Just a Girl Who Likes Writing

In the books, when Aslan establishes the Kings and Queens, he doesn’t give them titles. I often wonder, what did these children do in their time as rulers, to earn the names of Magnificent, Gentle, Just, and Valiant? Here is my take on Lucy’s story, as a young girl discovering and learning to harness her own power.

If Lucy Pevensie had been anything other than completely and entirely her own, many foreign visitors would have been correct in the assumption that she was a little girl hiding behind her brother Peter’s strength.

She was, however, not the sort of girl to hide from anything.

It had been Lucy Pevensie who walked into a world she’d never heard of and made friends with the first person she saw.

It had been Lucy Pevensie who first went to Aslan to comfort him in his grief, and had run to his broken, bloodied body without a second thought.

Lucy Pevensie had stood before a giant and offered him a hanky to wipe his face.

She’d always been valiant.

But the Narnians didn’t realise it until the first time war threatened Narnia after the end of the Hundred Year Winter.

The first mistake the Telmarine Ambassadors had made was to condescend to Peter. One of them made the unforgivable oversight of calling him “boy” to his face. Peter’s eyes flashed and his hand shifted to his hip where Rhindon rested.

The second blunder made in Cair Paravel’s entrance hall that day was suggesting that Queen Susan was “naught but a pretty face, though she may prove useful in future”. Susan’s shoulders tensed, her eyes became colder than ice and the guards that stood at each doorway stood up straighter at the slightest flick of her fingers.

The third error the Ambassadors made that day was to address Edmund as “Prince” as if anyone could mistake that face - full of the wisdom that comes with experience - for anything but a King’s.

But the largest mistake they made was speaking over Lucy as if she wasn’t there.

After half an hour of listening to those ambassadors insult her family as though they were not guests in Narnia, Lucy lost her temper. She stood suddenly from her throne, golden dress glinting in the sunlight. Her eyes shone with the fiery righteous anger that reminded her brothers of the way Aslan had looked when He pounced on the Witch.

She pulled her dagger from its sheath, walked down the steps and placed the point right against the Head Ambassador’s neck.

When she spoke, it wasn’t a yell, as the Ambassadors would have expected from a young girl. It was so quiet that her siblings hardly heard what was said.

“You seem to have forgotten to whom you are speaking, Counselor. You do not stand in your own hall, but mine. You do not face incompetent children, but Kings and Queens with more courage, and more real battle experience, than you will ever have. You will address the rulers of the country in which you stand with the same respect you would address your own king, in your own hall. Because if you do not, you will face deportation and all trading between Narnia and Telmar coming to a halt. And we are your significant benefactors. You need everything that we provide, but we can very well plant our own corn fields.”

The last two words were so filled with contempt that even Peter, who knew her best, was surprised.

“We are good, Counselor. But we are not tame. Do not mistake one for the other.”

Lucy sheathed her dagger and turned her back on the Ambassadors as she ascended to the Throne Dias. She turned, looked directly at the Telmarines spoke in a voice that called every soldier to attention and a tone that brooked no argument.

“Guards, escort the Telmarine Ambassadors to their quarters. My siblings and I have heard enough of their idiocy for one day.”

No-one is sure how the story of the youngest Queen’s courage seeped through the palace walls, but it wasn’t long after that Mr. Tumnus mentioned that her people had been calling her “valiant” as of late. She liked it so much that she adopted it as her official title, often signing her name as simply:

In the books, when Aslan establishes the Kings and Queens, he doesn’t give them titles. I often wonder, what did these children do in their time as rulers, to earn the names of Magnificent, Gentle, Just, and Valiant? Here is my take on Susan’s story, as a girl learning to be a Queen.

For her whole life, Susan had been the voice of reason and safety. When Peter was furious that he couldn’t go fight with his father, she comforted him, telling him that he could fight his battle here, protecting Edmund and Lucy.  When Edmund came home with bruises from bullies, she was the first he went to, a safe place to cry. And when Lucy was homesick in the country, it was Susan’s bed she’d crawl into, curling into her sister’s side and falling asleep instantly.

