And they just keep getting longer :)

I don't own any of this. I don't even think I own a compass!

Chapter Four: The Northern Skies

"And to the clear northern skies, I give you King Peter the Magnificent."

Lucy's letter had nearly knocked the wind out of him. Gasping for breath, he had offered a weak smile to his curious roommate before launching off of the bed and throwing some clothes and other necessities into a suitcase. He rubbed his shin gingerly, remembering how he had slammed it into the dresser in his mad dash around the room.

His roommate had been rather shocked, and Peter knew that if Edmund had been there, the younger boy would have been smirking uncontrollably. Peter hadn't cared. The only important thing at the moment was to get to the train station and hop on the next train to Finchley. Classes or no.

Now, sitting in a small train compartment, he allowed himself to catch his breath. As he watched the English countryside race by, he smiled ruefully. Perhaps it hadn't been entirely necessary to catch the next train home. Especially not with exams approaching. Eustace and his friend Jill could have waited.

Yet even as his logical side—his Susan side—told him that it could have waited, Peter's heart told him that he could not have waited.

Not for Narnia. Not for news of his clear northern skies.

Fumbling in his pocket, he quickly pulled out Lucy's letter and re-read it eagerly.

Dear Peter,

I hope all is well with you and you're ready for your exams. By the time this reaches you, you'll likely be in the midst of them, and Edmund and I will be home for the summer holidays, waiting for you to join us. I'm sure you're wondering how school finished off and "Did I manage to make any more friends?" and other rather dull things like that, and since neither of us really care —Peter frowned momentarily. Of course he cared!—I'll get on with the really important thing and leave all of that until we see each other again.

Edmund and I just received a letter from Eustace, and Peter, you'll never believe it! Eustace and his friend Jill went back to Nar— I mean they went Back. Eustace has only told us a little in his letter, and he and Jill are going to visit the weekend of the twentieth to tell us more. What I've gathered so far is that they had some rather close encounters with some of the Northern Giants, and now it seems that Jill is particularly anxious to meet the High King. Apparently Eustace told her that the North was your quarter.

Peter, you simply must come back as soon as you can get away! They've been Home and up North! I know how anxious I was to hear of the islands when Ed and I sailed East with Caspian.

Your affectionate sister (who misses you terribly)

Lucy

Peter shifted in his seat, anticipation welling up within him. He could hardly sit still he was so excited! To have news from Narnia was one thing, but to have news from the North? Well, that was an entirely different matter!

He closed his eyes and allowed images of Narnia's North to fill his eyes. Owlwood Forest, the marshes, the River Shribble. He wondered if it had changed since his time.

Was the River Shribble a gorge? Did the griffins still live in the seaside cliffs? He wondered if the stink from the marshes of Ettinsmoor was still as poignant and if the marsh-wiggles still boiled Grass Root in order to quell the nasty smell.

He smiled wryly. That had been one trick he had been most thankful for.

Thinking of the marsh-wiggles, Peter wondered if Jill and Eustace had encountered one. He certainly hoped so, for despite their superficial pessimism, they were creatures worth knowing. He grinned as he remembered all of the times the marsh-wiggle regiment had saved the day and then proclaimed that Narnia was most certainly lost forever.

Narnia's northern quarter was undoubtedly the plainest part of the country. It lacked the colorful cultures that painted the eastern islands, instead hosting creatures whose own culture was a variety of domestic charm and simplistic practicality.

And while the south of Narnia enjoyed a wholesome friendship with its neighbors, such a luxury was absent in the North. Narnia's northern borders were rarely peaceful, and Narnians and residents of the Wildlands did not pass freely across each other's borders. There were no trade agreements or invitations to Christmas parties, but rather border patrols and skirmishes.

Nor did the northern expanse of Narnia hold ancient forests and magical lampposts. The birth of Narnia had not occurred in its stinky marshes or craggy hills. It was a place void of magic and enchantment. Its sparse landscapes required contentment with the simple pleasures and a faith in hidden promises.

For the longest time, he had thought his stewardship of the North was symbolic of his role as eldest and High King. As ruler of the "northern skies" Peter had initially thought it his duty to preside over not only the North, but all of Narnia.

His brother and sisters had quickly put an end to that.

Still, it had taken years of practice to let his siblings care for their own lands independently. It was then that he had really, truly seen his northern skies.

It had taken some looking, but Peter soon found the beauty in his lands. It was a subtle and rugged beauty, but it suited him perfectly.

