This was originally to be a oneshot, but once it reached the 8th page I figured I'd better break it up. Also, I'm running out of steam. I need a good kick in the pants.

The progression of this piece took me entirely by surprise. It went from extensive fluff plotting to something that had almost none. Please don't give up on me! Peter's thoughts during the Susan/Caspian wedding would, I feel, be the most interesting of the lot. Susan and Caspian's would both

(a) be repetitive, based on the number of fics like that, and

(b) be written, a la me, more along the lines of ecstatic married bliss. Boring.

Lucy I've never found to be a particularly interesting character (Goody Two-Shoes, much?) and Edmund, while awesome, wouldn't have the older-brother-protector syndrome that Peter would. So there's my excuse. Make of it what you will.

In Which There is a Wedding

THE LOCATION had been surprising to all of them when Caspian had requested it; but he was adamant, and, as is the way of the goals of the determined, it was ultimately given the favorable vote from each party. It was true, as the newly crowned king had pointed out, that there was scarcely another place in Narnia that possessed the monumental proportions needed to contain the guest list- even the crankiest, crustiest old codgers were stirring their legs to make the auspicious date. The opportunity to not only see the four rulers of the Golden Age but also to observe one of them get married…! Well. Anyone who even suggested the possibility of missing the event was questioned for madness.

But Peter didn't like it.

If it wasn't enough that his sister (his sister!) was actually going to be wedded to the callow idiot ("wedded" being the point after which Peter sternly refused to think), now he had to go and insist that the entire bloody celebration was moved to the one place that Peter had prayed he would never see again.

Beruna.

Peter seriously doubted whether he was capable of hating Caspian more than he did at the point when he had made it clear that he wasn't backing down, no way, no how. The former was completely perplexed as to why the latter had been so stubborn upon the issue. Did he take pleasure in giving his High King pain, or was it actually just a careless oversight of a delicate subject? Rest assured, Caspian had undergone due inquiry as to his motive. He had refused to answer a single word beyond "It is what I want." Infuriating.

Now Peter stood looking up at the much-famed slope that had marked the turning point of his first battle, his first success, his first true realization of horror and death. The beginnings of wisdom had been birthed in the lifeblood of the creatures that fell around him, crying out hopelessly to the heartless blue sky. Aye, the beginnings of wisdom- and the beginnings of a self-inflicted exile from this patch of land and so from the memories that would have torn him apart. He had been thirteen. A boy.

He could map out the ground with sickening precision as he gazed at the earth that seemed to roll and boil beneath his feet. There was the dwarf he had stabbed through the breastplate, and two steps beyond, the hag he had dispatched with a swift thrust to the hamstring…his stomach rebelled, though naught a bite he had eaten to break his fast since supper. Three dodges, a leap, and Edmund writhed upon the ground in agony with the witch's staff buried in his ribcage. With the cruel sshing! of metal wrought for killing, Rhindon swept out in an arc towards the creature who had murdered his brother-

"Hey! Pete!"

The ghosts scattered; Peter opened his eyes and saw that his right fist was clenched over his left so tightly that the color had been forced from the skin. As he shook out his hands Edmund ran up to him, panting slightly in the heat.

"They're starting, you know," he informed Peter, and bent double, elbows on his knees, to catch his breath. "If I were you I'd make sure I wasn't late. Wedding or no, Susan'll turn you into a living quiver if you don't get a move on." He winced. "She's already been giving me the death glare."

This was a different day, a different era. There was no White Witch to slash and shred through his family. With an effort, Peter managed to force his mind back to the task at hand. "Right. Sorry, Ed."

The younger nodded, accepting the apology, and straightened to go. Something made him hesitate. "Peter…"

"I'll be right along." Quickly, he turned his back, recalling too late that this would take his sightline back to the cliffs. Blast! He couldn't glance away now, Edmund would work it out that he was-

"I know, Pete."

Double blast! Peter folded his arms loosely in front of him and pretended confusion. "Sorry?"

"Nice try, but you're not fooling me that easy." Edmund walked up and positioned himself directly between his brother and the mountainous horizon, crossing his arms, also, in an odd sort of relief mirror-reflection. When Peter cocked his head to the side in "puzzlement," Edmund did too. Under any other circumstance it would have been comical.

