Disclaimer: Narnia and the characters you recognise belong to C.S. Lewis.
A/N: This is a story dealing with Christianity, love and loss. It's strange, as I'm an athiest who's never even been to church, that I'm writing something like this - don't worry, however, as I'm going to absolutely no condemning of faith or anything of the sort. This include (alas) some Peter/OC and Lucy/OC, but I'm hoping it's done in a way that isn't simply to give them both love interests. If you've read my fic Dubium you might want to know that this takes place just as Eustace and Jill leave (not that I've actually written that far yet) and if you haven't, don't worry, that story doesn't apply to this one. :)
Amor, the title, translates roughly to 'love' in Latin.
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The Great Hall was filled with joyous laughter and the sounds of sweet, cheerful music. It was lit by large lanterns that gave the room a dim glow, dipping all of the dancing creatures in a hazy, orange light. The food, laid out on the long table, was exquisite and rich. The dresses that the women wore were simple but stunning. The tunics the men wore were bright and comfortable. Talking Beasts, fauns, centaurs, dryads, nymphs and others waltzed around the room, with a sprinkling of humans.
It was the most lavish celebration Cair Paravel had seen in a long time; the fifth anniversary of the Kings and Queens' coronations. The four monarchs sat in the centre of the table, talking, laughing and feasting. Everybody was in high spirits, but none so more than the monarchs, who's chatter and celebration was the loudest.
Queen Lucy the Valiant, the youngest of them all, sat next to her brother, King Peter the Magnificent. They talked of defeated the White Witch all those years ago, and of their coronation, and of the brilliant party they were holding. Queen Lucy was ecstatic; she simply loved parties and feasts, and was enjoying this more than she ever had before. At fourteen years old, the allure of dresses and dancing had grown strong, though she found battles just as thrilling.
"My Queen, may you do me the honour of dancing?" a young, respected Narnian lord asked, bowing low and offering her his hand. Thrilled, she consented, and together they proceeded into the crowds. He was handsome, and around her age, and Queen Lucy couldn't help but find him rather sweet. A faint blush came to her cheeks as they danced across the hall. She could feel both King Edmund and King Peter's protective gaze on her, but ignored them. A dance was merely a dance.
"You dance quite as well as any faun can," he complimented her, and she smiled. Her dearest friend Mr Tumnus had taught her the nimble steps of Narnian dance, and she had been practising with him in preparation for this night.
"You must have been taught by a great faun, yourself, Lord Falcwin, for your step is as light as anyone's," she laughed. The merry song came to an end, and as the musicians prepared to strike up another song, Lord Falcwin led Queen Lucy to the side of the hall. Here, it was less crowded, but the burn of her siblings' eyes still bore into the young Queen.
"Your Majesty," the young Lord smiled, though nervously. "I do not expect you to accept this, or to even consider me worthy of your grace and beauty, but I cannot help but ask - will you accept my most humble hand in marriage?"
And all Queen Lucy could think about was that the High King, and King Edmund were marching over as quickly as possible, twin expressions of concern and alarm on their faces.
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Lucy awoke, suddenly. She immediately regretted doing so. The memory had been so sweet, but oh so painful. Quite alarmingly, she found herself crying, as it had been for so many, many nights. There was always the bittersweet dream, the memories, and then there were tears. She muffled them with her sheets, trying to stop the woeful feelings wash over her. She longed to return.
Not one day had gone since she'd gone to Narnia last had she not thought of it. Her kingdom; her true home. The great dance in her beloved Cair Paravel and her first proposal were just one of the things she always thought about. There were her friends; Mr Tumnus, Caspian, Trumpkin, Orieus, Reepicheep and countless others. Most of all, there was Aslan. Dear, dear Aslan. Her crying intensified, her whole body shaking with it.
Oh, Aslan. Was she never to see him again? The beautiful eyes that could complete her entire being with just one glance. The soft, golden fur that felt like silk to touch. His mere presence making her feel like she was truly worth something, truly a Queen. She had tried so hard to find him in this world. She really had. But it was hopeless. She felt so lonely in England.
