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im-a-wonderling · 10 months ago

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White Moves First, Part 5 ~ Edmund Pevensie

Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?

Warnings: an unhealthy paternal relationship

Word count: 3k

White Moves First Masterlist | Main masterlist

@writing-on-the-wahl you're amazing, in too many ways for me to try and sum up. Thank you so much for everything.

“Never in all my days did I imagine this would come to pass!” My father clapped his hands together, the sound an unnaturally sharp contrast to the excitement of his words.

I tried to match his radiant smile, but failed before I even started.

It was less than ten minutes after Edmund went to go find my father when I was summoned to the king’s study. Cor sat properly on the sofa facing the fire while Corin slouched beside him. Edmund stood by the right corner of the mantelpiece, his back to the fire and his gaze trained on the rich wooden floor. Not knowing where to stand, I stood by the left corner.

My father flitted between his desk in the corner and Edmund, seemingly unable to keep still. “My daughter and King Edmund?” he said with comical disbelief. “How wonderful it is!”

Corin shook his head, looking a bit dazed. “My sister, a queen.”

“Of Narnia,” Cor added, giving his twin a significant look. Not the fourth wife of a prince in Tashbaan, his expression said, likely familiar with the consequences of those words ever leaving his mouth. Most everyone in the room believed I still had no idea how close I’d come to being a princess of Tashbaan and not a queen of Narnia.

Edmund’s gaze didn’t shift from the floor.

To anyone else, his face would speak of deference and humility, but I knew him, like I knew the scratches on my chessboard too well to mistake it for another or the paths of the garden too well to get lost. His expression was one of discomfort. And how could he not be uncomfortable when he was stuck in a room with my father and brothers, discussing the topic of marriage?

He’d seemed so surprised when I brought up how much he loathed marriage, as if it wasn’t plain and simple to see. Whenever Queen Susan or Queen Lucy talked of weddings and betrothals, he looked as if he’d smelt something rancid. What kind of friend would I be if I hadn’t noticed?

Hopefully, we had a few months before we married, to give us time to figure out how this arrangement was going to work.

“I am overjoyed!” my father announced, needlessly. We could all see it on his face. “And your mother would be so happy.”

I pursed my lips. Would this make my mother happy? Would the proposal from Rabadash have worried her? Would she have been relieved? Or, perhaps, like me, would she have been left in the dark, blindly following my father’s choices?

“Father, perhaps–” Cor’s comment was interrupted as the door flew open to reveal Edmund’s older sister.

“Queen Susan!” my father boomed, spreading his hands like he was welcoming an angel.

“I came as quickly as I could.” She glanced around the room as she closed the door behind her. “What’s happened?”

“Your brother’s marrying my sister,” Corin grumbled, and Cor nudged him.

Queen Susan’s eyes went wide as they found her brother. “You…” She glanced at me. “And…?”

“Me,” I finished awkwardly.

To her credit, Queen Susan only blinked once before taking the news in stride. “Well then,” she folded her hands together, “I suppose we’re preparing a wedding.”

My father nodded. “Ab-so-lute-ly. Why, there isn’t a moment to lose!”

“Sorry,” I cut in, “but why do we have no moments for, uh, losing?”

“The sooner we get married, the better,” Edmund said calmly from his spot on the other side of the room. Everyone looked at him, a common occurrence whenever the Just King opened his mouth. But unlike normal when Edmund would hardly acknowledge the attention, he glanced uncomfortably at everyone before meeting my eyes. “It won’t do to wait, not with Rabadash’s presence here.” He started to push his hands into his pockets, and, at the last minute, he clasped them behind his back instead.

“Oh,” was all I said.

“And why would we wait?” My father seized one of my hands, dragging me closer to Edmund with such zeal, I nearly tripped, and would have, if Edmund’s hands hadn’t found my waist to steady me. “This is a fated union!” my father boomed in Queen Susan’s direction as Edmund’s hands flew away from my waist and his feet shifted to create space between us.

I was so distracted by Edmund, it took me a moment to understand what my father had said.

Fated union? Hadn’t he just said moments ago that he never imagined this happening?

“If we work quickly,” my father walked towards the queen, “why, we could have them married by the end of the week!”

Queen Susan jerked out of some pensive musing. “Yes! Yes, I don’t see why not.”