But being an older sister requires some degree of firmness, of authority, of intimidation, and, at first, that was all the Narnians saw. Her eyes were sharp, but her tongue was far sharper. She was always dressed to perfection, and her relaxed expression made her look as though she were permanently glowering. Peter’s kind of intimidation was more glamourous and bold; he radiated authority. But where Peter’s voice could silence a room, Susan’s eyes made the bravest of orators stumble in their speech. This aura, combined with the fact that the people learned early of her unbeatable skill with a bow, made Susan the most feared of her siblings in the early years of her reign.

Because of this, the Narnians were more than a little surprised when, at a jousting tournament, a little lost girl ran right up to Susan and wrapped her arms around the Queen’s legs. Even more surprising than that was that Susan immediately stooped, picked the girl up as tenderly as if she had been her own, and stroked her hair with a softness in her face that no one there had ever seen.

Susan looked around at the crowd, smiled, and called in a voice that, while soft, carried to the ears of every person there,

“Who does this sweetheart belong to?”

A young woman raised her hand and ran up to the dais on which the four siblings sat to watch the games. She bowed nervously, and Susan gently lowered the little girl into her mother’s arms.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” The woman smiled up at her. “They say children have good instincts. Daisy here must have known you were… gentle.”

Susan broke out into a radiant grin. “Thank you.”

In the books, when Aslan establishes the Kings and Queens, he doesn’t give them titles. I often wonder, what did these children do in their time as rulers, to earn the names of Magnificent, Gentle, Just, and Valiant? Here is my take on Peter’s story, as a young man trying to learn how to manage the nuances of ruling a country.

It’s about a year into the Golden Age. Peter is just settling into Narnia properly, just beginning to get a handle on the idea of being a king. And not just any king. The High King. He already knew what it was to have people rely on him, but three younger siblings are very different to thousands of people who are just out of a hundred-year oppression. There’s pressure to prove he’s not another tyrant, unrest amongst those who had supported the White Witch, and, above all, uncertainty. Through trials and tribulations, Peter has proven that he’s not a cruel king. He’s shown to be fair to his subjects, to want to protect them. And now, he finally feels like he belongs.

One summer morning, Peter is walking through the halls of Cair Paravel, on his way to breakfast. Outside, the sky is blindingly blue, the sun is warm and the air is clean. The breeze brings the scent of saltwater in from the ocean, freshening the corridors as the young king strolls towards the parlour that the Royal Family usually breakfasts in. As he rounds the last corner, Peter sees a familiar faun approaching.

“Tumnus! What are you doing up so early?” Peter smiles and shakes hands warmly.

“I’ve just received a note from the Counsel, Your Majesty.” Tumnus smiles. “What with the Tisroc’s ambassadors arriving soon, they are wondering how Your Majesty wishes to be introduced?”

“First of all, Tumnus, I’ve told you to call me Peter,” he answers, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “And second of all, why don’t they just introduce me as ‘High King Peter of Narnia’, and then include my Knighthood and all the rest of it?”

“It’s not so simple as that, Peter,” Tumnus smiles tiredly. “The Tisroc has about a million titles, and having few as a King makes it seem as though you’re weak. Not to us, Peter!” the faun adds hastily. “But having lots of titles shows that you’re not to be trifled with or underestimated. It enhances your authority as High King.”

Peter nods his head and frowns. Over the last year, he’s come to understand that things that might seem excessive to him are part of being a King, as much as he dislikes them.

“Why don’t we ask my siblings? I’m sure they’ll be able to help us figure something out.”

The faun and the High King enter the parlour, where the other three rulers have already arrived. Susan is dressed to perfection, as always, wearing a pale green dress and a small, golden broach featuring a bow and arrow pinned on her left shoulder. Her dark hair is braided around the side of her head, and her golden circlet rests elegantly above it. She sits at the table, spreading butter on a piece of toast, and looks up, smiling, as the pair enters.

Edmund doesn’t move as the door opens, too absorbed in his book to care. He is dressed much the same as Peter is, wearing a loose, white shirt over brown pants, black boots, and a belt. His hair is tousled as though he has just woken up, and his sword rests against the arm of his chair as he crunches on a green apple.

