Quite a spectacle there was that day in Green Park. England's carefully prepared welcome for the Narnians had been derailed with the appearance of four children, who, if the rumours were to be believed, were the rulers of this otherworldly country. It seemed almost impossible to those who had witnessed the event for themselves to believe, let alone those who heard of the event second hand from radio broadcasts, the newspaper and gossiping neighbours.
Mrs. Pevensie was, unfortunately, one of the many filled in on the spectacle through the radio. Though the news station only knew the official titles of the foreign royalty, it would take a halfwit not to match Helen's children with the mysterious royals at the park, and one would never say Helen Pevensie was dull by any stretch of the imagination. Helen then spent the rest of the day fretting, constantly cleaning and shooting furtive glances at the stubbornly silent telephone every few minutes, because, really, the Narnian royals could not be her children. Her children had never been out of the country before, let alone gone to some unknown land of mythical proportions. She would know if they had, would she not?
Though, as she thought about it over a hot cup of Earl Grey when she took a break from dusting, they had been very quiet and independent of her, yet strangely co-dependent of each other since they returned from the country. They had been so different before they left.
Peter had been struggling to cope with being the man of the house, while Susan decided that 'growing up' and ordering her siblings around was the best way to be helpful and cope with the stress of the war. Edmund had resented their father for abandoning them to join the army and became spiteful and cruel to everyone as a result, and little Lucy had been clingy and terribly shy.
Thinking of her wayward children, it was much harder than she liked to match them to the ones she had sent away to the country, nearly a year ago. Helen had not noticed at first; she too excited to have her children home to pay mind to their changed behaviour. But as the weeks passed, there were too many changes for Helen to ignore.
Her formerly rather volatile children got along spectacularly now, backing up and helping one another without being asked. The four worked together like the well-oiled gears of a clock, anticipating each other's needs and compensating almost unconsciously, instead of knocking heads like they used to. Aside from mealtimes, the four spent their days drifting about the house with slightly sad, wistful smiles as they spoke quietly among themselves in an unknown, lyrical tongue; stopping whenever they noticed their mother near.
There was pain lurking behind their eyes that had not been there before, yet they seemed surer of themselves, like they knew their place in the world. All four had an air of confidence about them, even little Lucy.
Peter had grown whilst in the country: his shoulders broadened slightly and his golden hair falling neatly to his chin in gentle waves. The growth was not just physical though, for where Peter had once floundered, he now flourished; his siblings looking to him first for praise and approval when before they looked to her. When Helen had asked Peter to look after his siblings, she had not meant for him to take her place, and though she could tell he had tried to step back for her, his word was now law among her children; hers was to be heeded out of politeness.
Susan was different too, carrying a truly motherly presence to temper her often cuttingly sharp mind and tongue. Where before her grown-up demeanour had been a crumbling façade she hid behind, now true maturity took its place. Gracious and polite, Susan navigated social functions with tact and finesse and made Helen at times feel more a nuisance in the kitchen than its mistress.
Edmund was perhaps the easiest to see changes in. Before, Edmund would snap at anyone who spoke to him, but now he was quieter, more thoughtful, and when he did speak, his words held maturity and a weight among his siblings they had not before. He had taken to reading the old law and history tomes from his father's study when the family would gather in the living room for family time after dinner if he wasn't challenging one of his siblings to a chess match; a game of deep thought and strategy that Edmund had had no patience for before.
Lucy had changed too, but it was smaller, more subtle things than her siblings. She still smiled and laughed with childish abandon, but she did not truly act like a child anymore; at least, not like children as Helen knew them. Her dolls and toys sat gathering dust on a shelf in the girls' room, and while her drawings remained a constant, they were no longer childish doddles, but beautiful, detailed vistas and portraits, made with sure strokes that spoke of an experienced hand. She was more independent and confidant as well; and when it came to illnesses and injuries, she had a startling amount of knowledge and authority over her siblings for one so young.
Just two weeks before school started, Edmund had fallen out of a tall tree at the park and scrapped his right knee open harshly on the pavement below. By the time their mother had processed what happened, Lucy had already given her youngest brother a quick once over before telling the elder two to help her get him up and home. Snapping out of her shock, Helen ran home after her children to find them in the kitchen; the first-aid kit open on the table and Edmund's injured leg propped up in Susan's lap. Lucy knelt between the pair, tending to the deep, gravel embedded gash with steady hands and an unwavering gaze, paying no mind to the blood staining her hands and skirt, while Peter held his brother in place with gentle, yet firm hands so he would not make Lucy's job harder by twitching, as though this was an everyday occurrence.
The most frustrating thing was that whenever the children were asked where they learned these new skills and habits, they would only smile and say, "In the country" never elaborating, much to their mother's frustration. While Helen would not have been surprised if they had learned how to ride a horse or fish while they were away, they should not have been near any type of environment that would turn sweet little nine-year-old girls into unflinching nurses or fourteen-year-old boys into fathers. She had sent them to the country to keep them from such things.
Sometimes it felt like she did not know them at all anymore.
Mrs. Pevensie's thoughts were interrupted abruptly by a sharp knock at the front door. Smoothing out her dress, she opened the door to find herself face to snout with an unnaturally large tiger and a pair of muscled, shirtless men with goat legs and swords strapped to their hips. Taking an unsteady step back and paling drastically she managed to gasp out, "Can I help you?"
To her astonishment, the tiger replied in a deep, pleasant voice, "Yes mam, I believe you may. Would you happen to be Mrs. Helen Pevensie?"
"Yes…"
"Wonderful. May we please come in? We need to talk to you about your children, their Majesties: High King Peter, Queen Susan, King Edmund and Queen Lucy of Narnia."
THUD
"Oh dear, we'd better bring her inside the house. Would you mind carrying her in Hawthorn, while Darius and I look for some tea and smelling salts?"
