"I warn you, if you bore me, I shall take my revenge."

JRR Tolkien
Letter to C.S. Lewis, 1948

Chapter 5: Of Apples, Magic, and Wardrobes

"Jules!"

"What?"

"If you fall and break your leg, I am not being held responsible!"

Up in the apple tree, Peter heard Jules giggle furiously. From his position on the ground, he could barely see her. She had insisted, like a child, that the juiciest, most scrumptious apples were at the top of the largest tree in the orchard. She then proceeded to scale her way up the branches faster than his gaze could keep up with. Peter wouldn't be surprised if she had new holes in her dungarees after such climbing.

"Ha! Gotcha, you bugger!"

Peter snorted. Jules was talking to the apples.

Julian was nearby, paying no mind to the pair as he happily grazed the fields. He was loosely tied to a tree, assuring he didn't wander off. But he had more than enough lead to graze.

Peter heard the light cracking of branches as Jules started to climb back down. Once she came back into sight, he saw her satchel was bulging. She jumped the last few feet, smiling up at him. There was, just as he predicted, a new tear in her denim, right along the side of her leg. There was a twig in her hair. Peter was too amused to tell her about it.

"That was fun!" Jules' eyes traveled to Julian, and she skipped over to him, holding out an apple enticingly. "Snack time!"

The apple was gobbled down in no time.

Jules returned to Peter's side. "Come on! We've still got one more satchel to fill."

Peter and Jules spent a pleasant amount of time simply wandering the orchard, picking apples as they went. They talked about whatever came to mind.

"You're barmy! Earl Grey is the superior tea."

"And you're wrong! It's Breakfast tea!"

And minutes later:

"I wouldn't mind living in America right now. No war to worry about."

"Even they're worried. We may be closer to Germany, but Japan is closer to them. I wouldn't want that threat on my shores. That's why President Roosevelt moved their fleet to Pearl Harbor."

And another fifteen minutes later…

"What's the past tense of William Shakespeare? Wouldiwas Shookspeared!"

"That is… That is quite possibly the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"How rude!"

And then —

"What was your favorite subject?"

"Er… Definitely lunch."

Soon, the second apple satchel was full, but neither Peter nor Jules was quite ready to go yet, so the pair plopped themselves down in a little clearing of the orchard. Jules leaned back, smiling contentedly in the sunbeams.

"I bet it'll rain for a week straight after a day like today," she said.

"Don't jinx it!" Peter moaned. Jules giggled.

"Sorry."

Peter couldn't help but laugh lightly as well. He looked around the orchard, the sight of so much green still strange to him. Jules seemed to read his mind.

"A bit different from London, isn't it?"

Peter hummed. "I've never been to the country before now. Kensington Gardens was the closest."

Jules laughed. "Kensington Gardens has nothing on the pure beauty of nature."

Peter couldn't help but agree.

Jules, unlike him, seemed right at home amongst the foliage and trees, her fingers deftly beginning to weave a crown of wildflowers. And even though she was looking ruffled and rumpled and unruly, it seemed to suit her. It made her seem as wild and carefree and natural as nature itself. Being indoors was not a lifestyle suited to her.

"What's your brother like?" Peter found himself asking. She had briefly mentioned him last night, but Peter found himself curious about her family.

Jules blinked, having not expected the question, but a smile grew on her face. "Grant Estel Styles. He's a year older than me. And the lousy git has always been taller than me." Peter snorted. "I swear, there's nothing he loves more than torturing me with petty pranks and wet willies." Peter outright laughed. Jules' smile widened, then softened in thought. "But he's also gentle. He wants to be a teacher, you know. He absolutely adores children. He reminds me of Lucy, actually. They would get on great."

"Lucy gets on great with everyone."

Jules chuckled. "Grant's the same. Makes friends everywhere we go. We went on holiday once in America and he'd made five pen friends in two days."

"Impressive," Peter remarked. "How many did you make?"

"Not important."

"Ah, so none."

"Like I said. Not important."

Peter laughed. "Go on, then. What about your parents?"

"Well, dad's a surgeon, and my mum likes photography. And I'm proud to say that I am, in fact, taller than my mum." Peter laughed. "Dad cooks and bakes, but mum's horrible. She could burn water trying to make tea. And Grant, well, the traitor likes his coffee. So very American of him."

