#i love chronicles of narnia

[mymidwestheart]

[aimeecarreros]

[zluty-spendlik]

Edmund: Its so strange to see another human in Narnia that isnt my sibling, but im glad youre here

Caspian: I can imagine

Edmund: I mean, finally theres someone who understands all of the human culture who I can talk to without bickering, but still, when I saw those two Telmarine guys I was like "JESUS CHRIST THERES MORE", haha, you know?

Caspian: ... yeah...yeah I get it, I understand everything... everything human- just a quick question uh... whats a jesus christ?

Edmund: s-

Edmund: sorry what

-

Peter: oi mate could you pass me a bo'lo'wa'er please

Caspian, crying: SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT HES SAYING

-

Lucy (on the dawn treader): Well thats quite a storm, its raining cats and dogs out there!

Caspian: ... I...Im pretty sure its raining water

-

Susan, struggling to string her bow: *quietly* fuck

Caspian: whats a 'fuck'?

Susan, whos bared witness to all of his confusion and had to explain everything for the past 72 hours: I dont have time for this

[always-a-king-or-queen]

The ache will go away, eventually. 

That was what the Professor told them, the day they got back. When they tumbled from the wardrobe in a heap of tangled limbs, and found that the world had been torn from under their feet with all the kindness of a serpent. 

They picked themselves off of the floorboards with smiles plastered on child faces, and sat with the Professor in his study drinking cup after cup of tea. 

But the smiles were fake. The tea was like ash on their tongues. And when they went to bed that night, none of them could sleep in beds that were too foreign, in bodies that had not been their own for years. Instead they grouped into one room and sat on the floor and whispered, late into the night. 

When morning came, Mrs. Macready discovered the four of them asleep in Peter and Edmund’s bedroom, tangled in a heap of pillows and blankets with their arms looped across one another. They woke a few moments after her entry and seemed confused, lost even, staring around the room with pale faces, eyes raking over each framed painting on the wall and across every bit of furniture as if it was foreign to them. “Come to breakfast,” Mrs. Macready said as she turned to go, but inside she wondered. 

For the children’s faces had held the same sadness that she saw sometimes in the Professor’s. A yearning, a shock, a numbness, as if their very hearts had been ripped from their chests.

At breakfast Lucy sat huddled between her brothers, wrapped in a shawl that was much too big for her as she warmed her hands around a mug of hot chocolate. Edmund fidgeted in his seat and kept reaching up to his hair as if to feel for something that was no longer there. Susan pushed her food idly around on her plate with her fork and hummed a strange melody under her breath. And Peter folded his hands beneath his chin and stared at the wall with eyes that seemed much too old for his face. 

It chilled Mrs. Macready to see their silence, their strangeness, when only yesterday they had been running all over the house, pounding through the halls, shouting and laughing in the bedrooms. It was as if something, something terrible and mysterious and lengthy, had occurred yesterday, but surely that could not be. 

She remarked upon it to the Professor, but he only smiled sadly at her and shook his head. “They’ll be all right,” he said, but she wasn’t so sure. 

They seemed so lost. 

Lucy disappeared into one of the rooms later that day, a room that Mrs. Macready knew was bare save for an old wardrobe of the professor’s. She couldn’t imagine what the child would want to go in there for, but children were strange and perhaps she was just playing some game. When Lucy came out again a few minutes later, sobbing and stumbling back down the hall with her hair askew, Mrs. Macready tried to console her, but Lucy found no comfort in her arms. “It wasn’t there,” she kept saying, inconsolable, and wouldn’t stop crying until her siblings came and gathered her in their arms and said in soothing voices, “Perhaps we’ll go back someday, Lu.” 

Go back where, Mrs. Macready wondered? She stepped into the room Lucy had been in later on in the evening and looked around, but there was nothing but dust and an empty space where coats used to hang in the wardrobe. The children must have taken them recently and forgotten to return them, not that it really mattered. They were so old and musty and the Professor had probably forgotten them long ago. But what could have made the child cry so? Try as she might, Mrs. Macready could find no answer, and she left the room dissatisfied and covered in dust. 

Lucy and Edmund and Peter and Susan took tea in the Professor’s room again that night, and the next, and the next, and the next. They slept in Peter and Edmund’s room, then Susan and Lucy’s, then Peter and Edmund’s again and so on, swapping every night till Mrs. Macready wondered how they could possibly get any sleep. The floor couldn’t be comfortable, but it was where she found them, morning after morning. 

Each morning they looked sadder than before, and breakfast was silent. Each afternoon Lucy went into the room with the wardrobe, carrying a little lion figurine Edmund had carved her, and came out crying a little while later. And then one day she didn’t, and went wandering in the woods and fields around the Professor’s house instead. She came back with grassy fingers and a scratch on one cheek and a crown of flowers on her head, but she seemed content. Happy, even. Mrs. Macready heard her singing to herself in a language she’d never heard before as Lucy skipped past her in the hall, leaving flower petals on the floor in her wake. Mrs. Macready couldn’t bring herself to tell the child to pick them up, and instead just left them where they were. 