"Peter, I understand why you don't want to do this here. It's difficult."

"And you have no such problem!" It came out frustrated, accusatory.

Edmund met Peter's eyes squarely. "I came to terms with things a long time ago, Pete. I had to. I was even younger than you, remember? But I made myself think of it through another perspective."

"What do you mean?"

"This is the place where I almost died," he stomped lightly upon the rock with his foot, "But it's also where Lucy first used her cordial, you see? And where we understood that we'd won the war. And where I came back, really, truly, absolutely. It's where evil was vanquished for a day, Peter." He paused. "And it's where our sister is going to get married. Just a piece of dirt and grass. It can be anything- you must simply choose the memories you want to mark it by."

Peter took a deep breath and let his arms fall back to his sides, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension away. "When did you get so smart, Edmund?"

The other grinned. "I've always been smart. It just took a doofus like you all this time to recognize it."

The green had been completely covered. It had also been bedecked, bedazzled, stitched, embroidered, flowered, gilded, and any number of other extravagant decorative verbs that are so present at weddings. An ever-shifting mass of color writhed across the plain, turning it into a veritable circus of merriment and making an absolutely hideous amount of noise.

Straight through the center of the mayhem was a line of sanctuary, a single streak of sanity protected on either side by velveted ropes. It danced up through the smoothest part of the slope, swelling out to a cul-de-sac on the pinnacle of a grassy hill. Astonishingly, no one had attempted to leap over the scant barrier and gain a position that much closer to the quickly approaching proceedings- yet, anyway. Peter pulled his head back into the red-and-gold striped tent erected at the bride's end of the aisle, feeling slightly ill. Sitting in a chair against the curved canvas wall was Susan, skirt bundled up carefully by her handmaid so as to avoid the dirt that so frequently is a side effect of the ground. Her veil rested in her lap, folded into a cloudy square. She quirked a brow at her older brother.

"They're not going to go away just because you can't see them, Sir 'Fraidy-cat," she said with a smile.

"I'm not scared!" Peter retorted, and plucked at his sleeve. Of course he was scared. He was going to be handing his eldest sister off to some salivating male in front of the entire Narnian population. "I'm only…nervous."

"And that makes sense how?" But Susan took mercy on him and turned her attention to the girl beside her. "Acacia, I think it's time."

"Your majesty." The handmaid's coppery skin and thick accent branded her as Telmarine, but she had unreservedly given her loyalty to the four Pevensies when they had swept through Miraz's castle in the aftermath of their victory and released her from her cramped and moldy prison beneath the throne room. She had been jailed for trying to sneak a roast from the palace kitchens- not that the monarchs had blamed her, once she stood and revealed her skeletal form. But the signs of hunger had all but left her now, and she had proven to be someone who a quick wit and well-developed sense of humor.

Reverently the girl helped Susan to her feet and arranged the train behind her, tugging at her gown until it was arranged to satisfaction. With trembling fingers she lifted the veil, shaking it loose, and pinned it meticulously to her High Queen's hair. The dark tresses flowed long and free down Susan's back. "Peter, if you will?"

Swallowing, Peter took her left arm with his right and pulled open the tent-flap to start the dreaded trek through the horde of well-wishers. There was something symbolic about climbing down to one's future partner, but Peter didn't feel up to examining it at the moment.

A wave crashed over the crowd, hundreds upon thousands of heads turning to peer at this new spectacle. A murmur rippled through the air as they beheld Susan, she of the glowing smile and raven locks, she the warrior-gentle Queen of their lives, their land, their hearts. Peter took two steps forward, hanging onto his sister for all he was worth, and another gasp rose around them as her dress caught the light from the noonday sun. He had thought they had been loud before. Loud? Ha! That was a mere cricket's chirp to the cacophonous clamor they raised now.

Peter had never studied the costume very closely, not wanting to think about what it meant and represented. But now as his subjects ooohed and sighed over the garment, he couldn't stop himself from sneaking a glance at the hateful thing. It possessed a very tight, very slender bodice that extended down to the tops of her thighs but not (to Peter's displeasure) up to cover anything above her collarbone. Her arms were, to all intents and purposes, bare, with only a thin strip hanging over the each bicep. The skirt, at least, was the proper length- it was actually rather attractive, Peter thought, before reminding himself how much he despised this entire outfit. The only color in the mass of white was a goldenrod triangle pointing down to her belly and a vertical stripe of the same hue gracing the front of the petticoat. A posy of wild daffodils was clasped between Susan's palms, offering a subtle fragrance to tint the surroundings.