"Ew."

"Indeed." Jules looked at Peter, a smile still playing on her lips. "Well, what about you? What was it like growing up with three siblings?"

Peter thought for a minute. "Well… It's hard to find alone time when there's six people in the house, and for a long time I shared a room with Edmund. But despite that, I can't imagine not having my siblings. There was never a dull moment with the four of us."

Jules didn't doubt that.

"I don't really remember what it's like to not have a sibling. I'm only a year older than Susan. But even then, we were always together. She was practical even when she was young. I remember her always telling me I had to make my bed, or comb my hair, or tuck in my shirt. That or she would make me pretend to be her servant when she wanted to play princes."

Jules laughed. "Princess Susan the Busy-Body, huh?"

Peter snorted and nodded. "Yep. And then Edmund came along when I was four. He's always been a menace, but…" Peter looked wistful. "He wasn't always so sour. As soon as he could walk, he was setting up pranks, or wandering into places he shouldn't. He's really good at chess, and he loves to read, too. And don't let the way he takes his tea fool you. He's always had a sweet tooth. Bugger used to sneak into the kitchen at night to steal cookies. It was only when dad left that…"

Peter trailed off, and Jules' thoughts flashed to the anger and bitterness she'd seen in Edmund. It was constantly there, lurking and peeking out. Jules knew that it would continue to grow and fester until it burst. She just hoped nothing horrible came out of it. Jules had no trouble picturing Edmund as the mellow, mischievous boy he apparently used to be. She'd even seen glimpses of it in the past day or so.

Edmund's anger made her sad, and she sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to change him for good.

"I just wish he'd lay off sometimes," Peter sighed. Jules chose not to say anything, and the eldest Pevensie moved on. "I was six when Lucy was born."

"Has she always been so kind and imaginative?" Jules asked.

Peter smiled and said, "Always. She used to drag me into the backyard to look for fairies and adventures. Susan absolutely adored her and used to make mum buy them the same dresses so they could match. Edmund actually helped her learn to read. And she's always been so good at making friends."

Jules smiled as she thought of the youngest Pevensie. "Yeah, Lucy's pretty special."

Peter smiled slightly and looked at the girl beside him. "They all are."

Jules couldn't agree more. "So, we have Princess Susan the Busy-Body," Peter snorted, "Prince Edmund the Cookie Monster," Peter snorted again, "Princess Lucy the Adorable, and…" Jules narrowed her eyes at Peter and mulled for a bit, "Prince Peter the Idiot."

"Oi!"

"I bet you were the child who broke things and then blamed others."

"Well that's — that's — that's not true!"

"Oh, you're such a horrible liar."

"Fine, well if I'm Prince Peter the Idiot of the House of Pevensie, then we also have Prince Grant the Distinguished of the House of Styles, and his sister, Princess Julianna the Hooligan."

"Hooligan?! You git! If anything, it is Prince Grant the Prat and Princess Julianna the Magical."

"Magical my arse."

Jules threw a clump of dirt that Peter barely dodged. He was laughing at the completely disgruntled look on her face.

"Magic isn't real, Jules."

Her reaction was unexpected. Instead of grumping at him or insisting childishly that magic was real, she smiled. It was tinged with sadness.

"Do you remember when magic was easy to believe in?" Jules' voice was quiet, the change in mood sharp. "Don't you ever wish it could still be that easy? That you could go back to that part of your life?"

Peter opened his mouth, but paused. His mind wandered. He remembered when he was a young child, constantly playing his own little games in the backyard, climbing trees and hiding in the bushes, insisting he was on an adventure. He had been a bit of a wanderer when he was younger. His mum had had more than a few moments of panic. He remembered the way Susan outgrew the imaginative games before he did. He remembered the way Edmund had outgrown them even faster. He remembered how he and Lucy used to play together. Games of magic and adventure and quests and fun. But as he got older, he grew out of the games, the wonderment, the imagination. Out of all the older Pevensie children, he was still the one who was most likely to play with Lucy, but the easy belief in things like the Easter Bunny and magic had long dissipated. If he was honest, he'd say there was a spark of it left, or maybe a willingness to believe. He just…