More days and nights went by. One day it was Peter who went into the room with the wardrobe, bringing with him an old cloak of the Professor’s, and he was gone for quite a while. Thirty or forty minutes, Mrs. Macready would guess. When he came out, his shoulders were straighter and his chin lifted higher, but tears were dried upon his cheeks and his eyes were frightening. Noble and fierce, like the eyes of a king. The cloak still hung about his shoulders and made him seem almost like an adult. 

Peter never went into the wardrobe room again, but Susan did, a few weeks later. She took a dried flower crown inside with her and sat in there at least an hour, and when she came out her hair was so elaborately braided that Mrs. Macready wondered where on earth she had learned it. The flower crown was perched atop her head as she went back down the hall, and she walked so gracefully that she seemed to be floating on the air itself. In spite of her red eyes, she smiled, and seemed content to wander the mansion afterwards, reading or sketching or making delicate jewelry out of little pebbles and dried flowers Lucy brought her from the woods. 

More weeks went by. The children still took tea in the Professor’s study on occasion, but not as often as before. Lucy now went on her daily walks outdoors, and sometimes Peter or Susan, or both of them at once, accompanied her. Edmund stayed upstairs for the most part, reading or writing, keeping quiet and looking paler and sadder by the day. 

Finally he, too, went into the wardrobe room. 

He stayed for hours, hours upon hours. He took nothing in save for a wooden sword he had carved from a stick Lucy brought him from outside, and he didn’t come out again. The shadows lengthened across the hall and the sun sank lower in the sky and finally Mrs. Macready made herself speak quietly to Peter as the boy came out of the Professor’s study. “Your brother has been gone for hours,” she told him crisply, but she was privately alarmed, because Peter’s face shifted into panic and he disappeared upstairs without a word. 

Mrs. Macready followed him silently after around thirty minutes and pressed an ear to the door of the wardrobe room. Voices drifted from beyond. Edmund’s and Peter’s, yes, but she could also hear the soft tones of Lucy and Susan. 

“Why did he send us back?” Edmund was saying. It sounded as if he had been crying.  

Mrs. Macready couldn’t catch the answer, but when the siblings trickled out of the room an hour later, Edmund’s wooden sword was missing, and the flower crown Susan had been wearing lately was gone, and Peter no longer had his old cloak, and Lucy wasn’t carrying her lion figurine, and the four of them had clasped hands and sad, but smiling, faces. 

Mrs. Macready slipped into the room once they were gone and opened the wardrobe, and there at the bottom were the sword and the crown and the cloak and the lion. An offering of sorts, almost, or perhaps just items left there for future use, for whenever they next went into the wardrobe room.  

But they never did, and one day they were gone for good, off home, and the mansion was silent again. And it had been a long time since that morning that Mrs. Macready had found them all piled together in one bedroom, but ever since then they hadn’t quite been children, and she wanted to know why.

She climbed the steps again to the floor of the house where the old wardrobe was, and then went into the room and crossed the floor to the opposite wall. 

When she pulled the wardrobe door open, the four items the Pevensie children had left inside of it were missing. 

And just for a moment, it seemed to her that a cool gust of air brushed her face, coming from the darkness beyond where the missing coats used to hang.

[bloodybigwardrobe]

Susan did not see Peter in battle for years—arriving to his stand against Jadis almost too late, catching up while he picked himself up from the torn earth, on the other side of the conflict when the remnants of Jadis’ army tried their luck at the Cair. Sure, she knew he fought and killed, just as she did, just as Edmund and Lucy did—and oh, how Susan loathes that last part, but Lucy had been the one to find the first assassin in their halls and there was nothing to be done about it now. There was entirely too much death in their first year, Susan thinks, the fairytale shine of Narnia soon breaking apart and leaving a country and people in desperate need of rest and time behind. It took her days to get the blood out underneath her and Lucy’s fingernails, and she knew Peter had just as bad a time with Edmund next door. With a lump in her throat, Susan wondered often if this was to be the rest of their lives: washing themselves clean of battles that were forced upon them by a world far too big for their hands to hold. But even then, with the bloodied waters between them all, she never truly saw Peter in battle. A slain Maugrim who had about as much a part in his own death as Peter’s shaking sword did, a witch that Susan never saw die, assassins that ended up on the moth-eaten carpets she had found in old storage rooms; things that should give her pause but she simply couldn’t consider for long with all there was to do. They had killed to end up where they were, and Susan knew deep down that they would have to kill to stay, too. Now, standing with her bow held tight and a quiver empty of arrows, a sword at her side she has yet to finish learning how to swing, Susan finds herself in a pocket of tar-slow time. Here, she stands with a muddied hemline and their castle once more under siege—unknown foes, but foes all the same—and there, across the way, with his hair longer than Susan has ever known him to have, Peter lets out a roaring laugh. Rhindon is far out of sight, a glaive taking its place in Peter’s steady hands. Even from afar, Susan feels it in her bones when Peter’s swing launches an enemy’s torn body across the field. There are bodies, horror-frozen faces, the stench of blood and bile. The steps to the Cair will perhaps forever bear the stain of this assault. They have lost people they held dear. Susan has wept enough to fill an ocean. And Peter laughs. With storm-eyes, bloodied tongue, and bared teeth, her older brother wages joyous war.