But it was not until he and Susan had descended a fair way down the aisle that the full majesty- the "crowning achievement," as it were- of the ensemble was revealed. At once Peter understood the need for the unusually large length of the walkway. For roughly ten meters behind his sister floated out the thinnest, lightest, most elegant veil that Peter had ever witnessed- and he had seen a his share in the fifteen years of his first reign. It billowed in the slight breezes that puffed across their faces, and Peter was struck with the notion that it must be an extraordinary challenge to walk in such a thing without tripping or ripping it from one's head. A whole new respect for his sister expanded in his chest.

Not that the High King would ever be doing anything so feminine as admiring a dress. Peter cleared his throat and turned his eyes steadfastly forward, focusing at the minute figures at the far edge of this doomed march. He could barely make out their faces, but he knew at once who they each were- Edmund on the left, probably making some expression of mischief; Lucy on the right, already tapping her feet; the unmentionable pig in the middle and then-

-and then Aslan, whom Peter had to quickly look away from lest the lion read the fear and reluctance in his heart. Not that he wouldn't, anyway, but…but somehow the reflexive movement comforted Peter, however useless it was.

He could tell the exact moment that Caspian saw, close enough to pick out the details from, his bride. It wasn't understated or restrained in any way. His eyes bulged; his elbows flopped limply; his jaw almost hit the tops of his polished boots. Awe filled his entire being, the wonder of a simple peasant regarding, for the first time, a goddess. Peter was reminded of the first Greek fishermen happening upon Athena upon the Acropolis, blessed, beautiful. He wondered why that particular fancy had popped into his head, and then remembered that Ancient Greece had given him no end of trouble in school during the interim between his trips to Narnia. Strangely, Susan hadn't had the problem with history that the other Pevensies battled. While they mixed up the timelines of two different worlds, it was as if she could accept that they were separate and study accordingly. They drew nearer, and Caspian's wonder was joined with a sort of wild happiness of the sort that Peter hadn't ever come in contact with before.

It struck a wistful chord within him. He would never know that perfect joy. Odd- it hadn't crossed his mind before how lucky these two were, Caspian and Susan. They had fallen in- yes, he had to admit it- love. And had been able to marry. It made perfect political sense: by joining the houses of Telmar and the Golden Age, they assured that both the race descended from pirates and the menagerie of those native to Narnia would accept the next upon the throne. Their child. He or she would be a blend of both worlds, and so able to satisfy all.

But such a serendipitous turn of events could hardly be hoped for twice in the same period. He, Peter, as High King needs must marry purely for his country…and so must Edmund, and so must Lucy, much as it pained him to think it. How could he possibly bear this twice more, watching his siblings be carried away? And then to faceless suitors whom they would barely know. For him, he had already accepted what his future would be. It troubled him far less than that of his family.

He felt his teeth clench. Would Edmund he subject to a shrewish, nagging spouse who tormented him night and day with her fearsome wailing? Would Lucy's husband be old and grizzled, with foul breath and a drunken stagger? Right then, right there Peter vowed never to allow that to happen. He would wed the crone himself, if he must, but he'd be damned if anyone who called him "brother" would be forced to undergo the never-ending torture of a bad match.

Susan muttered something out of the corner of her mouth. Peter frowned questioningly. "What"

"Peter, you're cutting off the circulation in my arm!"

"Oh. Sorry." I do seem to be apologizing a lot today. It took a good amount of effort to slacken his grip, though he kept a good hold. Inevitably he would have to let go, but he was going to hang on to his sister for as long as he could.

His thoughts returned to the dilemma of a few seconds before. Why had he not considered this thirteen hundred years ago? But then, they had all been so…young during that age. Their bodies had matured, but still they had remained children. Losing Narnia and then gaining it again, only to find it harsh and cold, had wrought an irreversible change in the four. They had grown up.

