I know this has been done hundreds of times before - other character goes into Narnia etc. but this story has been in my head since I was a kid so I'm finally writing it down.
Peter Pevensie is now in his early 20s and hasn't been back to Narnia since the events of Prince Caspian. Events are canon up until the beginning of The Silver Chair which is where this story picks up - Caspian has sailed off, Narnia is without a King as Prince Rilian is still missing (and for the purposes of this story, will not be coming back!). NB I'm assuming that Peter was 13ish at the beginning of the war, so that would set this somewhere around 1950 - I know there would have been women working in 1950, but my research hasn't gone any further than that!!
A few (Narnian) years after'The Magicians Nephew'.......
In the Wood between the Worlds, all was still, save for a lone guinea pig who nibbled at the lush grass. There were no other animals here; no movement, no wind. He was nearing the end of his natural life and had found he didn't mind the isolation.
This was a night like any other, calm, peaceful – until a sudden movement caught his attention. He raised his head, sniffing at the air and was startled as a figure came near. Hooded and cloaked, the figure moved through the Wood, making barely a sound as it wound its way through the forest. The figure walked upright but as it passed the guinea pig thought he heard the soft sound of a hoof hitting the ground. He froze as it came near but the figure passed without so much a glance in his direction. It was carrying something large and obviously heavy, and wrapped in the folds of its cloak, it caused the wraith to stoop.
The trees here were identical, the pools all alike, but the figure moved with intent. Pausing suddenly at the side of a pool, it looked back over its shoulder, before jumping into the water and disappearing from view.
The guinea pig waited, but there was no more movement. All was still again, but he moved off, choosing to find a different part of the Wood to spend his night.
London, 1950
Peter Pevensie sighed and glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time that morning before looking back to the papers that littered his desk. This had once been the limit of his ambition – a good job, a desk of his own, a regular wage that he could save to buy a house. Then later, a wife and children and somewhere, in the distant future, a comfortable retirement. Now he felt that that dream was so hopelessly and utterly mundane it almost drove him to despair. How could he possibly be satisfied with this existence after ruling as a King? After battling with a sword and shield and centaurs as his right hand men? The view from his office had once been of a beautiful vista of the sea, stretching as far as the eye could see; and it all been his to rule. Now his view was of the dingy London street outside and was partially obscured by the wall of the building next door and the rickety fire escape. To make matters worse his new secretary was not the quiet, demure woman he had hoped. He had a tendency to act like the High King on occasion and it usually made most people respect him; even the older members of the firm deferred to him when he put his views across; but not her. On her first day he had made the mistake of ordering her to take some dictation (He couldn't help, it sometimes the regal tone just came out of his mouth without him consciously making the decision).
"Mr Pevensie," she had snapped. "I am here to assist you. Not to be your skivvy and certainly not to be spoken to like a serf! If you wish me to undertake tasks you can ask me politely."
He would have been within his rights to have her fired for speaking to him with such insolence, but he hadn't. At least having someone to argue with might make work more interesting. Besides, Peter had secretly always thought that a secretary that was nice to look at would be a pleasant addition to the office; and while he would never admit she was fascinating to look at. He regarded her now through the glass in his office door. She was odd looking to say the least. Not unattractive, not at all, but her features were so mismatched it made one wonder about her history. Her olive toned skin was at a stark contrast with her auburn hair. Her eyes had a slight upward tilt that gave her an eastern, exotic air, but that was utterly in congruous with their clear blue colour. She reminded Peter of a Dryad; they often had strange colouring that reflected the species of the trees they inhabited. The Dryads, of course, had never told Peter he was an arrogant sod. Neither, he guessed, would they regard him with the contempt he was suddenly subjected to as Angela looked up from her desk and caught him looking at her. Again. He sighed and checked the clock once more. It was going to be a long day.
Angela tiredly descended the steps into the underground station and stopped short as she recognised the man standing at the platform's edge. Typical. In her first job she had been patronized and treated like a housemaid. At her last job working as a secretary at an awful school called Experiment House, she had been talked down to by the professors and treated like an idiotic child. She had sworn never to take that kind of treatment again. It may be a man's world, but after the war men were thin on the ground, and women were making their way into the workplace like never before. The very least she wanted was some respect. But he, this Mr Pevensie man, was so bloody arrogant it was unbelievable. Women simpered over him, men deferred to him as though he were royalty. She stood slightly behind him but he seemed to sense her presence and turned as she reached his shoulder.
"Ms Lowe"
She inclined her head to acknowledge his greeting and then looked away, avoiding conversation at all costs. The draught from the approaching train whipped a loose strand of her hair across her face and she turned her head from it to come face to face with him again. She frowned and started to move away to make her way to the other end of the platform
Pevensie suddenly looked angry
"Miss Lowe - I don't know what your problem is, but could you at least try and be civil?"
"Civil? Me? You're the one who seems to think he needn't be polite.""
"Polite? You're my secretary, asking you to undertake tasks for me is my job!" his voice had risen and people were starting to stare
"I know that, but if a secretary is all I'm ever going to be, I'd at least like to spend my working days not being spoken to like a slave."
"Miss Lowe, if you knew what was good for you, you wouldn't be walking such a fine line with someone who could have you fired"
Angela riled and opened her mouth to respond but suddenly felt a tug at her sleeve and lurched as something pushed her
"Don't you dare touch me!"
"Touch you? I didn't, I-"
With sudden force the wind was picking up around them – what Angela had thought was the draught from the incoming train but it was getting stronger and stronger. She whirled round to see down the tunnel and felt Pevensie grab her hand as the largest gust yet swept her completely off her feet. Everything went dark as she landed with a thump face down on the ground.
So... I hope this reads well, and I'll happily continue if people want to read it. Please review!