"Something about it is scary, isn't it?" Peter nodded, unable to argue with Jules. He, not for the first time, silently marveled at the way she always seemed to understand him. "It's scary, allowing yourself to believe in something that might not be real. We fear the ridicule that comes with the belief in magic. We fear the rejection of our childhood fantasies and games. We dread the crash that comes when reality hits us hard enough to shake our faith forever." Jules sighed, but it was accompanied by a wistful smile. "It takes courage to believe in something a child believes in. It takes courage to believe in magic, or Santa Claus, or forests in the back of wardrobes." She nudged Peter, her smile growing. "But Peter, the sooner we realize all that is real, the sooner we can grow into who we're meant to be."

Winded by the sureness in Jules' tone, Peter forced a scoff. "Santa Claus?" Jules grinned.

"But of course! Old Nick! Love him. He's an old friend of mine." Peter snorted in laughter. Jules had the uncanny ability to turn a serious talk into something that could make him laugh. And she had the equally as uncanny ability to completely blindside him with her wisdom.

"Okay, okay," he conceded, laughing. "All right, well, what about magic?" Jules' smile went knowing.

"Magic is real." The pure belief in her voice made him pause. Her eyes began to wander. "You see it in the way a blossom forms into an apple. You see it in the gentle care of a mother. You see it in the way the breeze dances with the wildflowers." Indeed, the bed of wildflowers near them was dancing in the breeze. "You can see it when a father returns home from war, and feel it on those nights when everything just seems… peaceful. You can hear it in the way children laugh, even taste it in the magnificence that is chocolate." Peter might've laughed, but instead, he was captivated by the way Jules spoke, the way she truly believed what she was saying. He found himself starting to believe it, too. "Magic is in a family's devotion, and magic helps us dream at night. It swirls between friends and flits over strangers. You see it in long-time lovers and lifelong friends. You can see it in the way an artist paints or sculpts, and in the way an actor can enrapture thousands of people. Remnants of old magic linger in ruins and near memorials and on battlefields, and magic adapts and changes with each experience we have. Magic is everywhere, Peter, you just have to care enough, be brave enough to see it."

Peter had quite honestly never heard such an outlook on life. And he found himself wondering if Julianna Styles was real. Surely someone who could brew the perfect cup of tea, befriend his sister and picky horses alike, scamper up trees like it was second-nature, run around looking like a wild thing without care, cook and clean voluntarily, get pulled into family drama and react only with wisdom and kindness, and comfort him like a best friend could be real. Couldn't.

But when he blinked, surely enough, Jules was still sitting there, her eyes closed, and smiling pleasantly in the sun rays.

"What about the forest in the back of the wardrobe?"

Jules hummed, her smile deepening. "You'll have to figure that one out for yourself."

Peter chuckled, but internally, he felt like he was missing something. The feeling dissipated when he felt a light weight on his head. Jules smiled innocently up at him, but there was no mistaking the impish twinkle in those jade eyes of hers. Instantly reaching up, Peter was afraid of what he would find.

"What did you do?" Jules blinked innocently.

"I gave you a gift. Do you like it?" There was poorly-disguised teasing in her tone. Peter quickly pulled off whatever she'd put on his head. To his surprise, and slight horror, it was the flower crown of wild daisies she'd weaved.

"Well?" Jules coaxed. Peter could tell she was thoroughly enjoying taking the mickey out on him.

"I'm not sure daisies are quite my style." Jules' smile split into a full grin.

"What are you talking about, Pete? I think they look rather smashing with those suspenders of yours."

"Sod off."

"How rude. I give him a gift and he tells me to sod off."

"Was there a point to this?"

"Of course."

"Well?"

"It tickled me."

Peter snorted.

"A child. I'm talking to a child."

"It's rude to talk about Julian in such a way."

"A tiny, bothersome, scruffy imp of a child."

"Oi! You prat! Who are you calling scruffy? I'll show you scruffy!" That was Jules' only warning before she jumped onto Peter, locking an arm around his neck and roughly mussing his hair.

"Jules! Let go!"

"No." She noogied him harder. But Peter reached under her arm, running his fingers across her ribs. Jules instantly squealed and released him.