Lucy runs to Peter and Tumnus to hug them both, beaming up at her brother and best friend, before returning to her seat. Her yellow dress is one of her favourites, brightly coloured, easy to move in, and beautiful. Her hair isn’t as messy as Edmund’s but is still wilder than her sister’s, curls bouncing this way and that as she pulls Peter into his seat.

“Peter, you’re later than usual! Did the High King sleep in?” Susan arches an eyebrow, smiling a little.

“No, I was speaking to Tumnus. The Counsel wants to know how I should be introduced when those Calormen ambassadors arrive. I thought that just ‘High King Peter’ would be fine, but apparently that won’t do at all. I need to give an air of authority, Tumnus says.” Peter smiles at his sister and grabs a piece of toast. “I said we should ask you what my fancy title should be, since I have no idea what to call myself.”

Susan looks thoughtful. “It’d have to be ‘High King Peter the Something-or-other of Narnia’, is that right, Tumnus?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Tumnus nods and takes a seat, smiling. “Something that reflects His Majesty’s strengths.”

Lucy laughs. “Perhaps High King Peter the Smelly would do? His scent is strong, after all.”

Susan shakes her head, but can’t contain a smile as Peter chuckles. “Lucy, this is serious.”

For the next little while, Peter, Susan, Lucy and Tumnus talk about the High King’s doings, trying to find a name that fits. Eventually they narrow it down to ‘High King Peter the Great (which Lucy thinks is too generic), High King Peter the Strong’ (which Susan thinks demotes Peter’s intelligence), and ‘High King Peter the Loyal’ (which everyone agrees falls a little flat).

Peter sighs and leans back in his chair. “Tumnus, when does the Counsel want their answer?”

“As soon as possible, Peter. They need to write it down officially, so that the herald can learn his lines.” Tumnus rolls his shoulders.

The High King stands and goes over to the window, looking out across the forests, and smiles. Edmund gives a huff, and snaps his book shut with annoyance.

“You are all ignoring the obvious answer!” he says loudly. When everyone else looks confused, he sighs exasperatedly. “Just look at him! He’s blonde, blue-eyed, tall for his age, can wield a sword better than any man in Narnia, a Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, a HIGH KING for Aslan’s sake, and not even one of you has mentioned the word ‘magnificent’!” Edmund pauses to catch his breath.

Lucy grins. “Ed, you’ve done it!”

“Wait a moment.” Peter holds up a hand. “To these ambassadors, I’m just a kid. Will they really buy into ‘magnificent’?” He looks around nervously.

“No, no, Peter, that’s not the point! The fact that you’re calling yourself magnificent shows exactly the kind of confidence and authority that a High King needs when greeting foreigners! It’s perfect!” Tumnus stands up, waving his hands enthusiastically.

“It does sound quite… lordly, Peter.” Susan smiles.

About six months after the Battle of Anvard, Cor was finally settling into a routine in his new surroundings. He woke up, got dressed, went down for breakfast and sat next to his father. Cor, being used to early mornings from his years as the fisherman's son, was always up before Corin, which meant he usually had about half an hour to chat to his father. This was his favourite time of day, because King Lune was possibly one of the nicest people Cor had ever met, and he thoroughly enjoyed hearing stories of his father's youthful adventures, which consistently got wilder as the king got older.

On this particular day, the king was describing the first time he had ever met Cor's mother. Just as the reminiscing monarch was starting to get just a little bit gooey and embarrassing the young prince, Corin walked down the stairs and plonked himself beside Cor, reaching for some apple juice and filling his glass.

"Well, boys, what is your plan for today?" King Lune smiled at Corin's tousled hair and bleary eyes.

"Well, today is swordsmanship for physical training." Cor answered, concealing a smile. He'd been practicing since last week, when he'd come so close to beating his brother, but failed at the last second. The Lords Darrin and Dar oversaw their training, but Lord Dar had been helping Cor on the side.

Corin laughed. "I don't have a clue why you're looking forward to being beaten again."

Cor smirked to himself. "We'll see."

