I. Stories of the High King Peter are myth more than anything else; the proof is in the name. Itâs confusing at first glance. After all, the great feats attributed to him during his reign â the glorious Golden Age â are often true; the desperate victories, the plentiful feasts, and the seemingly endless balls all can be said to have really happened. The falseness lies underneath; the High King himself is the myth. That is the great secret: the High King never was, at least not in the way he has been painted. There never was that fearless, infallible, fiery king. The so-called âMagnificentâ bled in battle. He fell quiet under the weight of the winter, silently praying for spring again. He laughed and shook and trembled. Somehow Narnia forgets this; somehow Narnia forgets the child, the son, the brother he really was. Peter the High King was always better known as Peter.
II. The Gentle Queen has become an interesting mix of truth and fiction. Too much about her was dutifully recorded, and her actions could never be fully lost; history remembers her grace and her duties in near-perfect clarity. However, in more wistful places, she has become the heroine of odd stories, and the villain of stories odder still. In the great cities beyond the desert, she has been turned into an enchantress known for stealing the hearts of men and then chaining them to their temples. Beside the quiet streams of her beloved Narnia, they whisper that the Queen Susanâs beauty was so radiant that few could bear to look directly at her. In the island marketplaces, it is said that her presence once brought great fortune to those who saw her. Every false legend is a funny twist on a simpler truth; a tale grown out of a friendly smile. In honest history, Susan is still truthfully remembered.
III. There are few lies to tell about the King Edmund, and few people who would risk the dishonour of lying about one once called âJust.â Instead he remains a quiet figure, written into history with all the other names and dates and details. Narnia remembers that a traitor may mend; Narnia remembers that a traitor may be just a child; Narnia remembers that a traitor may be just a boy in need of love and light and truth. Edmund is remembered in all of this, just as he remembers it himself. His feats are well-recorded; his battles and judgements and decrees and decisions pass through history relatively unscathed. His wisdom and passion are engraved within it; remembered long after he is gone. In the dark, he is a true tale of hope. In the light, he is still Edmund.
IV. The stranger the tale about Queen Lucy, the more likely it is to be true; the actuality of her being rivals even the most outrageous fictions. Valiant though she be, Lucy rarely went looking for trouble; she sought only the company of Adventure, and both joys and troubles lined her path. And so they say she is both fire and gold; they say she dances with wild folk, and swims out much too far, and laughs long after others have forgotten the joke. All of this is true. They say she is sharp in battle and gentle in wit. This is true, too. She used to wander into Cair Paravel barefoot, trailing sand beneath and behind her, and years later when sand blows in the open castle doors, they still say that the Valiant Queen must have let it in. This is home to Lucy, and she makes her home in the stories, so long as she can remain there.
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