NOT ALWAYS GOLDEN
Chapter One: Post-Coronation
Fingering my new, jewel studded, intricately carved crown with admiring and gentle fingers, I was the last to step down from my throne.
And to the clear northern sky, I give you King Peter, the Magnificent.
The phrase, the title, ceaselessly ran through my head. I could not grasp it wholly; its meaning could not take on its full impact.
"High King," a deep, smooth voice penetrated the barriers of my mind. A bit shocked, I looked down, searching for the bearer of the voice.
A fox, the very same who had rescued my sisters and I from the wolves, bowed his head solemnly.
Unsure of what exactly to do, I stammered, "Thank you, Fox." When his face contorted in confusion, I quickly added, "For rescuing my sisters and I. I apologize for any injuries you might have sustained in our stead."
The Fox made a gesture I took for a shrug. "It was nothing, your Majesty. I'd die five times over in the sake of my King."
An awkward pause enveloped us, for I did not know how to respond, but Something caught my eye as I looked over the Fox.
"Excuse me," I said hurriedly. I brushed past the Fox and through the crowd, warding off the "Your Majesty's" and "Long live, High King Peter's" that stuck to me as I scurried through the celebrating Narnians.
Finally breaking from the mass, I jogged out the castle doors, calling, "Aslan! Aslan!"
The great golden Lion turned. He was the one who should have been dubbed "magnificent." For nothing surpassed the golden mane and the quiet, stern face Aslan bore.
"Yes, my child," Aslan said softly as I approached. If it had been any other being saying this to me (human or nonhuman) I would have been angered, my pride stabbed by such casual and demeaning of a greeting. But, when Aslan spoke, I could only feel the utmost joy. His voice was smooth and rich as honey, spreading comfort and relaxation through my veins.
"Aslan," I started, remembering my task at hand. "I cannot do this. I cannot be King, nevertheless High King! I nearly got my brother killed. How can I protect and lead the whole of Narnia if I can't even protect my family?"
The pause that followed by confession was, at the least to say, uncomfortable. I waited, breathless, until the great Lion finally responded.
"Son of Adam, I would not have appointed you as High King of my dominion if I did not think you right. Do you doubt my judgment?"
I shook my head.
"I thought not. It is the mere fact that you say you are not able that makes you all the contrary. Yes, of course, you are young. You have much to learn. But, I have faith in you. You will serve Narnia well.
"But," Aslan continued. "I know your shortcomings. I know you inexperience. So this you must learn. A king should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry. For a king's anger does not bring about the righteous life Narnia needs to sustain herself. You should rule fairly, only using brute force at your greatest need. However, do not pull all your focus on being fair, for I do recall dubbing your brother as 'the Just.'" He smiled and I too.
"Peter," Aslan said, and I turned to face him. "You and your siblings will not be accepted whole-heartedly by the whole of Narnia. Many were swayed by the Witch's heavily winged words, and it will take much for them to trust you. Not all were mistreated by Jadis and not all will want this immense change."
The Lion paused, sighing. "But that is all I can tell you right now. I will always be there, my child, maybe not in figure and stature, but I will be there."
Suddenly, Aslan breathed in my face. Hair rustling, the most incredible sensation came over me. I could not even begin to describe it. When Aslan was done, he looked, again, deep into my eyes.
"Are you ready now, my child?"
"Yes, Aslan. I am ready," I responded. Truthfully, I did feel ready. All doubt and uncertainty diminished, leaving a sureness and certainty behind.
"Peter, you can do this," Aslan soothed. "Remember, I'm not the only one who wants their family safe."
With that, the great Lion turned, magnificent golden tail softly swaying as Aslan walked down the beach.
I breathed deeply and turned to Cair Paravel and remembered that conversation that seemed to occur years, not days, ago.
That is Cair Paravel, the castle of the four thrones. In one of which you will sit, Peter, as High King. You doubt the prophecy?
No, it's just it. Aslan, I'm not all you think I am.
Peter Pevensie, from Finchley. Beaver also mentioned that you planned on turning him into a hat.
Then we shared a laugh, then a pause.
Peter, there is a Deep Magic more powerful than any of us that rules over all of Narnia. It defines right from wrong and governs all our destinies. Yours and mine.
But I couldn't even protect my own family!
You brought them safely this far.
Not all of them.
Peter, I will do what I can to help your brother. But I need you to consider what I ask of you. I, too, want my family safe.
By this time, I had already made it back up to the castle. It would've taken longer to find the banquet hall had it not been for the joyously loud chatter and the clinging and clanging of dishes, silverware, chairs, and dancing. For this was not only a coronation celebration, but also one rejoicing over Narnia's freedom from the White Witch's bondage.
When I had arrived, the feast was just getting started. Platters and basketfuls of food were being set on the largest table I had ever seen. Lucy was in the far corner with her beloved Mr. Tumnus, babbling away. Susan, who was dancing with a centaur and not minding in the slightest that his hoofs kept on tripping her up, had a smile on her face. It wasn't a plastered, anxiety-ridden smile, but a real one that suggested pure and utter happiness. Edmund was relaying his battle experience to a group of young fauns, beavers, and foxes, enjoying himself. I had been afraid that his loyalty to Narnia would be questioned, but his work on the battlefield distinguished most hard feelings that had been held towards him.
"Please take your seats!" The alluring voice of a young Naiad spoke clearly over the din. Immediately, the various guests took their rightful seats around the great table. Watching this humorous havoc that was as entertaining as musical chairs, I was barely aware that I was being addressed.
"–take your place, High King?" A centaur asked me tentatively.
"Yes, thank you." I had not noticed I was one of the few still standing. I casually walked to the table and suddenly stopped, a bit uncomfortable. There were about ten or so chairs that were still unoccupied, and I had a ten percent chance of picking the right one, for I had no idea where to sit. The seated persons – and creatures – looked up at me.
Before I could make a mistake, the same centaur slowly pulled out a chair at the head of the table. Embarrassed, I tried to regain my dignity with a determined walk, and slipped into the chair that had been pulled out for me.
"Your Majesty," the centaur said.
"Thank you, kind and noble centaur," I replied, feeling, once again, unable.
At the point of my sitting down, the table erupted in all sorts of babble, and it seemed my ignorance was dismissed. Susan gave me a humorous and knowing glance, and, smiling back at her, I raised my glass before taking a nice, long sip.
A/N: So, how did you like? This will be a multi-chapter fic, if you want it to continue. I promise for more of dialogue between the Pevensies and such, but I just wanted to lay the groundwork.