Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia.
'Twas funny how life dealt its hand; that was to be for certain. In the raggedy penny-novels Helen had acquired through her well developed yet undeniably stubborn bargaining skills, the heroine's fate took a turn for the better-just as hers had. But in her wildest dreamings, she never expected to become a queen. Not even the penny-novel girls managed that! And all the responsibility of the metamorphosis from the humble wife of a cabby to first queen of Narnia rested on the shoulders of a Lion.
Aw. But He was no mere lion; that was for certain. For the creature whose image she once glimpsed in a newspaper that some society chap had discarded held no love in its eyes. But the golden orbs of Aslan spoke of a love that transcended all confines and all reason. The Lion's glance reminded her of the one her father always possessed when she looked at Helen or her sisters. It did not matter that they were poor as church mice and with all daughters and hardly any dowry to split between them, there was no expectation to be living even in Cheapside. Hugo Baker loved each of his girls for who they were, not for what great name they could catch. She did not have a roseleaf complexion nor the pensively kind eyes described in her tattered books. Despite all her shortcomings, a stubby little nose, a boisterous disposition and her head in the pages of a penny-novel, her father's love encompassed every aspect of Helen. Under the Lion's gaze, she felt that of a father's unconditional and all consuming love.
She was only a poor soul destined to the hard life of the working class. Helen was no lady by any definition of the word. All the penny-novel girls were daintier, kinder and more feminine than her. Why, she never owned a scrap of silk before in all her sixteen years! She would never make her debut and curtsey for the Queen of England. Ah, but when her Frank had seen her for the first time in the church naught but a year ago when they became man and wife, it was obvious that didn't matter. He was no Fitzwilliam Darcy, but Frankie did not seem to mind that she did not wear a gown of pure white lace and satin like the heroines in her books did when they married at the story's close. No, her smart gray flannel was all her meager dowry could afford and Frank still looked upon her like she was royalty. Like her husband, Aslan saw beyond the confines of situation and the ill dealt hand of the lower class. They did not see the drawn freckled face of a destitute girl in woman's clothing but rather noted the woman she could be in a world beyond earthly value.
It was funny how life dealt its hand for as she raked the sheets of a merchant's family across the washboard, a Lion came to her. One that saw the glittering jewel within and bade her to come with Him. And bearing nary a question, she followed with a faith that transcended all confines and all reason.
In the first Narnian night, she braided her hair in a long plait before joining Frank in the fanciest bed she had ever seen and a smile passed her lips at the thoughts that just ran through her mind. She knew compared to those penny-novel heroines, she got the better deal.
End
A/N: I'm rather proud of this. I always imagined Helen to be extraordinarily young and in a way idealistic. The characterization of an imperfect Queen Helen weighed on my mind until I had to write about it. It is appealing to think that, like the Pevensie's, Helen and Frank had to grow into their roles too. Its so appealing in fact, I'm tempted to write a multichapter fic about the two after I finish ALBE. Anywho, please review and I hope you enjoyed!