“We’ll get started immediately.” My father offered his hand to the queen, which was quickly accepted. “Now, my lady, we must start with the guest list. Of course, the Archenland nobility will all be invited to this most auspicious event, but we must see about inviting High King Peter and Queen Lucy.” Still talking, he led her out of the room, leaving me and my brothers with Edmund.

Silence fell.

As the fire behind me let out a great pop, I peeked at Edmund, who was already looking at me. The moment our eyes met, we looked away.

Cor caught my eyes, quirking an eyebrow, but Corin was staring at Edmund with the defiant expression he wore whenever someone dared him to do something foolish.

“So why do you want to marry Y/N?” Corin asked.

“Corin!” Cor hissed.

“It’s a valid question!” Corin folded his arms. “You’re wondering it too!”

I looked at Edmund and knew we were silently asking ourselves the same question: did we reveal to them the true motivation behind why Edmund suddenly wanted to marry me? Edmund raised his eyebrows, clearly placing the decision in my hands.

If they knew, they would see how wonderful Edmund was…but they would also see how pathetic their sister’s position was, that I’d found out I was being married off and had to rely on a friend to rescue me because I couldn’t rescue myself. I didn’t want them to be party to my embarrassment. “It’s none of his business,” I said to Edmund, and I knew he understood my hidden meaning. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“It is too my business,” Corin argued, getting to his feet. Cor got to his feet also, putting a hand on his twin’s shoulder, which Corin quickly shook off. “If he’s going to be my new brother-in-law, I want to know.”

Brother-in-law.

The title made me feel suddenly queasy. If it made me feel queasy, it certainly made Edmund—the man who never wanted to marry—uncomfortable as well.

“Corin–” I started, ready to send him off the trail.

“Your sister,” Edmund cut in, drawing all eyes, “is special.”

Special.

That was like calling something interesting—it sounded like you were saying something, but you really said nothing at all.

“Really, Edmund, you don’t have to–”

“Shhhh!” Corin shushed me. Both my brothers faced Edmund, looking expectant. Outnumbered and helpless, I dropped into an armchair, watching Edmund try and stitch his words together.

“It’s not hard to find a beautiful woman,” Edmund said finally. “Nor is it rare to find a well-mannered woman of grace and poise. I’ve met many women of great intelligence or enthusiastic patience or tremendous humanity.”

I looked down at my shoes, my eyes watering from the smoke of my hopes burning.

“But your sister, somehow…is all of those things.”

I glanced up to see Edmund looking over at me. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a soft and undeniable fondness in his eyes. “Any man would be lucky to have her, but none could deserve her.” He shook his head. “Not even me.”

My heart overflowed, brought to the brink of pain with the amount of affection in it.

“I’m quite convinced that if she wanted to,” Edmund tilted his head, “she could outshine the sun.”

His words stole my breath. I fought to regain it, to be as unruffled and mighty as his words made me seem, but air seemed beyond my reach. He didn’t have to say all that, I’d given him permission to ignore my brothers, and yet he’d said it anyway. Did he really mean it? Or was he pandering to my brothers to convince them?

Even as I pondered the question, I could tell by his face that his words were in earnest, and it made me wonder. As underhanded as Rabadash proved himself to be…was he right? Did Edmund truly love me?

Corin pretended to gag. “Gross.”

“Corin!” I exclaimed, feeling my cheeks heat up.

“I didn’t ask for poetry!”

Cor shoved Corin. “Shut up!” Cor stepped forward to clap Edmund on the shoulder. “It will be an honor to have you as our new brother, King Edmund.”

Edmund politely inclined his head. “Likewise.”

“You picked a good one,” Corin told me, begrudgingly. With that, the twins left the room, arguing about Corin’s manners as they went.

And then, Edmund and I were alone.

All our familiarity melted away like snow in the spring. We didn’t touch each other, we didn’t look at each other, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if Edmund was trying to ignore the sound of my breathing the way I was trying to ignore his.

My current position far exceeded my position a few hours ago. Marrying Edmund was a vast improvement over marrying Rabadash.

But…with Rabadash, there was no obligation to pretend it was anything more than an arrangement. I could’ve spent my whole marriage loathing him, and it changed nothing. But with Edmund? I didn’t have the ease of hatred nor the certainty of love. It was still an arrangement, but an arrangement that left me unsure of where I stood.

