Title: Dancing with Dreams
Rating: PG-13
Read Me First: I thought I'd give you some background information. This story shoots AU from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, and will, eventually be Peter/OC. In this story Galma has come under Narnia, and is ruled over by a Duke (not Edmund) or in the case of this story a slightly bubbly Duchess prone to the occasional social faux passé.
For the purposes of this fic, Peter is a fresh 18, Susan 17, Edmund 15, and Lucy is 10. I realize that's a far cry from accurate, but hey, what is artistic license for anyways.
As for feedback, I love it! If you like my story or have ideas or suggestions for improvement, let me know, it'll only help me crank updates out faster. If you don't like it flame me, cry Sue, whatever it is that you do. I eat that kind of stuff for breakfast. I write first and foremost for myself (for example there's probably going to be an NC-17 version of this fic—locked within the confines of my hard drive, never to see the light of day—some time soon,) but if you like what I do post, it can only make it a million times better, so let me know!
On that note, I hope you enjoy, Dancing with Dreams...
1
It was a milestone for Narnia. Five years they had been free of the White Witch. Five years of peace. And after five years their High King was ascending to manhood. It seemed that it was only necessary and proper to throw the greatest party that Narnia had ever seen. Peter, of course, was not entirely disposed to the idea of throwing a grand party at Cair Paravel, but that was why Narnia had queens.
Susan was all too eager to begin the necessary preparations of planning dinners and decorations and sending invitations to all the appropriate courts from other parts of the kingdom and neighboring countries, and Lucy was more than happy to assist her sister in her scheming. More than once Peter found himself tempted to accuse them of high treason.
Otherwise, life continued just as it always had: brothers and sisters—generally—living in communion, the occasional diplomatic meeting, as well as a few hunting excursions squeezed in when palace life became too stressful, and, as always, Aslan ambled in and out as he was needed—or at his own leisure—the Pevensie children could never quite figure it out themselves.
Finally, as the weeks of the party...or festival, rather (as Lucy and Susan were making it out to be) drew nearer, Peter decided it would be far wiser to have some sort of forewarning about the upcoming festivities, than to wander in blind. So after a good bit of mental preparation he spotted Susan alone in the hall one day and approached her with his thoroughly planned inquiry.
"So...Susan...how are the plans for the party going?"
"Well," the young queen began, observing her brother critically. "We can expect the entire court from Archenland—" Peter frowned,
"All of them?"
"—But the giants from Ettinsmoor have graciously declined their invitation..." This time Peter nodded,
"It's probably for the best."
"The emperor of Calormen and his advisors are on their way as we speak," Susan continued.
"Was it absolutely necessary to invite them?" Peter could barely contain his annoyance.
"Knowing the Calormen, they'd interpret not being invited as an act of war," Susan replied. "Believe me, I'm not thrilled either," Lucy concluded. "And the King and Queen of Terebinthia regret to inform us that they will most-likely be arriving late because a violent storm caused significant damage to their royal navy."
"That's unfortunate..." Peter offered facetiously.
"Oh, not as unfortunate as the outfit Lucy's picked out for you," Susan assured him with a clever smile. Peter grimaced.
"Are you sure all this is entirely necessary?" He asked finally.
"She's you're sister," Susan reminded him. "You wouldn't want to disappoint her, now would you?"
"Not just that," Peter insisted. "This whole regalia...I mean, why can't the four of us just set aside some time to have dinner together? Maybe read some old storybooks? Or play checkers?" Susan sighed heavily.
"This isn't just for you, Peter," she reminded him. "It's for Narnia. It's time we showed these rival empires that Cair Paravel is a force to be reckoned with." She punched a fist lightly into the palm of her opposite hand for emphasis. Peter grinned.
"Spoken like a true general," he offered with an approving nod. Lucy rolled her eyes.
Just then the pair spotted Lucy running down the hall towards them. She tripped on the hem of her dress, and Peter was just close enough to put an arm out to catch her.