Peter smirked. Just how ticklish was she?

"Peter!" Jules protested.

His smirk widened and he ran his fingers along her ribs again. Jules squirmed away, giggling.

Despite the giggling, she fixed him with a cross look. "Maggot."

"Ouch. I'm wounded. Get help."

Jules huffed, seized the fallen flower crown, and pompously fit it to her own head. Then, she walked away with a dramatic swish of her hips, her nose in the air, and incoherent huffs filtering from her mouth. Peter laughed heartily, a hand on his middle and bracing himself up with the other. Though now speaking to Julian, Peter could see the slight curve of Jules' lips.

It wasn't long after that that the two decided it was time to head back. Both secured a satchel of apples to their person, Peter's across his back and Jules' across her shoulder. Jules quickly released Julian, sliding the rope off his head and securing it to her satchel. Once again, she mounted the steed, managing to look graceful in tangles and stains and a half-crushed flower crown. This time when Peter mounted, he automatically slid forward, close to Jules, and brought his arms around her.

"You good? Any adjustments before we get going?"

"No, I'm okay."

"Good. Just choke loudly if my hair gets in your mouth."

"What — AHHH!"

With a swift kick, Julian was spurred into a gallop. The group left the apple orchard, a joyful whoop and a startled cry echoing in their departure.

~)8(~

"Ai! Susan!"

"Oh, quit whining."

Lucy was beyond laughter. The three girls were in Jules' bedroom, Lucy sitting on the bed playing with her puppy and Jules' lion. Well, she had been. Now, she was just laughing and delighting in the scene playing out before her. Jules was grumbling deeply to herself, sitting at her vanity looking extremely malcontent. Every now and then, she would wince as the comb caught a particularly harsh snarl. When Peter and Jules had gotten back from the apple orchard, they had been laughing atop the horse. Peter had looked surprisingly at ease as the horse galloped onto the grounds. But Jules had immediately embarrassed the pants off him by telling Lucy all about his scream as Julian started galloping. Peter had gone red, but defended himself by saying Jules hadn't given him proper warning. The girl had merely shrugged before leading Julian back to the stables. She had emerged forty-five minutes later, trailing into the house and giving Susan a fright.

"You look horrible!" she'd cried.

"Thanks, Susan."

So, immediately, Susan had seized Jules' arm and marched her upstairs, sitting her at the vanity and telling her not to move. Jules had been too surprised to disobey. Lucy had wandered upstairs about ten minutes later, hearing Susan's voice from inside Jules' room. She'd burst into laughter at the sight of Susan furiously scrubbing at the dirt on Jules' neck. Susan had gotten frustrated when the stain didn't budge. However, she was not deterred, instead moving on to Jules' hair. As Lucy plopped herself onto Jules' bed, Susan gently removed the flower crown from Jules' head. Susan then plucked a twig from the curly mass with a heavy sigh. Lucy had giggled upon seeing it. Then, it was detangling time.

The whole Pevensie family had straight hair, only Susan's having even a slight wave to it, so she wasn't quite sure how to handle the mop that was Jules' curly hair. And though Susan was being as gentle as she could, it didn't seem to do any good.

"I'm sorry," Susan murmured as she caught a particularly bad knot. Though she had winced, Jules murmured back, "It's okay." Eventually, Susan took to wetting the comb before running it through Jules' hair. It helped some.

"Is your hair always this bad?" Susan asked, carefully working out a tangle near Jules' left ear.

"Curly hair tends to tangle easier than straight hair, so I usually brush it when it's wet. But I was too lazy to do it this morning, and I've been riding all day, so that didn't help."

In other words, her hair was, more often than not, tangled.

"Well, let's just get these knots out for now. I'm sure they'll be back in time for bed," Susan joked. Jules laughed in agreement.

"Thanks, Susan."

"You're welcome."

After Susan was finally done with Jules (including scrubbing at the dirt on her ankles and replacing the flower crown to her now-damp and relatively tangle-free hair), the girls went downstairs together for lunch. It was awkward, no doubt, for as soon as Lucy saw Edmund, she closed up and her eyes grew hard. She sat at the opposite end of the table from him, her nose curling into a glare in his direction. Edmund pretended not to notice. Susan glanced between her two younger siblings. Jules could tell she was feeling torn on who to sit with. She wanted to sit with Lucy and show that she supported and loved her, but she also wanted to sit with Edmund so he didn't feel so left out and ignored. So with a reassuring nod, Jules communicated that she would sit with Lucy.