“Will you stand up for me?”

I blinked, suddenly noticing that Edmund stood in front of my chair now, his hand outstretched. “What?”

“Stand up.”

I did, tentatively placing my hand in his. Edmund was standing so close, I had to tilt my head back to look in his face. This is how we stood in the drawing room, when Edmund looked down at me with an expression I’d never before seen.

He was wearing the expression again now.

Then, ever so slowly, he dropped down to one knee, and a sudden burst of alarm shot through me. “What are you doing?” I cried before clapping a hand over my mouth at the sheer volume of my shrill voice.

Edmund reached out for my other hand. “I’m doing this right.”

I curled both hands into my chest. “You don’t have to–”

“I do,” Edmund said grimly, looking up at me. “In fact, I should’ve done it in the drawing room the moment I thought of this whole plan. You deserve to have this done right.”

“But this makes it–” I’d been about to say ‘real’, but nothing about this was real. If it were real, Edmund would propose because he didn’t want to live life without me. Because he loved me, not because he was trying to save me from an impossible situation.

And yet, it was real. This was happening.

“Will you please let me do this?” Edmund asked.

“But I’ve already said yes!” I said shrilly. “We’re already getting–”

Married.

A measly little word, and yet I couldn’t make myself say it, too aware of its weight.

“You said yes to the plan.” Edmund got to his feet again, something raw in his eyes. “You didn’t say yes to me.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s implied!”

Edmund bent a little so that our faces were on the same level as he looked directly into my eyes. “I don’t want a marriage based on an implication.”

My knees shook a little, weakened by the intensity of his tone. There should’ve been no surprise about this. I knew what kind of a man Edmund was. Of course it would translate into the kind of husband he wanted to be.

“Y/N, please,” Edmund begged. “I-I need to feel like I’m doing this right.”

“You’re…” I trailed off. “You’re already doing too much for me.”

“Then do this for me.”

Why? my head screamed. I knew what Rabadash’s answer to that question would be, and it scared me. But as Edmund looked at me with his wheedling face, I knew there wasn’t much I could ever deny him. I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded, not trusting my voice. For Edmund. I could let him do this.

“Alright then.” Edmund clumsily and awkwardly took my hands, and I wasn’t sure if his hands were sweating or if mine were as he lowered himself onto his knee again. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

For a scary moment, I couldn’t form any words, couldn’t do anything except stare at him. Edmund was gaining new titles with this.

Son-in-law. Brother-in-law. Husband.

And so was I, I realized.

Queen. Sister-in-law. Wife.

I stared down at Edmund, cursing his persistent need to do things ‘the proper way’.

“Please say yes,” Edmund pleaded, his eyes imploring for the word.

Why did he seem so desperate? We were already getting married. The deal was already made. The wedding was being planned. Why did my ‘yes’ matter so much?

It didn’t matter that much to anyone else.

I swallowed hard. “Yes.” The word was strained and indecipherable, so I cleared my throat. “Yes, Edmund, I’ll marry you.”

Edmund didn’t smile. Instead, he released my right hand, shoving his own into his pocket.

“What are you–” My words died as my eyes caught the flash of silver. I gaped down at Edmund. “You got me a ring?”

Edmund laughed nervously, looking down at the band in his hand. “Not exactly. It’s actually my signet ring from when I was younger. I, uh, I outgrew it, and they had to craft another one.” He lifted his right hand to show off the ring on his pointer finger. “I-I just thought, um, that it could work until we could have another one made for you.” His rushed and uncertain words floored me. He scratched his neck. “It’s small, I know, and it’s very simple, but I just, I mean, I thought perhaps, in a way, it’s right–”

“It’s perfect.”

Edmund looked up at me. “Really?” I nodded, wordlessly holding out my hand. Edmund, staying in his position on the ground, gently slid the ring onto my ring finger. It nearly slipped back past my knuckle. “Um…I guess it’s too big.” He started to pull it off.

“Wait!” I quickly slid it onto my middle finger. Still too big.

Edmund rose to his feet. “Really, if it doesn’t fit, you don’t have to–”

I slid it onto my pointer finger, and it stayed right where it was. “It fits,” I said, showing it to him.

“It’s not on your ring finger though,” Edmund said, frowning.

