Summary: On what could already be considered the worst day of your life, you come face-to-face with your past. Like a mirror, Daryl reflects who you used to be, but will it be too much to bear?
may i ask for a peter pevensie x reader, where reader is kind of like the odd person, thats always there like around the royals, in a village close to their castle lets say f.e., and shes just quiet and just likes to people watch (projection whats that? hah…) and one day, after a typical sibling argument, peter goes out all angry/frustrated on horseback only to fall off his horse and pass out in the woods and reader ‘saves’ him? takes care of him or finds him and thats when he first hears her voice?
(and gets all soft and idk gentle hehe im a sucker for big tough men being soft sorry😔)
thank you! hope your summer break is awesome!!
'Riding Away' - Peter Pevensie
masterlist
Peter Pevensie feels like he’s crawling out of his own skin. He’s busy, too busy, and it feels like ever since he came to Narnia, he’s never truly been alone. Peter didn’t realize how good he had it back home, when he could just take a walk or go study and never hear a voice for hours. Now, he can’t cross a courtyard without someone hurrying up to him, begging for an opinion on some asinine issue, or enjoy a meal without courtiers attempting to sway him to their side.
It’s not as if Peter expected to become a King of Narnia without some manner of social obligation. He’d expected the meetings, the visiting dignitaries, the swordplay drills, but he hadn’t counted on the total absence of privacy. He feels it slowly driving him mad, wearing him down like a rock on the bottom of a streambed. With every day that passes, Peter cedes more and more control to the unstoppable masses. At some point, he truly believes he’ll fade away entirely. No more Peter left, just a crown and a few last thoughts.
The problem is, there’s not a whole lot he can do about it, not really. He can’t abandon his people, nor can he foist the responsibility onto his siblings. They’ve already got too much on their plates as is. Peter’s the eldest, he’s supposed to protect the others, not give up and run off screaming, even if that’s what he’d like to do most of all.
The only brief escape Peter can find is in horseback riding. He’d never gotten the chance to try it out back in England, how could he? In Narnia, though, there are endless meadows all calling to be explored, and countless forests carpeted in wildflowers. Peter’s gone on hundreds of rides by now, all exhilarating. The wind catches at his hair as he soars past burbling rivers, peering in to watch the blurry reflection of himself galloping by in time.
Even on the rides, Peter is almost never by himself. A pair of guards will insist on accompanying him, maybe even one or two of his siblings, or all of them, or a few members of the court who can’t or won’t look past Peter’s almost explicit dismissal of them. Luckily, if Peter is riding fast enough, all words are ripped away by the wind, and attempts to discuss national matters are dashed to pieces beneath the hooves of his stallion.
The past week has been a constant parade of meetings and banquets, so as a reward, Peter has promised himself that he’ll go riding today, come hell or high water. He’d hoped to make it in the morning, while the air was still cool and the sun hadn’t completely emerged, but as per usual, his plans had been foiled. First, there was some emergency with the knights early in the morning, then that damned diplomat from the sea countries had caught Peter unawares and forced him into an hours-long discussion of trade policies. Once he’d finally been able to shake the slippery sweet-talker, Peter had been willing to skip his midday meal entirely, but Susan had coerced him with no small amount of threats to get something in his stomach before he passed out.
Now, it’s afternoon, and Peter can only cast despairing glances at the lengthening shadows out the window as he feels his chances at a fine ride slip through his fingertips. At last, he’s finally able to shake free of a particularly stultifying conference on heraldry, and he’s not going to let anything get in his way.
The second it’s socially acceptable, Peter is striding briskly down the corridor, practically running in his haste to just get out. One of his advisors follows him, begging Peter to join a conference of scholars recently arrived from the western reaches of Narnia.
“Tomorrow,” Peter says. “I’ll join them tomorrow. Perfect, then they can get their thoughts in order after discussing with the rest of you and we can cut right to the chase.”
“Please, sir,” his advisor begs, “It really would be best for you to host them immediately.”
“That’s what the other kings and queens are for,” Peter says. “Three royals makes for a perfectly good hosting party. Any more than that, and it gets excessive, right?”
“If not to meet them, where are you going?” The advisor pleads, breath becoming more labored as Peter picks up his pace even more than before.
“I’m going for a ride,” Peter says. “I’ll be back soon, don’t worry. Plenty of time to greet the scholars. All will be well.”
The captain of the guard emerges from another corridor, joining them on Peter’s other side. “You mean to go for a ride, sir? Very well, I’ll send a pair of soldiers to accompany you.”