The dense forests of Owlwood became his refuge. He loved laying on the brush floor, listening to the hooting of owls and the chattering of squirrels, the cool shade of the forest washing over him. In the beginning, he could barely take three steps without barreling into a tree. The forest had been so dark and so thick, but eventually, over time, Peter had developed such a thorough knowledge of the forest that he could walk through it blindfolded and only crash into several trees.

Slightly north of Owlwood Forest was the River Shribble. The river itself was hazardous, marking the border between Narnia and the Wildlands. While it was pristine like all of Narnia's rivers, the craggy rocks lining its banks made swimming perilous. Its swift current rushed east, pouring over a sharp cliff and into the turbulent ocean below. Many a time, Peter had seen the breathtaking falls turn red with the blood of the Northern Giants and his own soldiers.

While the thundering waterfall was amazing from any view, the one Peter most preferred was from the sky. He supposed it only made sense that the griffins would reside in a place deemed "the clear northern skies." Leaving their cliff-side homes, they would swoop and dive over the forest and marshes, upsetting the slumbering owls and startling the occupied marsh-wiggles.

Peter hated to play favorites, but these creatures were particularly dear to him. He remembered his first ride on a griffin's back. He had been only fourteen at the time and desperately nervous, despite all of Lightwing's soothing reassurances. All the same, he had dug his knees into the creature's flanks and gripped its soft mane nervously.

And then they were airborne.

Peter remembered the first time he had soared through Narnia's clear northern skies. He had seen his lands spread beneath him in miniature form and was reminded of toys back in England. Only this miniature world was real. It was not a game of make-believe, and he was not pretending to be king. No. These northern lands were Peter's.

There was Owlwood Forest, a dark clump of trees. They had swooped over it, feet brushing the green treetops. Birds had fluttered out of the forest, delighted to find their king airborne. He remembered their chatter as they rushed to keep up, desperately wanting to share this experience with King Peter.

The marshes had stretched beneath them. A vast expanse of brown and grey, speckled with silver patches of water. And then there were the marsh-wiggles, staring up at him in astonishment, muttering amongst themselves. "Is that the High King? Fall to his death, he will. And then where will we be?"

Beyond the marshes the River Shribble snaked toward the ocean, its silvery curves glistening in the sun, contrasting the dark browns of the surrounding hills. He remembered Lightwing plummeting over the edge of the cliff. Down, down, down. The spray of the falls soaking his clothes, the pounding of his heart loud in his hears. And then they had shot back into the sky, barely missing the menacing rocks below.

Soaring over Narnia's North, he had seen its picturesque beauty for the first time. Surrounded by a vibrant, cool blue, Peter had finally understood the wonder of his northern skies.

After that ride, he became comfortable in the skies, spreading his arms and pretending that he could fly independently. That he was no slave to the ground. And while that sort of thing may have looked silly in England, it became a common sight for the northerners.

From the sky, Peter could see his lands spread before him like a map. In battle, the griffins were the surest way to asses his army's situation. They had assisted him time and time again throughout his reign, and he would never forget their loyal allegiance during his first war or their noble sacrifices during his last.

While it was very unlikely that the griffins knew it, they had served their king once more nearly thirteen hundred years later, allowing Peter to soar through Narnia's skies a final time.

Peter cringed as he remembered the failed night raid. He had been so anxious to regain what he had lost that he had grasped at the things familiar to him. He had hoped that once airborne things would right themselves. That once again he would feel like King Peter of the clear northern skies.

Unfortunately, that had not been the case. He had organized an entire assault around creatures that did not recognize their significance to him. He had placed his faith in the wrong thing. In something temporary.

Everything had been wrong.

The griffin beneath him had been cautious, avoiding risks that Lightwing would not have thought twice of. There had been no rivers, no waterfalls, no marshes. The lands beneath him were not familiar.

Ironically, it had been the stinky marshes that he had longed for most.

On the surface they were scattered with wigwams and patches of quicksand. They were perilously dangerous and monstrously smelly. The grass that sprung up on the small spots of land were the only signs of plant life for miles and miles and the countless gnats and mosquitoes were enough to drive one mad. Yet at night, when smoke would curl from the small, orange fires dotting the marshes and the lilting sound of a flute could be heard wafting from some wigwam, Peter would gaze up at the bright moon and the stars speckling the sky and think just how 

hauntingly beautiful his lands were.