“No, it’s okay. I like it on this finger.” I held it up to the light, admiring the birch leaves right in the center. “And anyways, we match.“ Taking his hand in mine, I spread his fingers until our palms met, the rings matching up with our pointer fingers. “See?” I said softly.

Edmund didn’t reply at first. Then, his eyes met mine. “I guess we do.” He let his fingers slip, intertwining with mine. I held my breath, suddenly anxious as his thumb gently, soothingly rubbed mine. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I let out the breath, sinking into the comfort of my courteous and wonderful friend. “Yes. Are you?”

“Apparently,” his Adam’s apple rippled as he swallowed, “we’re going to be married by the end of the week.”

I knew it, I knew he didn’t want to be married. I loosened my grip on his hand. “You don’t have to do this–”

“Y/N,” he said softly, holding my hand tighter. “We’re not going to have this conversation over and over again.”

“I-I just, I can’t–”

“If the roles were reversed,” Edmund cut in, “would you do the same for me?”

“Of course I would,” I replied without a moment’s hesitation. “I’d do anything for you, because you’re my best friend.”

The corners of Edmund’s mouth turned ever so slightly upward. “And I for you, because you’re mine.” His expression turned a little devious. “Should I be offended that you keep trying to let me out of this?”

I chuckled a bit self-consciously. “It’s probably bad manners, isn’t it, to reject a gift like this?”

“It is,” Edmund said pleasantly. “But have no fear, I’ll still bring you gifts on your birthday every year.”

I smiled. “Except you’ll only have to walk them down the hall instead of sending them across nations.”

“I’ll save on so much postage,” Edmund murmured. I giggled lightly, and Edmund smiled fully. The tightness in my chest eased at the familiar sight. It was the type of smile that promised we were going to be okay. The awkwardness of our impending marriage couldn’t shake our friendship.

The door opened, and we respectfully stepped away from each other.

“Y/N,” said Queen Susan’s melodious voice, causing me to look up. She pursed her lips, clearly trying to conceal a smile. “I want your opinion on flowers for the wedding.” Her eyes flicked towards her brother. “Edmund tells me you like flowers.”

I looked over at Edmund, and the pink dusting his cheeks made me smile. “Yes, I do,” I said lightly, walking over to Queen Susan. She turned to lead me down the hall, and I glanced over my shoulder at Edmund.

He looked the very picture of regality.

His hands were behind his back again as he stood at his full, kingly height. Even the smile on his face was lordly, yet spoke of such warmth, I wondered at his assertion that I could outshine the sun.

Didn’t Edmund know he already did?

Part 6

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

White Moves First tag list:

@thelifeofsecretpenguins @read-just-cant @chesh-ire-cat @emotionallyattachedteen

#narnia #chronicles of narnia #edmund #edmund pevensie #edmund fanfic #edmund fanfiction #king edmund #king edmund the just #arranged marriage #arranged marriage trope #friends to lovers #chess #narnia fanfic #narnia fanfiction #marriage #wedding #royal marriage #marriage of convenience

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blueberrywhale123 · 3 months ago

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Shasta to Cor

Do you ever think about the Horse and His Boy and just get floored by the biblical parallels?? Cuz of course they're there, C.S. Lewis wrote them all to be allegorical on some level and even this book has it though it's not as obvious as the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. But when Shasta starts out he's a poor boy that has been condemned to a life of slavery and is given the "good news" that there is hope and freedom and safety in Narnia (salvation). So he goes with Bree, by faith, trusting that when he reaches the end, he will be free.

And when he gets there to the north, he has an encounter with Aslan - one of his many but this time he can see Him for who He really is - the King who has protected him and guided him and was waiting for this moment to speak with him.

And later Shasta discovers he's a prince (the son of the King, if you will) and that he has a new name, Cor, to go with his new clothes and new life. No longer is he a slave but now royalty. He has been given a new name to do away with the former things. His slave clothes are gone and replaced with royal garments.

And one day we will be given new names by Jesus!

I hope this makes sense but I just love this parallel with Shasta/Cor's story and salvation.