Peter wilts inside at the thought of more people. “That’s alright, Captain. I assure you, I can handle a mere hour away from the castle by myself.”
“I would never insinuate otherwise, your Grace,” the captain says. “However, with recent reports of robberies in the surrounding countryside, I do have to insist that you travel with protection.”
Peter turns a corner. The stables are in sight, he’s almost there– “I will be careful, I swear it. Next time, I’ll travel with guards, just not this once.” Please, not this once.
The captain frowns. “But sir–”
“I’ll be quick,” Peter assures him. “No more than an hour, I promise. Besides, I would have thought you could personally attest to my skill with the blade given all the time we’ve spent sparring? I’ll be alright.”
The captain purses his lips, but acquiesces. “If you insist.”
Peter smiles. “I do. I’ll see you soon.”
With that, he heads into the stables, mounting his ride and taking off before the captain can change his mind. The second he’s past the gate, Peter heaves a sigh of relief. He can feel an immense weight being removed from his shoulders. For once, no one is following him, no one is asking for anything from him. Peter is no longer just a king, he’s a human being again, and one with the freedom to ride as fast and hard as he can. At some point, he’ll have to turn around again, but that time seems far off, and out here in the waving greenery, Peter can’t think about anything but the delight of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He isn’t thinking, that’s the whole point. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t slow down when the ground underneath him starts to become more uneven. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice the startled sound his horse is making until it’s too late, when a rock slips beneath the hoof of his horse. If he hadn’t been hurrying from the castle like his life depended on it, Peter might have noticed that the horse he chose wasn’t his normal steed, the one who could face any danger without backing down. Instead, he has one of the newer ones, a horse that hasn’t yet learned not to balk at everything unusual in its path.
So, instead of snorting at the stumble, the horse panics, rearing into the air. Peter isn’t expecting it, too lost in the dreamy exultation of being free, and he’s caught completely off guard, tossed from the horse in a moment. He hits his head hard on the stony ground, and the blow is enough to shock him into unconsciousness. He doesn’t notice his horse taking off in the opposite direction, stranding him in the middle of nowhere. He certainly doesn’t notice the shadowy figure approaching him from a stand of trees. How could he?
Peter wakes slowly, grasping at sleep. He had a strange dream, one that smelled like wildflowers and coppery blood. His head aches, and one hand rises to gauge the injury but meets fabric instead of skin and bone.
Confused, Peter sits up, and immediately regrets it. The world swims before him, and Peter has to clutch the bedding at either side of him to not become sick while the ground stops swimming.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” comes a voice somewhere far away from him.
Peter squints forward and manages to make out that he’s in a strange room, far more sparsely decorated than any of his quarters at the palace. There’s a girl in plain clothes standing on the other side of the room, washing something stained scarlet. With a start, Peter realizes that it’s blood. His blood.
“What did you do?” Peter manages to croak out. His throat, dry and aching, is so shocked by being forced to speak that for a moment it almost hurts as bad as his head.
The girl laughs derisively. “I saved your life. Trust me, if there’s anyone you should be scared of, it’s not me.”
Peter squints at her. His vision is starting to clear again, and he realizes that he recognizes the face of this girl as she draws closer to him, eyeing what must be bandages over his head. He’s seen her once or twice as he passed through town, but more than that, he’s heard the rumors. Stories of a young woman who lives on the outskirts of town, known by few and trusted by fewer, who watches from a quiet corner of the town as the village proceedings unfurl before her. Some claim she’s a witch, others a spy. Others whisper that she isn’t anything at all, more a ghost than a living girl.
And right now, Peter is in her home, injured with no way to get back. There’s no way the captain of the guard is ever going to let him ride alone again, he thinks with chagrin.
“Well,” Peter says, plastering a smile on his face and trying to act as if merely sitting up doesn’t make his head want to split in half, “I appreciate your hospitality, but I’d really best be going.”
“I doubt that,” the woman says. “When I found you, you were passed out in a pool of your own blood. It’s not a good wound, your Grace. It’ll take a while to heal.”
Peter blinks. “You know who I am?”
The girl looks like she wants to laugh at him. “Everyone knows the High Kings and Queens of Narnia. Even out here.”
Peter nods slowly. He can work with this. He’s not in direct danger, not yet. If she tries to stop him, there’s a poker at the fireplace he can grab, but he’d prefer it not come to that yet. “If you know who I am, then you know I have to get back to the palace as soon as possible. They’ll send guards searching for me. My siblings will be worried. I’d rather assuage their fears as soon as possible.”