"Easy now," he instructed. "What's the hurry?" Lucy panted excitedly before taking a breath to form her answer.
"Aslan's back," she informed them, before pulling herself out of her brother's helping arms. "Aslan's come back." The two older siblings as Lucy made a mad dash for the throne room, before following briskly after her. They made it into the main hall in time to see Lucy push through the crowd to fall on the Great Lion's mane.
"Aslan! It's so good to see you," she announced, delighted, and incited a deep, rolling, rich laugh from the chest of the Lion.
"And you as well, Lucy," the majestic beast replied in a smiling voice.
"Welcome back, Aslan," Edmund offered, although he remained slightly standoffish.
"It's good to have you back," Peter offered finally, taking a step forward to greet Aslan.
"Peter, how are things?" He asked. Peter smiled and nodded.
"As well as can be expected," he offered, casting an accusing glance at Lucy and Susan. The young queens smiled cleverly at one another. The Great Lion almost seemed to smile as he observed the siblings, radiating the same joy they had always experienced when they were around him.
"Peter, could we speak alone for a moment?" Aslan asked, although it was not really a question. Peter nodded.
"Yes, of course," He agreed. "We'll take a walk through the gardens." Aslan gave and approving nod of his head.
The young man and the Lion walked together down the gently sloped marble stairs leading to the extravagant palace gardens where the Pevensies had shared many quiet moments together, over meals or even the occasional game of hide-and-go-seek.
"Peter," Aslan began his voice rich and rolling. "There's no urgency in what I'm about to ask of you..." Peter nodded for him to go on. "But now that you're of age, you may want to start to consider your search for a wife." Peter stopped to ponder the thought before nodding.
"If I happen to come across the right girl, or woman as it may be," he consented, "I'll be sure to keep it in mind."
"It seems that Susan is planning you a marvelous party," Aslan noted in a polite aside. Peter smiled.
"Perhaps a little too marvelous," the young king replied with a slight laugh, and the great Lion almost seemed to smile along with him.
Peter surveyed the horizon, catching a glance of the nearby, quiet harbor, knowing that any day now it would be busy and crowded with ships, from distant lands, arriving for the festivities.
OOOOO
Zoya stood at the stern end of the tall ship, alongside one of her most beloved friends, looking across the horizon to observe the rest of the armada.
"She may not be the brightest woman in the world," Ciaran, supplied from where he was leaning against the rail beside her. "But you have to admit, the Duchess of Galma can certainly make an entrance." Zoya smiled and placed her long, pale hand on top of his callused, tanned one.
"That she can," the young girl agreed. "That she can...although I've never been partial to such grandeur myself." Ciaran smiled down at her with soulful brown eyes.
"You may want to get used to it," He suggested. Zoya surveyed him quizzically. Ciaran cocked his heat to one side. "Zoya, you know well and good that you're the only person in all of Narnia that the Duchess is actually fond of..."
"And?" The young girl pressed, as the boat rocked gently back and forth with the waves across the sea.
"And," Ciaran replied. "We all know Lady Oilell, Duchess of Galma, is not going to be having children any time soon, so if things go well this week, and she receives permission from the High King to name her own heir, you're first in line." Zoya rolled her eyes.
"Not if Lord Bearach has anything to say about it," Zoya answered. Ciaran scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You shouldn't underestimate him. He is the Baron, and a trusted advisor of the Duchess...for whatever reason," she added as an aside.
"I'm still hoping for you," the boy offered. Zoya smiled up at him.
"You're a good friend," she said warmly. Ciaran nodded.
"You too..." He offered her with a mischievous smile. "But not such a good dancer."
"Is that so?" Zoya asked. The dark-haired young man nodded as she lunged at him. He quickly sidestepped out of her way and Zoya cast him a playful glare. "If I'm a bad dancer, then you're a terrible dancer. I wouldn't be surprised if His Highness the King has you imprisoned for insulting his distinguished court with your mediocrity and ineptitude."