#narnia #the chronicles of narnia #the horse and his boy #shasta #cor #bree #aslan #salvation #allegory #christianity

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iliveinnarniaandstudyathogwarts · 10 months ago

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People of narnia

Cor king of Archenland

#narnia #shasta #Cor #Shasta edit #shasta aesthetic #narnia edit #narnia aesthetic #people of narnia #my work

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faithful-grigori · 2 years ago

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”#am I going to be harping on this point until I die?, #all signs point to yes, #grow up indeed says polly, #I wish she would grow up”

Petition to start referring to Susan Pevensie's arc as "The Tragedy of Susan" rather than "The Problem of Susan." Her arc is not defined by the "problem" of growing up; it is the tragedy of forgetting she is a queen.

In Prince Caspian, we see the seeds of this. "It's no good behaving like kids now that we are back in Narnia," Peter tells her when she is afraid of entering the treasure chamber in the ruins of Cair Paravel. "You're a Queen here." Aslan does not chide her for being too grown-up to believe in him; he lends her his breath for bravery so that she can stop listening to her fears. Susan's "problem" in this book is in fact that she behaves more like a child than a queen.

In many ways, Susan's arc parallels Prince Rilian's in The Silver Chair. He is the Lost Prince; she becomes the Lost Queen. He is enchanted to forget who he really is. The Green Lady twists his birthright so that he is going to conquer his own land and rule as a usurper--the land where he is meant to be the rightful ruler! He unconsciously trades his role as the true prince for a false kingship (similar to Edmund trading his birthright as a true king of Narnia for the Witch's false promise to make him a prince ... hey, you'd almost think this was a theme or something).

Susan likewise trades her identity as queen for a false substitute in England, exchanging the substance for the shadow. She is a child pretending to be a grown-up, not actually being grown-up. Lewis never says there's anything inherently wrong with "lipstick and nylons and invitations," but they are merely the outward trappings of society. What makes a person a king or queen comes from inside. When Rilian returns to Narnia, he is instantly recognized as a prince, despite his lack of a crown or any of the other formal trappings of royalty. He is recognized because he is no longer hidden by the armor of the Green Lady--and so he looks like himself. In fact, he not only looks like himself, he looks like his father. (Which is also how Lord Bern recognizes Caspian in the Lone Islands, despite Caspian not having any outward proof of his kingship--Caspian looks and sounds like his father. Shasta is recognized as a prince because of his resemblance to his brother--oh hey, we've got another theme going.)

Susan has put on the armor of the world, and in doing so has lost herself as queen. That is what makes her arc a tragedy. But! There is always, always hope. Rilian is rescued. Shasta is restored to his true identity as Prince Cor. Edmund is redeemed. Aslan breathes on Susan. Caspian's kingship restores right order to the Lone Islands. No one is ever irredeemably lost.

Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia.

Even when they themselves have forgotten who they truly are.

#the chronicles of narnia #the last battle #the silver chair #the lion the witch and the wardrobe #a horse and his boy #the voyage of the dawn treader #susan pevensie #queen susan the gentle #prince rilian #edmund pevensie #king edmund the just #Prince Cor #Narnia Shasta #Shasta #prince caspian #aslan #writing #storytelling #queue za change!

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liminal-zone · 1 year ago

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little lady, we bid you very heartily welcome

I wrote a teeny thing! A million years ago (in 2006)! Slightly remixed. Just posting it here!

title: through a father’s eyes

fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Horse and His Boy | characters: Kidrash Tarkaan, King Lune

rated: gen | tagged: dads gotta dad, heartache, canon-typical problematic word choice, drabble-ish

summary: a letter arrives for Kidrash Tarkaan, with news unexpected.

The letter arrived mid-day, tucked in with the rest of the notices. Sorting through the pale papers of state and business, he chose first to open the one with strange lettering about it. The paper had a slight fragrance of honey and a perfume unknown to him. Within a moment he could tell that it was from those elusive barbarians in the North as the script and choice of words only mimicked that of the great scribes of the Tisroc (may he live forever), for the style was not quite right.

But the style was close enough to be of great interest.

He, who had so little to do with the affairs between nations, what sort of business would those barbarians have with him? Before reading, he took a sip of wine and spoke a prayer to Tash, dispelling the evil spirits that might inhabit the sheaf of paper.

And he read.