The girl holds up her hands. “I’m not keeping you here maliciously, believe me. But you’re right, it would be a terrible thing to keep a king captive when he wants to leave. Go ahead, then. Stand up and walk out.”
She folds her arms across her chest expectantly. Peter blinks, not expecting her to give in so easily, then steadies himself and stands. He tries to, at least. What really happens is that Peter lurches up about a centimeter or two, then his vision spots over with black and he collapses onto the ground.
Instantly, the girl is with him again, carefully pulling Peter back onto the stack of cushions she’d arranged for him. “Do you believe me now?” She asks chidingly. “I don’t mean to keep you here against your will, but you’ll be exceedingly dizzy for hours. Trying to move you now isn’t a good idea.”
“Seconded,” Peter acknowledges. “In that case, if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay.”
The girl nods, and Peter realizes something embarrassing. “Pardon me, but I don’t think I know your name.”
“Y/N,” the girl says. “Y/N L/N.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Peter says. If he doesn’t have his strength, he’ll have to rely on his mind instead, and that starts with appraising the situation.
Y/N quirks an eyebrow. “It’s nice to meet me like this? With you bleeding copiously from the head?”
Peter laughs, surprising himself. “Well, I’d prefer to have done so under more favorable conditions, but I’ll take what I can get.” An idea occurs to him suddenly. “Say, I came here on horseback. If you take my horse, it’ll know the way back to the castle. You can send help here, and be handsomely rewarded, I promise.”
Any spark of hope he’d felt is quickly crushed when Y/N sadly shakes her head. “I’m sorry, your Grace, but you were alone when I came upon you. Your horse must have been spooked, tossed you, and ran away.”
Peter grimaces. “So much for the reward, then.”
Y/N snorts. “I don’t need a reward. Seeing you hale and healthy will be compensation enough for me.”
Peter, used to the endless demands and obligations of court, startles. “You mean that, don’t you?”
A furrow appears between Y/N’s brows. “Of course I do. Do you really think me that heartless, to need money or jewels to convince myself to help someone in need?”
“Of course not,” Peter says hastily. “You’re– you’re a good person. I see that now. Better than most I know.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Y/N says, smiling slightly. “I can only imagine the sorts of people you’d get to meet in court, but I have to imagine they’re good, too. More interesting than anyone in a small village like this one.”
Her tone is soft, almost as if she’s daydreaming, and Peter can’t help but smile back. “Some are, yes, but most want more than they give.”
“That’s true of people here, too,” Y/N sighs. “Still, I suppose that means we’ll just have to be better to make up for it, then. You should get some rest,” she says suddenly. “It’s late, it’ll help with the healing. There’s a glass of water and some bread on the table beside you. If you need anything, please call, your Grace.”
“Peter,” he says, surprising both of them. “Call me Peter, please. I don’t think there’s any need for decorum when I’m getting blood on your things.”
She smiles, and Peter feels uncommonly proud of himself. “Alright, Peter. Sleep well.”
She’s gone in a swish of skirts, and Peter is left alone, contemplating just what he’s gotten himself into. He should be more worried, he thinks, but for some reason, he just feels safe, like no matter what, he trusts Y/N to get him through this.
He dozes fitfully, torn between sleep and the pain in his skull. He must have cried out at some point, because he vaguely recalls Y/N appearing by his side in the night, coaxing him to drink some sort of herbal soup, which eased the pain away and let him sleep again. Peter sleeps late, far later than he usually can as king, and when he finally manages to open his eyes for longer than a minute, the sun slants fully into the room.
He feels better, surprisingly, well enough to change into some spare clothes Y/N left for him and get some food and water down. Y/N isn’t there when he wakes up, which unsettles Peter more than he cares to admit, but she’s back within the hour, exclaiming happily at his progress. He’s able to sit up a little more, but walking around is out of the question.
Instead, he watches Y/N at her chores. She makes a living by preparing herbs and tinctures for the local apothecary, so Peter observes curiously as she grinds up leaves or carefully measures out petals into labeled jars. He asks her countless questions about what she’s doing, so many that she must be sick of him, but Y/N seems glad to have the company and always answers him readily enough.
By evening, Peter feels brave enough to eat his supper with her, and even though she apologizes for the plain fare, he swears it’s better than most of the banquets he’s ever attended. He’s not lying, either; somehow, the warm fire and the good company make the food decadent and delightful. Peter can’t seem to drag his gaze away from Y/N’s face, watching how she smiles as she talks, how the firelight lights her eyes like stars in the sky.