Susan smiled thankfully and sank into the chair beside Edmund.

Jules felt guilt gnaw at her. Last night had been dramatic with Lucy waking everyone up and then the whole thing with Edmund. She'd secretly judged Susan for being so reliant on logic, but she also knew that logic and practicality were things that Susan found comfort in. Magical woods and wardrobes were not in her comfort-zone, and Jules felt guilty that she had judged Susan. Everyone had been stressed last night, and despite the way the siblings had fought after hide-and-seek and then again that night, Susan still made her way around her siblings, making sure they ate their whole place and gentle doting. Despite not believing Lucy about Narnia, Susan continued to play games with her, and then give her space when she needed it. Despite knowing that Edmund had been an absolute tosser, she still made sure he wasn't alone at meals, and had his shirt buttoned properly.

Susan was an excellent big sister and Jules felt horrible for not recognizing it sooner.

But Jules had to wonder… With all the focusing she was doing on her siblings, when was the last time Susan had time for herself? When was the last time she explored her own interests? When was the last time she acted like a girl rather than a woman? When was the last time Susan focused on herself?

But then, Lucy engaged Jules in conversation and the concerned thoughts disappeared.

~)8(~

"Peter winds up, poised to take yet another wicket!" Peter launched the ball, and Edmund paid the price for not paying attention.

"Ow!" He rubbed his thigh where the cricket ball had hit him.

"Whoops!" Peter was completely unapologetic. "Wake up, Dolly Daydream." Susan picked up the ball, tossing it back to Peter. Lucy and Jules sat nearby, underneath a big tree. The Hobbit was open in Lucy's lap and she was reading it to Jules under the older girl's encouragement. Though Lucy still struggled a bit with reading aloud, the more she read, the easier it became. Jules occasionally corrected her pronunciation of something, but it was usually one of the words unique to the story and universe it was set in. Lucy was doing really well.

"Why can't we play hide and seek again?" Edmund complained to his older siblings. Lucy, overhearing him, scowled. Jules soothed the girl, knowing she was still sour at Edmund, but knowing that in the end, Lucy would be proven right.

"I thought you said it was a kid's game," Peter recalled idly.

Plus, he thought, we all know how the last game ended.

"Besides," Susan added cheerfully, "we could all use the fresh air."

"It's not like there isn't air inside." Jules snorted quietly at Edmund's response, genuinely amused by it. It was quips like that and moments like this that let Jules forget about Edmund's behavior. If not for it, she imagined she and Edmund could've gotten along marvelously.

Not for the first time, Jules hoped the ire and bitterness in him would soon heal. He was too young to be so angry. He was too young to feel so alone and abandoned. He was too young for it to be permanent.

All four of the Pevensie siblings were dealing with change in their lives, and even though they had each other, it seemed none of them knew what to do to help each other. Lucy felt alone in her games and discoveries, Edmund felt alone in his anger and frustration, Susan felt alone in her desperation for normalcy, and Peter felt alone amidst his responsibilities and duties. There may have been a prophecy declaring Narnia's need for the Pevensies, but Jules knew the Pevensies needed Narnia just as bad.

Lucy needed it, for Narnia would give her hope when the world around her seemed full of sorrow, it would give her a chance to be seen as something other than the baby Pevensie, and give her a wondrous life not even her beautiful imagination could cook up.

Peter needed it, for Narnia would give him a sense of duty beyond being a brother, it would give him a deep and meaningful purpose of his own, and give him the chance to grow and lead and learn and flourish.

Susan needed it, for Narnia would challenge her in ways she didn't know was needed, it would give her a chance to explore herself, discover herself, and blossom into who she truly was, and would give her something to love and cherish and remember when her logic and reasoning and frivolity failed her.

And Edmund…

Perhaps more than any of his siblings, Edmund needed Narnia. Narnia would give him a chance to mature, a chance to understand his family better than he did before, a chance to turn his simmering anger into a sense of justice, a chance to fail and learn and succeed, and most of all, a chance to heal and mend.