"Lune, by the gift of Aslan, by birth, by prescription, King over Archenland, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion to Kidrash Tarkaan, lord and master over the province of Calavar in the Realm of Calormen, our most glorious neighbor:

In the name of the Lion, be it known to you that my son and heir, Prince Cor, has signed a contract of marriage between himself and the Lady Aravis, known to you as your eldest daughter, Aravis Tarkeenna. Her remarkable valor, renowned intelligence, and beauty which illuminates the universe have proven her to be a worthy future queen over all my lands and peoples. The Great Lion has spoken the Words over her, and marked her as His people. The Lady Aravis is deeply loved by the prince, and I believe that she returns his love, thread for thread from her heart. Their happiness brings delight to my eyes and peace to my heart.

May it be known that I do not ask for the dowry of your daughter, nor do I ask for your blessing over this marriage.

However, I feel that is it most honorable to tell you the fortune of the eldest surviving issue of your flesh. I of all fathers know the cruel challenge when the fate of your offspring is unknown.

I commit you to the care of your gods and may the breath of Aslan be upon you and yours."

Within the envelope is a sheet of paper bearing a drawing in the Northern style, featuring a beautiful young woman. She is in strange clothing and she is dancing, her hands in the particular motion known to all who venerate Tash – the inexorable, the irresistible – as a joyous celebration of union. A wedding dance on foreign soil. The artist had drawn her merry, and her eyes are unmistakably those of Aravis, for they are identical to Kidrash’ first wife (may her soul find rest in the many arms of Tash). A crowned barbarian is drawn dancing with her in the stance of a Calormen bridegroom.

He found it hard to look at.

His daughter, his strange unknowable daughter. Lost to these people, to be their anointed queen. And yet, it is celebrated that she dances in this manner. Still a daughter of Great Calormen.

Kidrash read the letter twice over before throwing it and the drawing into the fire. And in the morning, he had his war horse saddled and packed for long journey.

#narnia #the horse and his boy #kidrash tarkaan #aravis tarkheena #king lune #lizzen fic #remix fic #i've written so much lune fic y'all #I LOVE THE HORSE AND HIS BOY SO MUCH

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iwouldratherbeahobbit · 1 year ago

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#narnia #the chronicles of narnia #corin #shasta #aravis tarkheena #uncle andrew #puddleglum #king tirian #prince rilian

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queenlucythevaliant · 2 years ago

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When Lucy returned to school for the spring term, Peter sent a war poem. It dropped from the crease of his letter into her lap, as unexpected as a firebomb.

“On Receiving News of War,” the title read, and Lucy’s heart lurched. She was sixteen and Peter was twenty-one. The war had ended three years ago and he had only been a British soldier for a matter of months before he was discharged. Now, this poem came: words from the Last Lot, the 1914 war. Lucy picked up the loose page and read.

ON RECEIVING NEWS OF THE WAR

Snow is a strange white word;

No ice or frost

Have asked of bud or bird

For Winter's cost.

Yet ice and frost and snow

From earth to sky

This Summer land doth know,

No man knows why.

She looked up in shock. What did Peter mean in sending this? Was it only that it made him think of their first days in Narnia, white and frozen under the White Witch’s curse? He could not have missed the title. Lucy worried her lip between her teeth, considering. Her brother did not often use words idly.

Red fangs have torn His face.

God's blood is shed.

He mourns from His lone place

His children dead.

O! ancient crimson curse!

Corrode, consume.

Give back this universe

Its pristine bloom.

Oh. Yes, alright. That made a certain kind of sense. And there, at the bottom of the page, was a single line writ in Peter’s hand. “Variations on a theme,” he had written, “only I’m not yet certain what theme it is. Do you have an idea?��

Several, in fact. Lucy’s mind lit up in an instant, all a-whirl with memory and typology. She wasn’t a child any longer, and in small bits her many battles came back to her. Peter, she was sure, remembered even more of Narnia’s wars.

Yet Lucy remembered the ice of Lantern Waste on the first day as though no time had passed at all. She remembered the crimson of Aslan’s blood. She remembered the thaw. In her mind, those things had nothing and everything to do with Britain’s last war. Nothing: the two worlds were as different as King Arthur and Winston Churchill. Everything: because maybe Arthur and Churchill were not so different after all.

That night, after a trip to the library and with a book of poetry on her desk, Lucy composed her reply. “Another variation,” she wrote, and carefully copied out the lines.

