Chapter eight
"Well, Peter, son of Adam, I see you have found Narnia again." Aslan intoned, his voice as deep and soft as Peter remembered it. "And you have brought a queen with you."
Margaret shrank back, smiling in that nervous way, her hand cold inside Peter's. "He's not a tame lion, but he is a good one." Peter whispered. "He won't bite you."
"Come, touch my mane, Daughter of Eve." Aslan said, moving forward a little bit and tilting his head. Nervously, her hand shaking, Margaret held out a hand and stroked his fur.
She gave a little laugh. "It's so…soft. And warm." She said, her fear receding more as her hand petted the silky mane around Aslan's face.
"Come with me, Daughter of Eve, and see what Peter ruled." Aslan said, and Margaret, one hand still on Aslan's back and the other holding tight to Peter's, followed him to the throne room.
Peter softly squeezed her hand as they entered the great hall, vacant now, the four great thrones draped in robes of ermine. She let go of Aslan, letting Peter lead her up the steps to sit in his throne, looking out over the empty hall. Peter could see her thoughts, imagining people filling the hall, trumpets sounding, and the general revels of a busy court. Aslan seemed to smile. "I will leave you here a while." He said, quietly padding off, letting them have a little time alone.
When he had gone, Peter studied Margaret. "What do you think?" heasked, smiling at her again. Margaret was in a bit of shock.
"I…I don't know what to say, Peter. It's all a bit much for one day." She responded, her fingers stroking the ermine.
"You said you always wanted to be a queen." Peter supplied. Margaret looked at the folds of her skirt and quickly got up off the throne, sitting instead on the stone steps in front of it, her head in her hands. "What is it?" Peter asked, frightened. What was it he'd said?
"I know I said that, Peter, but…Well, we can't all be queens, can we? I can't…slay dragons or fight witches. I'm not beautiful, or wise, or…" she stopped, a tear forming in her eye as she took off the wire crown and set it down beside her. Peter sat down, putting his arm around her shoulder.
"You're a queen to me, Margaret Ramsden. From the moment I met you, I liked you, and I wanted to tell you this entire crazy story about the wardrobe, but I didn't know if I could. And you've been an terribly good sport about it ever since I got you in here."
She sniffled, and then started crying. Peter hugged her close, a few hot tears soaking into his shirt. "Please don't cry, Margaret. I didn't want this to hurt you."
"It didn't." Margaret whispered between sobs. "It's just all too grand for me."
"You can be a queen plenty of other ways, too." Peter consoled, kissing her hair and holding her close, feeling very alien just then, in that place he had called home for so long. "What do you say to a trip to the beach?"
Margaret looked up, producing a handkerchief and sniffling into it. "The beach?" she asked, interested. Peter nodded.
"I may able to introduce you to some mermaids." Peter added conspiratorily. Margaret managed a smile.
"I think I'd like that."
To those of you who wanted longer chapters…well, bah. I don't feel like writing them.