Peter Pevensie, a.k.a High King Peter the Magnificent
Peter walked up and down the corridors of his school restlessly, waiting for Edmund's last class to get over. Annoyingly, there was a twenty-minute gap between the end of Peter's last class and Edmund's, which gave Peter a lot of unnecessary time to dwell on a lot of stud he knew he shouldn't really be pondering over or reminiscing about.
Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King of Queen.
Aslan's words made their way into Peter's head again- and then there was no barrier that could prevent the flood of memories. Images, one more vivid than the other than the other rapidly flew past his eyes, and an overwhelmed Peter sat down on a nearby bench, surrendering to his brain and living instead within the memories. He missed Narnia…and so much about it…
Cair Paravel
It was the castle where the Pevensie's rule really began. It was the splendiferous, breathtaking castle, where Peter along with his siblings had been coronated Kings and Queens of Narnia by the mighty Aslan after defeating the evil witch Jadis and ending a century of enchanted winter at Narnia when they were mere teenagers - and even younger than that, in Lucy's and Edmund's case.
It was the castle which had housed them for more than two decades - Peter wished every single day that he could go back to owning the room that was once his - the plush blue carpets with matching curtains that covered large, floor-to-ceiling windows, his expansive study table fabricated by the cleverest dwarves out of rich teak wood, and most of all, his cosy four-poster bed dressed with thick bedding bearing regal silver embellishment where he retired after a long day.
He sighed when thoughts of the splendid green garden filled his head, and his mouth watered upon thinking of the delicious apples Susan's apple trees had borne. It was where he had been taught archery by Susan (though he could never come up to Susan's level, he was good enough to protect himself and quite a few around him) and had learnt to properly master his horse.
It was his one place of solace. It told tales of his learning, mistakes, decision-making and ruling. Above all, its very walls sang of balls, parties, foreign delegations and oh-so-much more. It rung with the purity of Narnia.
Above all, it was home - more so even than Finchley, England.
Ruling Narnia
Peter was a natural leader - he was very much talented that way. It took him barely half an hour to get his whole grade, comprising of two-hundred odd loud, noisy boys, organized and prepared for an impromptu field trip to a place three hours away.
It didn't take him much to get Narnia in the best shape possible, either. He had done Aslan proud by taking a damaged country populated by citizens who were either terror-filled, lacked faith, incorporative or just plain stubborn and changed each and every one of them using sensible ideas, abundant of energy or, in a few rare cases, gentle admonishing.
Narnia, which had been under the icy spell of Jadis the White Witch for a hundred whole years, was now thriving in greenery, its population extremely satisfied and very much in awe of their High King Peter. They now had complete faith in him to find a solution to every problem and bring a smile upon every face. He dealt expertly with delegates from the neighbouring countries of Archenland, Telmar, Galma Isles and even the occasional (though very rare) pleasant Calormene.
The festival seasons were the times that Peter's natural leadership came in handy the most. Tournaments had to be organized, the participants had to be handled with a great deal of care for fear of wounded egos, confusion (which showed its ugly head a great deal) had to be banished, and the rulers of other countries had to be housed at the Cair. Peter had so enjoyed the hustle-bustle of those times, personally overseeing every little thing from attire to setting up of the stadium and actually seemed to enjoy the sleepless nights and over-tight schedules.
Now, he seemed to have an extraordinary amount of time on his hands and time became something that he quite despised - for he wasn't able to do the things that his heart desired the most.
Riding
The feeling of his steed's powerful muscles rippling beneath him as he geared up for a long, exhilarating ride either with his siblings or on his own, was one of King Peter's favourite pastimes. Gregory, Peter's black stallion had been his faithful companion for many a year before he became too old to attain the speeds he once reached.
Riding helped Peter reduce whatever stress and tension the day might give him - once he was out with his horse, nothing else matters so much. The galloping motion of the horse, the wind whipping through his hair as he raced across the open and the feel of the friendly sunshine on him after being within the castle walls gave him an inexplicable joy that knew no bounds. Oh, the adventures he had barged into with Gregory.
But finally, it was Gregory, who had led him to the lamppost on his hunt for the White Stag - and back to England, back to being just a child Peter - where High King Peter the Magnificent did not exist. Back to school, ego-clashes, birthday parties, grocery-shopping and the other mundane chores of daily life. A life that he had enjoyed or twenty seven years - and left behind.
Princess Rosalina
She was perhaps the most integral connection with Narnia that Peter missed the most. Before the rule of Jadis, Narnia had been ruled my not one but many small 'kings', each who governed a particular region of the vast country.
Princess Rosalina was the sword-fighting, arrow-wielding, kick-boxing daughter of King Jeffery who was supposed to have taken over the governance of Lantern Waste, had Jadis not created such havoc and misery within the country. Rosalie had hated her very feminine name, and in her youth had insisted that she be addressed as 'Roger.'
Peter laughed softly as he remembered his first meeting with the gorgeous princess. Clad in her brother's clothes, she had been engaged in a fierce mock-duel with her brother Rousse, a look of immense concentration moulded upon her face.
"Try and defeat me, oh great brother of mine!" There was a triumphant edge to her voice, and a startled Peter realised that she was indeed a woman and not the young man she had mistaken her to be.
Her brother only smiled at his determined twin. He accepted that she was as good a swordsman as he was, maybe even better. But he knew that she was incapable when it came to wielding two swords at once, a lesson he planned on introducing to her the following week.
A split second later, Rousse's sword lay on the ground and Rosalina playfully punched her brother on the arm. "How does it feel, my lord, to be defeated by a woman for the third time this week?" An impish grin graced her features.
"Not so bad, seeing as you happen to be my one and only sister." He gazed at her affectionately, and the duo proceeded to the castle, where Rose, Rousse and their father were staying as guests for two weeks.
At that instant, Peter felt something tug at his heartstrings. For twenty odd years, he had been High King of Narnia, and guests from his own land as well as plenty from the neighbouring countries had become a familiar sight at the castle. He had had dances with numerous princesses, each more beautiful that the other, all vying for attention from the handsome High King who had no time for love.
Until now.
Never before had he seen a woman so uninterested in her looks and so deeply immersed with the running of the state. She was keen to play her little role in ensuring that Narnia as a nation never had the need to feel threatened.
As he watched her for the next few days, debating with Edmund about the threats the rough giants of Etinsmoor posed for the Narnians and Archenlandians; wrinkling her nose playfully at the elegant ball gown Lucy held up for her and then laughing merrily; duelling with her brother whenever she got the chance; the walks she took with Susan, discussing almost every topic under the sun from brothers to apple orchards and more, he felt himself enchanted with this simple yet daredevil of a princess.
His first, actual conversation with her was at the birthday ball organised for her and her twin after he worked up the nerve to ask her if she would grant him a dance. Smiling, she had apologetically told him that she was better off at the battlefield than the ballroom, and a bashful Peter glided across with her as he patiently helped her get the difficult steps right.
The rest, as they say, is history.
"Peter? Peter! My class has gotten over, brother!" Edmund waved frantically at his brother, who didn't seem to be here on planet earth. Ed walked a few steps towards his unresponsive brother, and immediately understood what was going through his mind when he caught the look on Peter's face. He gently placed a hand on Peter's forearm. Peter shook suddenly, and then looked into his brother's chocolate eyes with his cerulean ones.
"We will go back when the time is right, you know," said Edmund softly.
And Peter stood by those words, praying hard for his siblings as well as himself for them to be true, and meanwhile, to give him the strength to endure the long days that would come.