All the dead kings came to me

At Rosnaree, where I was dreaming,

A few stars glimmered through the morn,

And down the thorn the dews were streaming.

And every dead king had a story

Of ancient glory, sweetly told.

It was too early for the lark,

But the starry dark had tints of gold.

The poem was called “The Dead Kings.” Peter was not dead, but Lune was and Cor was. Caspian was. It was easy to imagine them appearing in the trenches and whispering their stories into the ears of British soldiers.

“Caspian would have liked the notion, I think,” Lucy said thoughtfully.

Peter leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Yes. Come to think of it, I rather like it myself. If I were the dead king, I mean.”

“It’s strange—I think these were meant to be sad poems, the way they were written. The world unwillingly cursed and the ancient kings dead. Yet when you apply it to Narnia, I don’t think it’s terribly sad at all. Maybe a little melancholy, but hopeful too. Like I know something that the poet doesn’t.”

“You do know something that the poet doesn’t,” answered Peter.

“I mean about war and dying and all. It’s all so distant for me, you know? And yet I often suspect that I know secrets that some men who actually fought couldn’t guess at. The hopeless men, maybe. In Narnia it was all more beautiful. Having lived there elevates even war and death, in this world.”

“We were, both of us, soldiers once.”

Lucy nodded.

“How about this one, then?” Peter shoved his book across the table, nearly upending the cream along the way.

The drab street stares to see them row on row

On the high tram-tops, singing like the lark.

Too careless-gay for courage, singing they go

Into the dark.

“Simple,” said Lucy. “Singing on the way to war is courage. Singing in the dark is just about the bravest thing a person can do. Just because these boys go into the battle without knowing what it’s really like doesn’t make them any less brave for going, or for singing.”

“You would know,” her brother smiled fondly.

With tin whistles, mouth-organs, any noise,

They pipe the way to glory and the grave;

Foolish and young, the gay and golden boys

Love cannot save...

“It makes me think of Susan,” Peter murmured.

“I can see that. Our love cannot save her, only Aslan’s.” Lucy frowned thoughtfully.

“No, no—I mean I wonder if that’s how Susan thinks of us: foolish children still playing games where singing in the dark means anything at all. Gay and golden, but naïve and careless by the same token. Too caught up in notions of courage and glory to realize that we live in a world where good people die.”

“Oh Peter, you don’t really think?”

“She told me once she’s afraid that we’ll never grow up, did you know? I wondered if she meant that we would always be like children, or if she worried we might die young. Sometimes I still wonder.”

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” said Lucy. “To always be child-like, or even to die young. Not by half.”

Peter snorted. “You might not mind dying young, but I’d certainly mind it. You’re my little sister, Lu. If you die young, it means I’ve done something wrong.”

“Well of course I’d mind! There are so many things I mean to do once I’m grown up. But I’ve always thought—ever since Father Christmas handed me that dagger—that I might. As long as I died for something, it wouldn’t bother me. I think I could be a rather good martyr.” She winked across the table.

“Don’t you dare. If Aslan has short lives in mind for either of us, we’ll drink what we’re given. In the meantime, let’s both of us focus on growing up well.”

The next week, Lucy went with Marjorie Preston to the mail room. It was Marjorie’s birthday and she was expecting a parcel from home, but Lucy was also privately hoping for another letter from Peter.

An abundance of riches awaited Marjorie: an enormous box that the two of them had to lift together. Thus, Lucy tucked Peter’s letter under one of the box’s flaps as they carried it, and it was Marjorie who tore open the envelope when they reached the dormitories.

“What in the world is this?” Marjorie exclaimed, waving a poem under Lucy’s nose. Lucy snatched it away and hungrily read the words, considering how this variation fit Peter’s theme. Then, she noticed that Marjorie was still beside her, tapping her foot impatiently.

“My brother sends me war poems,” Lucy explained hurriedly.

“That’s strange.”

“Do you think so?” Lucy considered. “Well, no matter.”

WAR GIRLS (here Peter had added “& VALIANT QUEENS”)

Strong, sensible, and fit,

They're out to show their grit,

And tackle jobs with energy and knack.

No longer caged and penned up,

They're going to keep their end up

Till the khaki soldier boys come marching back.

"Does he mean you?" asked Marjorie, wrinkling her nose.

