Chapter 7

Well, I was going to write a false start to this chapter and make you hate me, but I'm not that evil, and I think you all have the general idea of where this is going, so I'm not going to fool anyone with that.

Chapter seven, folks!

Peter turned around towards the light, and his mouth dropped open. "My god…I never thought I see this place again." He exclaimed softly, walking into the room that had been his while he reined as High King of Narnia.

Everything was just as he had left it that morning, so long ago now, it seemed, when they had rode out in pursuit of the White Stag. His bed-clothes tossed on his pillow, an open book on his bedside table, maps spread-eagled across his desk, gathering dust. The only thing that had changed was that his crown, which he had been wearing that day, now sat back on his desk, gleaming, untouched by the dust around it.

He turned to look at Margaret, staring at him. "Peter…where are we?" she asked again, looking scared.

Peter licked his lips, finding them very dry. "Let's sit down, this could take awhile." He said, leading her over to sit on his bed and pulling over a brocaded stool.

He told her everything, beginning with them being sent out of Finchly and the air raids and him wanting to serve in the army, and Professor Kirke's house and Lucy's finding of the wardrobe and above all, Narnia and all their adventures there. When he had finished with the battle bit and Aslan, he got up to go over to his desk, picking up the crown and bringing it over to her. She took the wire circlet off her head, smiling. "Susan made you a duplicate." She said in a small voice, still amazed. "All those things you said about playacting in the country…"

"Was a well constructed lie. I couldn't tell everyone I'd been to a magical land in a wardrobe and had been king there for nearly twenty years." Peter reasoned, setting the wire crown back on her head and kissing her nose. "Forgive me?"

Margaret nodded, holding his hands and kissing his cheek. "Without fail." She whispered.

There was a clatter of steps at the door, and a very familiar voice whispered, "Oh my stars, High King Peter!"

Peter looked up to see a familiar looking face. "Tumnus, is that you?" he asked, getting up and studying the faun. Margaret looked over, and her eyes became as big as saucers.

The faun, wearing the green velvet scarf embroidered with the lion sigil that was the symbol of the Royal Poet, shook his head. "Tumnus was my grandfather, and has been dead these many years. I am Iverin, son of Gaverin, son of Tumnus."

"Well then, Iverin, son of Gaverin, can you tell me how things fare in Narnia?"

The faun's face fell, and he toyed with the fringe on the end of his scarf nervously, looking down at his neat little hooves. "Since you and your Noblest Quartet left, your majesty, Narnia has been…hard pressed. There were the deliberations with the Rimmeans that went unfinished, and when Queen Susan did not marry Prince Uriel when it was expected, they threatened war…the fleet is hardly ever home, and the King…" he trailed off.

"Now is not the time to be burdening Peter with such problems, Iverin son of Gaverin. He does not rule in Narnia now, though he will forever be its king." A deep voice interrupted. Margaret let out a gasp.

"It …talks." she whispered, her voice squeaky. Peter patted her shoulder and smiled at the newcomer.

"Hello, Aslan."

smile