After breakfast the two lords came to collect the princes. They walked upstairs so that the boys could retrieve their swords and sparring armour. They then wandered down to the castle grounds, chatting and discussing the latest feast that Anvard had hosted, when Telmarine ambassadors had come for a visit. The boys had enjoyed the food but had found the ambassadors to be quite boring. When they got out into the green, the princes paired up with the Lords and practiced, receiving feedback and encouragement. Then came the most anticipated event of the morning: the Prince's Match.

Cor adjusted his wrist straps and drew his sword. Corin smirked confidently and drew his sword. The eldest prince tilted his head and lunged suddenly; Corin only just managed to block him. It was Cor's turn to smirk.

The battle went on for half an hour, the two boys stepping back and forth, the sounds of clashing steel and panting breath. Then, suddenly, both princes ran at each other, ending in a blade lock. They pressed against each other, swords crossed, teeth clenched, until Cor maneuvered his blade under Corin's, flicked his wrist and disarmed his brother, leaving the defeated prince stunned.

Cor stepped back, sheathed his sword, and wiped the sweat from his brow, grinning as Corin looked from his empty fist to the sword at his feet.

"Well done, Prince Corin. Your Royal Highness has done very well." Lord Dar clapped his hands and smiled. "Your Royal father will be pleased to hear of this development."

With his eyes still locked on his brother, Cor grinned and replied "Thank you, Lord Dar, for your excellent instruction. I think I'll go back to the castle now, and change for lunch."

"Wait!" Cor called to the retreating figure of his brother. He ran up to him and slapped his back. "Not bad. But you'll never knock me down, you do know that, right?"

Cor laughed. "Corin, I'll lose to you in boxing every day if it means I beat you when we spar. I think that's fair."

Corin laughed along with his brother as they walked back to the castle, but right as they reached the steps, he pushed his brother over and sprinted up into the castle. Cor just shook his head and followed him inside.

About a year after the Pevensies are made Kings and Queens, before they have earned the titles of Magnificent, Gentle, Just, and Valiant. Back when it's just High King Peter of the Northern Sky, Wolfsbane, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, when it's just Queen Susan of the radiant Southern Sun, King Edmund, Duke of Lantern Waste, of the Western Woods, Queen Lucy, of the Eastern Sea.

Having heard the story of how the once barren, cold land of Narnia ruled by a queen of ice, is now fruitful, beautiful, ruled by two kings and two queens, the Tisroc sends ambassadors to see what this new Narnia is like.

And when these ambassadors find that this bountiful land is ruled by children, they smirk to themselves and bow before King Peter's throne mockingly.

They have no knowledge of the battle that was fought for Narnia's freedom. They know nothing of what the magical air of Narnia does to a person. They look up at the High King, who, while he is still so clearly a boy, is looking down at them from his golden throne with such an air of authority that the ambassadors must look away.

They turn to Queen Susan, back straight, hair braided, hands resting on the arms of her throne. She is more beautiful than anything any of them have ever seen. She looks down at them, and they do not see a silly little girl playing princess. They see a Queen, who sees right through them. They perceive the archery crest embroidered on her dress and know that while a woman, she is a warrior. And they look away.

Their eyes fall upon the King Edmund, younger and darker than his brother, not so golden and splendid and glorious, but quiet, intelligent, and sharp as a knife. He smirks at them, a smile not showing his teeth and only tugging up one corner of his mouth, but behind that smirk they know that he understands the minds of traitors. They know that while the High King senses their plots, King Edmund sees their hearts for what they truly are. None of them hold eye contact for long.

And, finally, they look upon the Queen Lucy, youngest of all, her crown barely staying on her head. She watches them closely and smiles. Oh, that smile. A child's and a woman's, all in one. This is a girl who has seen death. This is a woman who has walked in the mud and blood of a battle and raised her people up. Here is a girl whose wrath will not be stirred easily, but Aslan help the man who plots to rob her of her family. One of her hands absently rubs the dagger on her belt as she looks down at those Calormen ambassadors.

They look up at these children who have seen betrayal, death, forgiveness, blood, battle, and hope and emerged on top. These Kings and Queens, who know what it is to fight and are not afraid to do it.