"Is that so?" Ciaran answered, pouting mockingly, and then laughed, looking as though he hadn't understood a word of what she had just said. "You've been reading too much." He warned.
"What I meant," explained Zoya defiantly. "Was that you're boring and clumsy!" Ciaran let out a deep, rolling laugh.
"I always wondered how you really felt about me," he laughed teasingly.
"Ciaran! Zoya!' The cry came from another entertainer from the court at Galma. It was Malika, a talented flute player, who was—like Ciaran and Zoya—in her later teens. Her blonde curls were being whipped into tufts by the sea breeze as she ran to them, shouting, "They say we'll be coming up to Cair Paravel any minute now."
Zoya took off sprinting towards the front of the ship. She slid to a stop at the mast, and started her swift ascent of the forechains with an almost loving sense of familiarity. She was still ten feet below the crow's nest when the great white palace appeared on the horizon, still with the red sunset afterglow in its wake. And so it was that Zoya fist laid eyes on Cair Paravel and Narnia.
OOOOO
It was still early morning when Peter offered to take Lucy for a long walk. The truth was it was more of an escape for him than an outing for his young sister. The truth was that Susan was becoming quite unbearable. They walked far down to a quite section of the Great River, sparsely shaded with trees.
Lucy was quick to set herself down searching for treasures, smooth stones, beautiful wildflowers, even the occasional shiny beetle. Still wide-eyed and innocent, after five magnificent years. Peter slid off his shoes and settled down in the shade of a shapely pair tree, and rested his feet in the gently-flowing, cool river water.
Occasionally Lucy would offer to share the object of her wonderment with him, but as the High King's disinterest became more apparent she decided it was better to leave him to his thoughts.
Peter mused over many things that were important to running an empire: creating new battle strategies, pondering various types of weaponry and the different advantages and disadvantages associated with them, the words and gestures of a proper greeting, as well as the steps to the waltzes and corantos he'd be expected to know for the post-dinner balls. And somewhere in all his thinking, in the warmth of the sun on his face, and the occasional cool breeze on his skin, he nodded off to sleep.
He woke groggily some time later, and jumped up at the sight of the red sunset on his skin. He surveyed the small clearing frantically for any sign of his sister.
"Lucy!" He yelled, looking around anxiously. "Lucy!"
"I'm right here, Peter," his younger sister replied finally, stepping out from a small group of trees. "What's wrong?"
"Lu, how long was I asleep?" He asked worriedly. The young Queen Lucy shrugged.
"A few hours," she offered finally. "You looked like you might be having a good dream; I didn't want to wake you." They could hear a trumpet's fanfare in the distance and Peter glanced out to the once quiet harbor to find that it was already bustling with remarkable ships.
"Susan is going to murder us if we're late," he declared before breaking into a run through the field, Lucy dragging behind. "Come on Lucy, keep up!"
"I can't!" The younger girl yelled back to him, laughing and panting. Peter stopped, hunching over to lift Lucy up onto his back before sprinting back to the castle.
Queen Susan was waiting in the hall for them, looking extremely put out.
"By the Lion's mane!" She started up as soon as they were in earshot. "Where have you been?" Peter let Lucy down slowly, trying to decide if they would have to make another run for it as he opened his mouth to explain.
"Never mind," Susan cut him off. "Lucy, go get ready. Honestly, Peter," she continued, ushering him down the hall to his bed chamber. "I don't know where you get off, running a country...when you can't even be on time to your own ball!"
She entered his scarlet and gold ornamented room, and pushed him behind a decorative rice-paper screen in the corner by the wardrobe. She averted and thrust a new dress tunic at him as he began to undress.
"Susan," the High King began apprehensively.
"What's wrong now?" Susan replied growing even shorter on patience.
"This tunic," he started up at a loss for words.
"What about it?" Susan questioned. Peter sighed heavily, unfurling it in front of his bare chest,
"It's pink!"