[buttercupshands]

surprise hug!

[they-pevensie-me-rollin]

Edmund Pevensie in the Prince Caspian movie:

Cool, suave, sassy, teenage heartthrob material

Edmund Pevensie in the Prince Caspian book:

Literally eats dirt

[tending-the-hearth]

thinking about how canonically the pevensie siblings are 13, 12, 10, and 8 in "the lion, the witch, and the wardrobe"

thinking about how lucy needed a stool to be able to get up onto her throne, how peter's sword is a little too large for him, how susan's bow is a little too difficult for her to pull back, how edmund's shield nearly covers his entire body.

thinking about the pevensie siblings and their first few months in narnia, getting to know their new people, and half the narnians sitting there horrified because WHAT have these literal babies been through to give them such traumatized, old eyes, and the other half of the narnians are preparing to adopt them, no it doesn't matter that they're the rules, they're children who are being put in charge of too many things, and if peter looks at the old man council long enough he's going to cry, so someone needs to give him paternal support while aslan is off doing Lion Jesus Stuff™️ and whoops oreius is being nice and encouraging and now he's adopted his kings and queens they're his kids now he doesn't make the rules.

just the narnians and the pevensies being thrown into it together, and just as the pevensies will do anything to protect their new kingdom, the narnians will do anything to protect their rules, because let's be honest, these children have no sense of self-preservation, and are far too overprotective of each other and their people to take into account their own safety, so a lot of battles it's just one of the pevensie siblings running headfirst into danger with oreius running after them because his kids are feral and don't know proper royalty manners and won't threatening old kings from different countries because they're being assholes and the last time one of them tried undermining the queens susan called him a self-righteous asshole and lucy tried to stab him SOMEONE help him corral his children please

[jessmalia]

PRINCE CASPIAN (2008) dir. Andrew Adamson

[gwendolynnderolo]

peter, susan, and edmund: it’s ridiculous to say that i have a favorite sibling. i love all lucy’s and non-lucy’s equally

[margindoodles2407]

It's about Edmund Pevensie. It's about how he was a greedy, selfish brat of a kid. It's about how he allowed himself to fall into sin. It's about how he was willing to sell out his own siblings for a position of power. It's about how he became enslaved by the White Witch. It's about how he almost died in sin. It's about how Aslan died in his stead. It's about how Edmund felt true shame for his actions. It's about how Edmund repented. It's about how Edmund, the greedy, selfish brat of a kid, repented, and came back from sin, and it's about how he couldn't repair his relationship with his siblings or the damage he'd done, but that wasn't the end because Aslan did it for him. It's about how Edmund, the greedy, selfish brat of a kid, grew up and became a King of Narnia, known as the Just, because he knew what it was to act unjustly and decided he wanted no part of that ever again. It's about how Edmund the Just, a King of Narnia, came back to earth, but he wasn't a greedy, selfish brat of a kid anymore, because he who is once a King of Narnia is always a King of Narnia. It's about Edmund Pevensie, and why he's my favorite of the Pevensie Children.

[panevanbuckley]

mutuals who share multiple fandoms with you are like rare gems

[aimeecarreros]

SKANDAR KEYNES as Edmund Pevensie The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (2005)

[nothinggold13]

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010) is clearly the weakest of the Disney/Walden trilogy, but the part of it that single-handedly makes me the angriest as an adaptation of the book is at the end where Alberta Scrubb yells, “Jill Pole has come to visit!” because Jill Pole Would Not Do That.

On which note, obviously the part of Prince Caspian that makes me angriest is the massacre they committed against Peter’s character, but the second worst part is when Miraz is crowned King and we hear Telmarines declaring, “Tashbaan pledges its troops!” and “Etinsmoor pledges its troops!” because Tashbaan and Etinsmoor Would Not Do That Either.

[booklovingcreechur]

I love hearing ideas on how the Pevensies need to readjust to Earth when they get back from Narnia the first time, but what about them having to get used to living in Narnia when they become kings and queens?

The children having to discover how to lead an entire country.

The Pevensies having to learn how to ride horses because they grew up in the city.

Peter and Lucy taking to it pretty easily but Edmund and Susan having a bit more difficulty at first.

The talking horses trying to give pointers but Edmund ending up falling off multiple times anyways.

On a cold winter's day, Lucy coming into Cair Paravel chilled and wet after having a snowball fight and wishing nothing more than for a hot bath only to discover the amount of time and labour needed to warm a tub of water without electricity.

No toilets. Just, no toilets.

Susan trying to write a letter to Mr. and Mrs. Beaver and getting frustrated because her quill pen keeps tearing the paper and blotting.

Peter accidentally knocking down a candle while looking through papers and nearly setting the whole table ablaze.

The Pevensies slipping occasionally when it comes to mentioning things about Earth to the facination of the Narnians.

Edmund trying to explain Earth being round to a group of curious yet politely confused creatures and eventually giving up when a young faun asks if everything is upside-down on the other side of the world.

[st1ckysweetz0mbii]

I need more James McAvoy… the fanfics aren’t enough I need him in my bed.