She curled herself tightly into a ball, but the tears didn't stop. Why would they? She was still here, in her small, cosy bedroom, still alone and torn from the land she loved. No longer could she ride bareback across the beautiful flower-strewn fields, no longer could she have long talks with the dryads, no longer could she be valiant.
Her bedroom door suddenly swung open, and there was the noise of somebody entering, and shutting the door behind them. She tried to stop her crying to no avail; if the intruder heard, the intruder heard. She could easily make up a lie as to why she was in such a state.
"Lu?" came a soft, concerned voice. In the darkness, she could vaguely make out the shape of a boy, standing by her bed. "It's Edmund. I was passing and I heard you. What's wrong?"
"Oh, Edmund," she sobbed, groping around in the darkness to find him. She finally did, and put her arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder. "It's Narnia. It always is Narnia. I want to go back."
"Lucy," Edmund sighed, softly, sadly, "I know it's hard. I miss it too. There are times that I feel like nothing is worth my time in this world, now that I've been there."
"Exactly," she wept, clinging to him. She felt his hands run through her hair comfortingly.
"It's not going to go away, the pain," he whispered gravely. "But neither are the fond memories. Or the knowledge of it. Aslan said we'd find him here, and he wouldn't lie to us. It must only be a matter of time before we do. Until then we shall have to be as close to Narnia as possible - meaning that you have to try and be valiant, Lu."
"What can I do, in this world, being valiant? In Narnia I could fight battles and good causes - here I make no difference wherever I go. I'm just another girl."
"You're not," her brother replied, firmly. "You're Queen Lucy, the Valiant. You're a Queen, Lu. Think of all the adventures we've had, the people we've met. No other girl, aside from Susan, of course, has managed to have that!"
"That makes it worse," she murmured, thickly, trying to stem her tears. "It's the knowledge of it that hurts. It's the knowledge that it goes on without us; it doesn't need us anymore."
"Yes, it does," he said, almost sternly. "You know what Aslan said, he said we'll always be Kings and Queens. We'll get back someday, of course we will. Come now, Lu, you don't need to cry."
"You're right," Lucy mumbled, pulling away from her brother and wiping her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Ed, it just sometimes gets too much."
"I know," he sighed, heavily. "I honestly know. We're all going through it."
"Thanks, Edmund." She gave him half a smile, burying herself under her covers once more. Edmund and her hadn't talked for a long while, not properly anyway, and it was a comfort to her to know he wasn't following Susan's path and renouncing Narnia as his former home.
"Anytime," he chortled, ruffling her blonde hair and straightening up, stretching. "It's awfully late and I'd better be off to bed. Come and see me if you ever need to talk, alright?"
"I will," she promised, nestling her head into her pillow, and she heard her older brother sigh lightly before leaving the room, the door shutting gently behind him. Even if she was still in pain, still raw from her loss, she was relieved to have siblings - no, more than that, best friends - who understood and would always be there for her.
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Peter slowly made his way up the stairs, blinking sleepily and running a tired hand through his hair. The week had been exhausting; looking for work around the town, bidding farewell to his cousin Eustace and Eustace's friend, Jill, as well as helping his father garden as the last of the summer filtered away. He needed a good night's sleep, and then he felt sure he'd feel more revived sufficiently for the weekend.
Once at the top of the stairs, he yawned, shook himself and carried on, down the corridor. First Susan's room, then a spare room, then Lucy's…
He came to a sudden halt outside his youngest sister's door; there were sounds behind it, soft chatter, and, he realised, horrified, crying. It was evidently a girl's tears, he could tell, and the low, comforting voice must be Edmund's. Feeling a little guilty at doing so, Peter leant towards to door to listen to the conversation.
"You're Queen Lucy, the Valiant. You're a Queen, Lu. Think of all the adventures we've had, the people we've met. No other girl, aside from Susan, of course, has managed to have that!" Edmund was whispering, evidently desperate for his little sister to understand what he was trying to say.
