The Golden Years

AN: Once a fanfiction writer in Narnia, always a fanfiction writer in Narnia.

Basically, I need a passion project for when I'm tired of the blood and gore in my original fiction, and Narnia is still #1 favorite.

I'm not promising continuity. This fanfic is a collection of oneshots, written between other projects. One chapter may have Edmund marrying one person, the next chapter might have him married to another. I'm writing 300k words for NaNo, cut me some slack if they don't all make sense.

I'm not promising to update regularly. See the above point.

I am promising fun, sweet, slice-of-life oneshots from the Golden Years of Narnia. Prepare for a lot of sweet fluff between the Pevensies and a lot of crazy antics. {Possibly involving the Pevensie parents.}

Because even kings and queens must have their fun.

Chapter 1

Helen

It started out as a feeling…

A tingling sensation lingered on the back of Helen Pevensie's left hand. She clasped it tightly with her right, palm brushing the wedding ring she proudly wore. At last she would be reunited with her children. The war grew ever nearer its end. She could only imagine wrapping Peter in her arms, reveling in Edmund's growth in the past few months that seemed to have stretched on forever. And Susan, her gentle daughter. So close to womanhood, and to have been so far from mother and friends for so long. And valiant little Lucy. Surely she too had grown.

Her only regret was that James could not come with her. What yet remained of the war still wrapped its bloody fingers around him, keeping him far from home, and far from loving embrace.

The persistent sensation spread up her arm. Helen rolled her wrists, releasing her handbag to set on her lap. She had not been leaning against it, yet…

Goodness, now the feeling spread to her head. Helen Pevensie raised a handkerchief to her nose as she quickly felt faint. What was happening to her?

James

James Pevensie marched down the creaky wooden dock that led to the Albrighxia. The destroyer – one of few that still floated – waited to bear him, along with his living companions, back home. Home. He could already smell Helen's sweet perfume on the air and hear the children's elevated laughter.

As he strode up the gangplank to the ship, James fought away a wave of nausea. The wound in his shoulder – a nasty graze from a German minie – had mostly healed. He had eaten well. What was this sudden illness that spread across him?

His boots at last struck upon the wooden deck of the ship, but as he let out a sigh of relief, his knees buckled from beneath him.

A stray thought lingered in his mind as consciousness faded away - I guess the Germans took me after all.

Peter

"High King Peter of Narnia, Bearer of Rhindon, Wolfsbane, Knight of the First Order of the Lion..."

A hearty peal of laughter echoed from across the council room. "You've gotten them all mixed up again, Peter. It's High King Peter of Narnia, Wolfsbane, Knight of the First Order of the Lion, Bearer of Rhindon. And you forgot Magnificent."

"Thank you, King Edmund, the Impertinent." Peter smirked at his brother from the far side of the room. "Of course you would know my titles better than I do myself."

"Of course. I forge your signature on all manner of legal documents." Edmund sprawled backward on one of the chairs, gangly leg spread over one arm and toying with a dagger between his fingers. "Carry on, King Peter the Magnificent. The prince of Calormen will not wait forever for your reply."

Peter shook his head in coupled dismay and pride. "Doesn't Oreius need you to train?"

"Psh." But Edmund stood nonetheless, sheathing his dagger. "Oreius truly needs you down there. We would hate to lose your magnificent self on our first true battle."

"What would you call the Battle of Beruna, eh?" Peter bit back harsher words. Edmund had grown during their years in Narnia, yet sometimes he was still nothing more than the petulant child who would not be helped onto a train in Finchley.

"We both know I carried most of the victory." Edmund smirked. "Finish your letter. Meet me down in the courtyard, and we'll see which of your many titles you truly deserve."

Susan

Susan presided over the great kitchens of Cair Paravel. Such was not the work of a queen, to be sure, but someone had to ensure that no talking beasts were accidentally slain by her warmongering siblings. And there were roasts to cook and vegetables to boil, and most of all the cake to bake, for it was nearly Lucy's birthday. In the past years, they had at last introduced cake to Narnia – a fact which Edmund appreciated far too well.

Mrs. Beaver waddled down the moving aisles of serving-women, nymphs, dryads, nyads, and Talking Beasts of all kinds. The Beaver shouted orders with an abandon that Susan could only help to emulate.

A sudden clamor rose in the hall, and Susan turned to find Lucy, face-to-face with her.

"Susan! Susan! Come quickly!"

"What is it?" Susan pried her sisters hands from around her waist and waited impatiently for her to gain her breath. What did those brothers of mine get into now?

"Susan..." Lucy gasped, excitement lighting up her eyes and wide smile across her blushing cheeks. "Peter and Edmund are having a duel!"

Edmund

The familiar hilts of Sunas and Vaallus rested in palm, one in each of Edmund's hands. He swung them in wide arcs, stretching out the worn muscles of his back and shoulders. Much as he teased Peter about his many titles, Edmund had to admit pride at his own. King Edmund the Just, Duke of the Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, and Knight of the Noble Order of the Table. He had only one to add – best swordsman in all of Narnia. Though Oreius could yet best him, he was centaur, not a man. Logically, and in all correctness of the term, Edmund had only to best Peter to claim the title.

"King Peter the Magnificent." Edmund bowed mockingly. "I would give you a handshake but it seems my hands are full."

"And I would not give you a handshake until you proved worthy to touch the magnificent." Peter teased.

"Then let us begin."

Lucy

By the time she reached the courtyard with Susan, their brothers were already thick in battle. Lucy waited eagerly to one side, cordial in its place on her belt. Better to be safe, should one of them wound the other. Both knew better than to seriously wound one another, yet at the same time both had tempers fit to match their titles.

At last Edmund disarmed Peter, and they embraced.

But Lucy was distracted by other matters – a tingling, in the back of her neck, clear sign of danger. And beyond her brothers, the open gate to Cair Paravel. Beyond it, dust rising on the horizon.

Who was coming?