Again, his gaze flicked over the cliffs bordering Beruna. In his refusal to think on what had transpired there, in his near-complete shutting off of that part of his memory, he now recognized immaturity. Other parts of his knowledge he had allowed to develop, but the hasty omission had made the base of his mentality shaky and unstable. The thought presented itself that that was why he had shattered so quickly after his return to England. In that regard he was more juvenile than Lucy- she, as with the others, had built off of their experiences, not shoved them away. And as much as Peter had pretended that he did not recall, he had never been able to fully wall in that corner of his mind. Forgetting brings weakness, remembrance strength. Peter nearly laughed aloud at himself. After all that, to presume to offer out something profound! He had been correctly named. Magnificent. Loud and ostentatious and luxurious without…and within, emptiness.

One step, two steps, three. They had reached the platform upon which Susan would sever the final ties to girlhood. Agonizingly, he released his grasp and moved to the side, next to Edmund. Lucy flashed him a familiar grin before fixating her attention again upon the couple about to be pronounced husband and wife. Like both Ed and himself, she was arrayed in crimson- Peter vividly remembered (And how! He'd been hawk-watching Lucy since they'd arrived here for the signs of adolescence)the argument a month earlier in which she had insisted, reasons unknown, upon wearing green. The matter had finally reached a resolution when Susan had taken her aside and gently, as per her title, explained that the green and red together would look far too much like Christmas: and while Christmas was lovely, it wasn't the appropriate setting for a wedding, especially one in the middle of summer. Besides, it would rather ruin the whole colors-of-Narnia theme (another move on the political chessboard, courtesy of Caspian.).

Peter allowed the groom a cursory glance. He was sporting a pair of gold breeches and a tunic with matching trim. With relief, Peter noted that he hadn't donned the ornate piece of architecture that had been granted him on his coronation. Neither of the guests of honor were wearing their crowns, the High King realized. A thin, simple circlet was the only adornment across Caspian's forehead- and Susan, of course, had the veil.

Aslan had never been one for lengthy speeches. In the past, it was yet another thing that Peter respected and venerated him for- this skill to say more in the shortest, most direct words than ever could another convey with pages of eloquence. He was uncomfortable standing so near the great lion now, however, as he had no doubt that He knew exactly what Peter was thinking- and Peter's hopeless wish for the proceedings to never end, for Peter to never lose his sister. Of all the things in this universe, time is the one that cannot be halted. It has a part in everything; were it to be somehow blocked or congested, the very threads of the cosmos should unravel. Manipulated, it could be, shifted, sometimes even reversed, as proved by the improbable phenomenon of four English siblings discovering the door to a land of mystery and magic- and then appearing again in their birth-world, the same ages they had exited, and afterwards finding it again, thirteen hundred years in the future. But never stopped. Peter did his best to avoid Aslan's eye.

"…amen."

When Caspian took Susan in his arms Lucy sighed happily, Edmund smirked, and Peter chuckled awkwardly and fastened his gaze to the knuckles of his knit fingers. Most thankfully the ordeal was short and (judging by the audience reaction) relatively free of scandal. Soon Peter could resume looking around without much fear. Twin steeds of white had been led thorough the guests and waited beside the newlyweds, so close Peter could make out the individual bristles on the snowy chins and hear the click of Horse teeth. The custom, Peter understood, was one invented by the second generation of Telmarines to settle in Narnia.

Peter reluctantly conceded that having the bride and groom ride upon Horseback, as opposed to in a carriage, was much more practical on the largely untamed terrain around him. Both Horses had specifically asked for this honor. As Susan swung herself up onto the one nearest her (comforting Peter immensely- same old independent Su!), she tossed her mane and whispered a few words of congratulations which she genuinely expressed gratitude for. Her cheeks were flushed with happiness. Caspian laughingly tried to climb up behind her, and gamely endured the subsequent hoots and yanking across to the other mount with a foolish grin. Peter was about to act aloof and superior before seeing that both Edmund and Lucy had joined the fray, the former punching him on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion. With a theatrical grimace, Caspian grabbed the spot and rubbed it as if in pain. Cheers and guffaws erupted from those surrounding him. He certainly knows how to play a crowd, Peter thought, and made sure he got a couple of good-natured jibes in before Caspian escaped to the front of the marriage procession.