"That makes it worse," Lucy muttered in reply, voice thick with tears. "It's the knowledge of it that hurts. It's the knowledge that it goes on without us; it doesn't need us anymore."
Peter withdrew from the door, feeling as though he had been hit in the stomach. He blinked a few times, then hastily made his way down to his bedroom, trying to keep his thoughts as far away from what he had just heard as possible. It was as though ice had flooded through him, ice that doused even his weariness in it's relentless journey.
He was soon in his room, and sank down to sit on his bed, hardly knowing what to think anymore. It goes on without us; it doesn't need us anymore. Peter had lost count of how many times before he'd felt the same, every night, as he curls up underneath his covers and remembers the days long gone, the days when he really was somebody, really meant something.
One part of him wanted to go and see if Lucy is okay, to reassure her as Edmund was so good at doing. Another part of him wanted to be like Susan and forget, or pretend to, finally moving on and making a life for himself in this world. The last part of him just yearned, desperately, to somehow get home. Home being his real home, his beloved Narnia, his Kingdom.
He dressed for bed, and then made his way over to the desk at the side of his room. There was a washbowl by it, and he splashed the water into his face, remembering the cool sea breeze that used to hit him all those years ago. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, turning back to his bed, he saw his reflection. A man of twenty, almost twenty one, feeling both impossibly younger and impossibly older.
Peter got into bed, and simply lay there, staring out into the darkness, Lucy's words still running unimpeded through his mind. Oh, Narnia … oh, Aslan … Ashamed, he felt tears rising into his eyes, and so quickly blinked them away. Who was he to judge what the Great Lion had chosen for him? He should do as he was told to, looking for Aslan in this world.
It had been hard. He went to Church every other Sunday and prayed with the others, but his heart was not always in it. As he stared up into the iconic faces of those magnificent religious figures, he couldn't help but think how fake they all seemed, these artificial depictions, when he had experienced true wonder and holiness. Afterward, he felt blasphemous, and he never spoke of his thoughts to the others.
He couldn't cry in the night like Lucy did. He couldn't expect his siblings to come in and comfort him like they all did her. He was the oldest, the most responsible, the one who cared but shouldn't need caring for. If faced with another in those dark hours of misery and doubt, he wouldn't know how to act. He should have been the giver, not the taker.
Before he dropped off that night, he thought of last Sunday, sat in the pew in Church, raising his head after prayer. There on the stone wall next to him was a brightly coloured picture of Saint Peter, blonde and strong-chested, denying his knowledge of Jesus after it had been predicted he would do so, a tear rolling down his rosy cheeks.
He remembered, as sleep drowned him, the horror and familiarity that struck him, seeing the picture, and the tear that slid down his own cheek as he left the Church, hot liquid rolling down burning, guilty skin.
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Once King Peter and King Edmund had dealt with Lucy's first suitor (much to her seeming chagrin), King Edmund bid his brother farewell to go and ask a dryad to dance. King Peter took a moment to survey his wondrous surroundings, the delight swelling inside him. Couples danced and laughed and talked, servants of the court were red-faced and merry, his fellow King and Queens were all having a wonderful time.
Five years had passed since they had come into this glorious land, five whole years. Now, at the age of eighteen, King Peter had a new battle on his hands; that of trying to find a girl to take as High Queen, as was expected of him. So far, however, he couldn't find her, couldn't find anybody.
With a small, wistful sigh, he went back to the table, and sat by Queen Susan, who graced him with a beautiful smile, having blossomed into an extremely sought-after seventeen year old. He smiled back, warmly, and then got stuck into the conversation of the days of the past, and the glorious future that stretched ahead of him.
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But he that lacketh these things is blind, and cannot see afar off, and hath forgotten that he was purged from his old sins. Peter 1:9
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A/N: It's short, sorry!, but it's just an introductory chapter. I promise the rest will be much longer. I should really be working on Dubium, I know, but I really couldn't help but write this. I've got lots of plans for this story. Please review, it brightens my day:D
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