It was a beauty Peter had fought for his entire life, struggling, aching, needing to protect the striking lands that had claimed his heart. He had despised the giants at first. He had hated how they destroyed the landscapes he cherished and injured the beings he loved.

It had taken time for him to learn that there is always some good in even the worst things.

Narnia's noble giants had abandoned their barbaric relatives, preferring to live in the hills surrounding the River Shribble. After a cautious beginning, Peter had found them to be surprisingly friendly and innocent for creatures of their mass. The size difference was always good for several jokes, and Peter could still remember the time they had mistaken him for a fork. That had been a close call indeed. While not the brightest of creatures, they were incredibly loyal and never failed to fight for High King Peter, though they often asked him why he was called High King when he was obviously so short.

The last fight against the Northern Giants had been one of the worst, bringing to head tensions that had been brewing for decades. This had been no mere skirmish, but rather a true battle. Peter had fought for his life, his country, but most importantly, the safety of the Northern Narnians.

They were not an impressive lot. There was no magic, mystery, or enchantment about them, yet to Peter, they were more than worth dying for.

He feared for them, even now, wondering what news Eustace and Jill could bring of their welfare. It practically killed him that he could not help them now, for he knew that there would never be peace between the Wildlands and Narnia.

Like his brother, his lands had been influenced by the White Witch. Before the one-hundred year winter, she had fled north, rallying followers and biding her time. The ongoing conflict with the giants was a result of her presence there, and Peter suspected that even now, thousands of years later, her influence was still very strong.

He fully intended to ask Eustace and Jill if they had heard anything, anything at all, that implied that the Witch still had a strong following in the North.

He hoped not. Even if they no longer remembered him, the griffins, marsh-wiggles, giants, owls, and every other Northern Narnian deserved the peace he had fought so hard to give them. He hated that he had failed.

Peter gazed at England's overcast skies and sighed heavily. Truly, the piercing blue sky was the masterpiece of Narnia's North.

He remembered a conversation he had had with Lucy regarding their lands a year after their coronation.

"I'm not sure what to do, Lucy." he had confided. "You each seem to suit your corner of Narnia so well, but I feel out of place up north. I feel so extravagant when I'm up there, what with my royal clothes and golden crown. Even when I'm just Peter it doesn't feel right. Everyone there is so down-to-earth and everything is so…so mediocre."

Lucy had clasped his hand encouragingly. "That's what you think now, Peter. Just wait, someday you'll see the wonders of the North. Someday you'll love it and they'll love you. You just have to get used to each other is all." She had flashed him a grin. "Besides, Peter, it will be good for you. Temper all of that blasted nobility. I get the sense that the northerners are a practical lot and that they don't care much for nobility, chivalry, and kingliness." He had furrowed his brow, unconvinced. "Look, they need you. Perhaps Aslan gave you the North because it's gotten so mundane. Perhaps he intends for you to lend it some of your magnificence."

As it turned out, Peter hadn't had to lend any of his magnificence. It had already been there, he just hadn't been looking.

With a start, he realized that much of England's rural landscape matched that of his Narnian North. The blurred countryside took on an entirely new aura as he gazed at it through his window. Just as his own lands had initially appeared commonplace, so did England's.

Perhaps Peter wasn't looking at England properly. Perhaps England had a magnificence of its own.

He remembered Aslan telling him that he was in all worlds, and that Peter need only look. Guiltily, Peter realized he had forgotten to properly look.

He had been so focused on remembering his love for Narnia's marshes, cliffs, and forests that he had forgotten who was responsible for all of it. Not only for bestowing him with his beloved quarter but also for creating it.

Aslan.

Peter knew nothing could ever take the place of the land he would give his life for, and he knew Aslan did not intend for him to replace it.

Perhaps, though, perhaps if he would only just look he could find happiness outside of Narnia's clear northern skies.

Perhaps he could find Aslan.

Phew. That was a HARD chapter to write. I hope I did Peter's chapter justice. It was hard to find something original to do with him, seeing as I've tried different angles for each sibling. I was actually thinking of writing it from Jill and Eustace's point of view, seeing as they've been North and all, and have them look at Peter, but it would have been really difficult to portray Peter's emotions and experiences. So… yep, this is how it turned out.

And did anyone catch the subtle reference to the Lady of the Green Kirtle? I'm convinced she's the White Witch.

One chapter to go! Please review and let me know whether or not I succeeded in merging book Peter and movie Peter.