had been three months since Aslan had crowned he and his brother and sisters kings and queens over Narnia; three full, bewildering, happy months.

They had restored to the Creatures of Narnia the land and homes that the Witch had taken. They had given honour and rewards to all those who fought at the Battle of Beruna (as the battle with the Witch was beginning to be called). They had arranged for tutors to instruct them in all that was needful for them to know in order to govern wisely.

But the High King had pleaded a headache and escaped from his etiquette lesson, and though his siblings had watched him, worried, they let him go.

Peter shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the bulwark. He had asked the Panther on guard duty to guard the other end of the wall ("if you don't mind very much") and the Animal had bowed and done as his king wished. So his king was sitting contemplating his crown as though he almost wished - only almost, for Aslan had entrusted it to him - to let it fall over the edge.

"It is a hard burden to bear."

Peter started and was on his feet with his sword half-drawn before he knew what he was about. The man who had spoken stood without fear, with the relaxed alertness of a warrior, hands open it in the universal gesture of amity. "Do not be alarmed."

"Who are you?" Peter demanded, hand still on his pommel.

"I come in peace. Aslan sent me."

At the Lion's name, Peter relaxed, releasing his sword. None would dare invoke that name lightly. "What does the Lion command?"

"He would have you delight in the life he has given you."

At the gentle reproof, Peter bent his head. "I do - I will. But there is much to be done, and I - I fear I am not a king such as I should be."

"No one ever is." The man held out a hand. "Walk with me."

It was not a request. Peter took the proffered hand and the man pulled him up as though he were a child. As they began to walk along the wall, the man repeated, "It is a hard burden to bear."

Peter looked down at the crown he still held in his hand. "You are a king too, Sir?"

"By grace of - Aslan, yes." His lips quirked in a smile. "Indeed, I think you have heard of my kingdom."

"Have I, sir?" Interest quickened, Peter looked up, meeting the other king's tired, merry blue eyes.

"They tell tales of it in - Spare Oom, I think you call it - however twisted such stories may have become. But that is of little moment now. Tell me, Peter Pevensie, do you like being king?"

Peter hesitated, his gaze moving from his crown to the guard (sitting impassible save for the occasional flicker of a jet-black tail) and out over the battlement; as though by the force of his gaze alone he could lay the entire land open for the other to see.

His eyes, when he had first joined the other king, had been shadowed, weary. But now, though still tired, there was hope, and they were clear. "No."

The man waited, and Peter went on, stumbling a little as he struggled to explain. "I do not - like it - not always, though I do, sometimes - but I don't - I think maybe that isn't the point." His glance at the other was questioning, and was met with a half-nod. Encouraged, he went on, "Aslan - he sent me - us - here, and made us kings and queens over this land, though I know there are lots of other people that could do it better. But the point isn't that, exactly. I think - I think it's as much for us as for everyone else. To prepare us for - something." The corner of his mouth turned up, looking a little wry. "I'm afraid I haven't quite figured out what, yet."

But the man was looking at him, with a half-surprised smile. "Hast hit it, King Peter!" It was a merry smile, and Peter smiled back, about to speak when a voice called his name. A moment later a blonde head appeared around the corner of the guard-tower and Lucy said breathlessly, "You'd better come quick! Ed hid Susan's best dress and she's threatening not to let us have any pie tonight unless he tells her where it is!"

Peter chuckled. "Coming, Lu!" He turned back - but his visitor had gone, vanished as he came; at the will of Aslan. And the High King of Narnia smiled. "Fare you well, High King." And in one swift motion, he placed his crown upon his head.

And as Peter walked away, the weight of his kingship settled again on his shoulders. But now, instead of a burden, it was a mantle, rich in its magnificence. And in the distance, a lion's pleased roar mingled with a dragon's.

I think I put in enough clues for you to figure out who the visitor is. But if you don't know, here's a hint: he was High King in Our World; reputedly the greatest king England has ever known. It is said he will return in her greatest hour of need...