Lucy laughed, but didn't dispute it. She went to fetch some paper and a pen.

On they went for the next several months, passing poems back and forth in their letters. Some of them were hopeful and some despairing, some sad, some darkly funny. It was a dialogue in a war that Peter scarcely remembered, and Lucy even less. In time, Tennyson and others from before the Last Lot worked their way in. Even Shakespeare made an appearance with several selections from the Henriad. Spring lurched into summer which tumbled into fall. Peter turned twenty-two in August and Lucy was seventeen in November.

Then, at dinner at Professor Digory’s house one night, the specter of a Narnian king appeared before them. Before they left, Peter found the poem he was thinking of in the Professor’s study and gave it to Lucy.

Horror of wounds and anger at the foe,

And loss of things desired; all these must pass.

We are the happy legion, for we know

Time's but a golden wind that shakes the grass.

“Does it feel different this time?” he asked once she had read it.

“Yes,” replied his sister, “and no. It feels obscurely like it did the night Aslan died. Like something is hanging over us.”

“I think this is the end,” Peter said bluntly. “He said we wouldn’t ever go back to Narnia, yet here we are. It feels like the end. Do you remember what it was like the night before a battle?”

“Yes. I didn’t before, but I do now. Like we had to gather up everything inside ourselves and name it. Fear and courage, love and memory.”

Peter sighed. “We ought to get going. There might be ice on the roads tonight.”

Lucy went into the closet and fetched her coat. Peter followed, moving a fraction slower than usual.

“Peter?” Peter turned and looked at Lucy, who was standing in the doorway with her fur-trimmed collar turned up around her throat. “It was a good poem, Peter. The right poem. Time’s but a golden wind that shakes the grass…”

Golden. Golden like Aslan’s mane, which they both so dearly longed to touch once more. Lucy tossed the poem round and round in her mind all that evening.

Before he and Edmund left for London, Lucy slipped an envelope into Peter’s pocket. “Read it on the train,” she told him.

Peter nodded. “I have one for you too.”

It was the last conversation they shared in the Shadowlands, though neither knew it at the time.

When Lucy unfolded her poem, she recognized the words. It was her favorite war-poem, which she’d first sent to Peter months ago when their correspondence had begun.

Sombre the night is:

And, though we have our lives, we know

What sinister threat lurks there.

But hark! Joy—joy—strange joy.

Lo! Heights of night ringing with unseen larks:

Music showering on our upturned listening faces.

It almost made her want to giggle, how well Peter knew her. Lucy thought of him and Edmund together in London; she ached for Susan, who had chosen not to join her siblings in their last battle for Narnia. She breathed in deep and thought of music on the way to war.

Death could drop from the dark

As easily as song—

But song only dropped,

Like a blind man's dreams on the sand

By dangerous tides;

Like a girl's gold hair, for she dreams no ruin lies there,

Or her songs where a lion hides.

That last couplet was wrong. Peter had changed it. The poem ended with, A girl’s dark hair and kisses where a serpent hides, but Peter had written gold and lion instead.

When Peter unfolded his own poem on the train, he found only a single stanza, annotated on nearly every line.

It didn’t pass— (His will be done) it didn’t pass- (His will be done)

It didn’t pass from me.

I drank it when we met the gas (His will be done)

Beyond Gethsemane! (His will be done)

The train halted and the whistle blew. Peter shook Edmund awake beside him, and together they went to unbury the rings.

Poems referenced: “On Receiving News of the War,” Isaac Rosenberg; “The Dead Kings,” Francis Ledwidge; “Joining the Colours,” Katharine Tynan; “War Girls,” Jessie Pope; “Absolution,” Siegfried Sassoon; “Returning, We Hear Larks,” Isaac Rosenberg; “Gethsemane,” Rudyard Kipling

#i really am very interested in the ways that Narnia relates to both ww2 and ww1 #but i almost never like the way other people address the subject #(sorry)#so here's my attempt #i'm not 100% satisfied with it but i think it's good enough for now #the beauty of using a cut is that i can still revise if i decide i want to #also this is part of my informal 'Narnia lit analysis series'#because that's just the kind of gal i am #narnia #dear darling heart-daughter of aslan #high king over all the rest #chapter one #martyr club relevant #leah stories #pontifications and creations #intertextuality

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