Disclaimer: I do not own the Pevensie brothers or any other traditional characters. I especially do not own Narnia itself - that belongs to CS Lewis. This is just for pure fun; I am not making any money off of it.

Disclaimer II: Some aspects may resemble other stories, but it is not intentional if they do. I've simply read a thousand stories and they're floating in my subconscious state. So if I copied you, it was inadvertent, and I apologize to you.

Disclaimer III: I own Plashtart and Athylt - they are my own characters for my own purposes. I ask if you would like to use them to please message me first. Also, I ask that no one steals any of the plot ideas in this story. Again, if you would like to use them, please message me first. Thank you.

Rating: K+ - no adult themes, though contains some minor violence in swordplay, as well as much pessimism. Intended for ages 9+.

Time Period: During the Narnian Golden Age (The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe) - no particular date; imagine the brothers' ages as you wish.

Pre-Reading Notes: Book verse, so if you haven't read the Silver Chair, you won't understand anything about Marshwiggles. This is a commission for yoru-magi on DeviantArt. So, all I ask is that you read and enjoy!

Athylt stood with his arms crossed, watching the two kings as they sparred - Peter, with Rhindon and his shield, and Edmund, with the sword he had used in Beruna (which he had already outgrown but refused to relinquish claim on).

"Halt," said Athylt as he stepped between the brothers, placing a hand on each of their chests.

"Are you going to reprimand me for my sword again?" Edmund tilted his head upward to look Athylt in the eye (centaurs are quite tall, mind you). "Because I'm not going to give it up." He hid the sword behind his back. "It's special."

Athylt chuckled. "No, King Edmund, though I still wish you would. I stopped you because your session for today is over."

"It was so short, though," complained Peter, sounding more like a whining five-year-old than the teenage High King he was.

"You may continue if you wish," said Athylt. He glanced to where Susan's bow and quiver of arrows was hung on a nearby post. "Just stay out of view from Queen Susan. She does not like the two of you practicing unsupervised."

"Peter, you'll hurt him," mocked Peter in his best Susan voice.

Edmund nodded furiously. "We'll be careful."

"Alright," said Athylt, "But stop if you get too tired. Tired means careless-"

"And careless means injury," finished Edmund. Satisfied that they wouldn't do anything too reckless, Athylt cantered away. "No shields," Edmund said, "Make it fair." Peter placed his shield out of the arena and came back to Edmund.

"Are you ready?" asked Peter.

"Are you?" came the reply, but it was muffled because Peter hadn't waited. He had just brought Rhindon down on Edmund, but with a flash of light, Edmund had countered the attack and swiped at Peter's side.

Peter blocked and swatted Edmund on the behind with the flat of Rhindon. "No fair!" cried Edmund. If Peter wanted to play dirty, well, that's what Edmund would do. He ducked to avoid a slash from Peter, and stuck out his leg. Peter fell with a thud against the ground and rolled over to avoid a blow from Edmund, then promptly brought Edmund to the ground as well by kicking him in the back of the knee. They rolled on the ground together, abandoning their swords. Peter got up first and dashed to Rhindon before Edmund could reach his sword.

"You're dead," said Peter, holding the point of his sword lightly against Edmund's throat.

"M'not," Edmund said, grinning and rolling backwards to find his discarded sword. The pair continued taking turns at attacking and defending until Peter backed up several steps. Edmund, believing Peter wanted a respite, turned his back on Peter. However, Peter wasn't tired and came charging at Edmund, who had just spun around, and noticed something Peter hadn't. "Wait! Stop!"

Peter stopped in his tracks, sword raised. "What...?"

"Don't kill me," whimpered a creature that had wandered into the middle of the arena.

"We weren't trying to kill you," said Edmund. He extended a hand to the creature. "What are you, anyway?"

"Marshwiggle," whispered Peter, "I've heard they're very gloomy creatures."

"My name is Plashtart, and yes you were. You had your sword raised and you were about to split me down the head." Plashtart took Edmund's hand and stood up.

"Edmund and I," Peter pointed to Edmund, "Were just practicing swordplay. I assure you that we weren't intending to hurt you. You must've wandered out here by mistake."

"Well, I suppose you won't kill me right away, but you'll leave me to rot in one of the rooms of that big castle you've got there, and then you'll make me a block of stone like the Witch does, and then you'll make me a lawn ornament-"

"The Witch?" screeched Edmund, "Why I bet you're just one of her measly servants-" Peter placed a hand on Edmund's shoulder.

"Don't."

Plashtart continued, "Or maybe you'll just throw me into the sea and those mermen will run their spears through me and make me a nice kabob. But marshwiggles don't make great meat, you know, because we've very tough muscles. Oh, no matter to them, though, because they've got the teeth of fish and I'd assume barracudas and piranhas."

"Plashtart!" said Edmund.

"Maybe you'll send me to your cats." Plashtart warily eyed the leopards that rested on the grass nearby, enjoying the sunny day. "They'll just tear me up and eat me. No good no good. Oh, what am I to do?"

"PLASHTART!" bellowed Peter.

"Yes, yes, you were saying? What will you do with me?"

"The Witch is dead," Edmund said. He made a face and glanced sourly at his gut. "You needn't worry about us hurting you."

"How can I trust you? You could be lying and-"

"PLAAASHTAAARRT!" Peter and Edmund screamed together.

"We aren't going to hurt you, kill you, or do any of the things you mentioned above," said Peter. "I'm High King Peter, and this is my brother, King Edmund. We're two of the four."

Plashtart looked astounded. "But, but, but..." He ran forward to hug Peter and Edmund. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! The marshwiggle community is ever in your debt! The Witch wanted to rid the lands of us! She hated us!"

"We know. You're welcome here whenever you like, but I imagine you'd like to go share the news with your friends," said Peter, freeing himself from Plashtart's embrace. Edmund, on the other hand, still struggled to remove the marshwiggle's spindly limbs from around his body.

"Pete," whined Edmund, "Get'm off me."

"What, you don't like me? Oh, I knew you'd planned someth-"

"PLAAAAASHHHHTAAAAAAAAAAAARTTT!"

~END~

A/N: So, this is my attempt at a meeting with a marshwiggle. I believe Lewis said something about the marshwiggles being an isolated community, so I doubt they would have heard the news right away. Anywho, let me know what you thought! Shmankyewww!