But Edmund had to let Narnia help him. And considering how he had reacted after his first visit (Yes, Jules believed Lucy when she said Edmund had been in Narnia), Jules wasn't sure he was letting it. Narnia wouldn't heal him on its own. Edmund had to work for it. Had to let it happen. Had to accept it. Had to want it.

And Jules wasn't sure he wanted to be healed.

With a silent sigh, Jules prayed that Edmund would be all right.

But even as she prayed, a cold seed of worry settled in the pit of her stomach.

"Are you ready?"

Peter's voice jolted Jules back to earth, and she inhaled sharply. Lucy didn't notice.

"Are you?" Edmund lifted the bat, at the ready.

Peter bowled the ball, and Edmund swung. There was a wonderful CRACK! followed by a horrible shattering and crashing. Everyone looked up in horror at the broken window.

~)8(~

What they found when they went investigating made all their stomachs churn unpleasantly. The cricket ball had flown straight through a window and collided with a suit of armor, which now lay scattered on the floor in pieces.

Peter sighed. "Well done, Ed."

"You bowled it!" the younger boy protested.

Before an argument could break out, Mrs. Macready's voice rang through the manor. "What on earth is going on up there?"

"The Macready!" Susan gasped.

"Come on!"

Everyone ran from the room. They weren't quite sure where they were going. They sprinted through corridors, darted through rooms, leaped up stairs, and nearly skidded into an upstairs hallway. Everywhere they went, there were loud, looming footsteps following them. No one quite paid attention to where they had gone, until they all piled into a familiar room. Peter, Susan, Lucy, and Jules halted at the sight of the wardrobe, but Edmund ran right for it and pulled the door open.

"Come on!" he urged.

Lucy and Jules gripped hands.

"You've got to be joking," Susan ground out.

But the approaching footsteps spurred them all into action. All five of them piled into the wardrobe, Peter ushering the girls in before him — Susan, then Lucy, then Jules. He eased the door shut until only a sliver of the spare room could be seen. The footsteps still rang in their ears, and everyone's hearts nearly stopped when they paused just outside the spare room.

"Get back!" Susan hissed.

Chaos ensued.

"My toe!"

"I'm not on your toe!"

"Let go of me!"

"Move back!"

"Will you stop shoving?"

"Ow!"

"Peter!"

The boy tripped, and tipped right over into Jules, both of them bracing to meet the hard, wooden floor. But they didn't. Instead, there was a sound crunch beneath them, and Jules' back was flooded with cold. Her eyes widened. All she could see was Peter. And the starkness of his blond hair against a background of green and white.

All Peter could see was Jules. And the way her dark hair splayed around her like a halo against the white ground. And the way her dark jade eyes reflected the green around them.

Jules and Peter couldn't stand fast enough, and they followed Susan as the younger girl pushed aside tree branches. Their eyes were wide and full of wonder.

"Impossible."

They had piled into the wardrobe to hide, but now, despite the impossibility of it, they stood ankle deep in a snow-covered, wintery forest.

It was real. It was all real.

Hey all! Here's the newest chapter! I'm sorry it took so long to upload, but I hope you guys like it! Don't forget to go and vote on my Star Wars poll :)

Reviews

toosweetkid: Haha, I loved writing that part! I actually really love playing with character interactions and I'm really glad to hear you like them! Hope you like the new chapter :)
kaia: Ugh, don't speak of Ben Solo's fate, I am irate. He deserved better. If I ever make a Ben Solo/OC story, you can bet that it will end differently! Anyway, I totally understand about Edmund. And while I've always loved Peter, I also really love Edmund. I have a future Edmund/OC story lined up, so stay tuned! But I'm still glad you like this story :) And I totally agree! I've always loved horses, but I don't know, unicorns have never been my favorite. Pegasi, however, I have always loved. I think Pegasus from Hercules made an impact on me when I was a little kid lol. And Fantasia is definitely a wonderful film, though, and this is my nerdiness coming through, I always liked the music more than the scenes. Anyway, I'm rambling. Hope you enjoyed the update :)

-Sammiemoosam