At some point, she catches him staring, and turns away, suddenly shy. “You’ll probably be missing home,” she says quickly, to disguise the heavy silence that’s fallen upon them. “Normally, I’d suggest you inquire with some of the local workers to see if any of them had a horse you could borrow, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to reveal yourself quite yet.”
Peter frowns. “Why not?”
Y/N’s lips purse. “There have been more thieves in the area than in the past, and they certainly aren’t the most fervent royalists around. If they heard that the king was in town, hardly able to lift a book, let alone a sword, they’d sense an opportunity and strike or attempt to hold you for ransom. I live on the outskirts of town, so you won’t be noticed so long as you stay here. In the meantime, I can send a trusted messenger to alert the guards, and they can bring a party of soldiers to ensure your safe return.”
Peter nods, feeling an odd pang at the thought of leaving. He should be delighted to return to the castle, to his family, but he’s actually had a marvelous time here. It’s been a relief to not be sought after for meetings and functions. For the past several hours, he hasn’t been a king, just a boy, just Peter, someone who can meet a pretty girl and stay with her just because he wanted to do so. It’s been lovely, and if he were in the mood to be honest, he would admit that he doesn’t want to give it up.
But he isn’t just Peter, he’s a king with responsibilities, so Peter nods stoically. “I would appreciate the message being sent. How long would you expect before the soldiers arrive?”
Y/N tilts her head to the side, considering this. “It depends. Likely a few more days, if that is acceptable to you.”
“It’s perfect,” Peter says too quickly, then tries to play it off. “I don’t mind waiting, I mean. I– I enjoy the company.”
For a moment, he feels that he’s overstepped, but then Y/N turns to him with a grin that could outshine the sun, and then he doesn’t feel bad at all anymore.
Y/N gets up early the next day to send out the messenger. Peter feels much better thanks to the medicine she’s been giving him, well enough to help sweep the floors and perform some of the chores he’d seen her completing the day before. He’s rewarded with another bright smile when she returns. It’s sort of silly, but Peter likes this, playing this part alongside her. He wants to keep breaking bread and talking late into the evening, watching her carefully cataloging the herbs and helping her by tallying the sums in a notebook as she calls them out to him. Secretly, he hopes the messenger might get lost, just for a day or two, long enough for Peter to exult in this quiet life for as long as he can.
It’s easy to imagine this is his life. Too easy. Peter is a High King, he should be thinking of his responsibilities, or making a greater effort to get back to the castle. He definitely shouldn’t be chopping vegetables for stew, or stumbling over his own feet not because of the injury but because Y/N smiled at him. His head has actually been fine for a while, the wound better than it looked, but he hasn’t let that on to Y/N in case she wanted him out of her house.
He hasn’t had to worry about that, though, not really. He’s sure she figured him out ages ago, what with her knowledge of medicine, but Y/N seems to want Peter here just as much as he yearns to stay. They make a good partnership. Everything comes instinctively, Peter sensing when Y/N needs help with something or Y/N knowing what’s on his mind at the drop of a hat.
So, a day or two later, when Peter hears the tumult of horse hooves outside, his first thought isn’t joy to return to his family, but an odd pitfall in his stomach, like something lovely has just been torn from him. Looking up, he sees a brief flash of despair in Y/N’s eyes as she comes to the same conclusion, but she covers it up quickly.
“That must be your guards,” she says briskly, hurrying to the door. “I’d better let them in before they get worried.”
Peter wants to stop her, to compel the soldiers outside to turn around and leave them be, but it’s too late. Y/N opens the door to reveal the captain of the guard, as frantic as Peter has ever seen him. The soldiers storm into the house, which is suddenly engulfed in the clanking of metal and shouts of worry.
Out of concern that Y/N might be hurt, Peter steps forward quickly, hands up. “It’s alright, I’m okay. Thank you for coming.”
The captain looks relieved to see him, but keeps one hand on the hilt of his sword. “Are you safe, your Grace?”
“Perfectly,” Peter assures him. “This woman saved my life. I– we all owe her many thanks.”
Y/N’s eyes flash to Peter when he says this, as warm as ever despite the tinge of sadness still lurking in her gaze. “That’s very kind of you to say.”
The captain nods his thanks, then steps towards Peter, ushering him towards the door. “We should return at once. The entire castle is in an uproar over your disappearance.”
It all feels out of his control, more like Peter is getting kidnapped than being rescued. “Wait,” he says, fighting free to hurry back to Y/N’s side. “I– Thank you,” he says again, “For everything. If you ever need anything, any favor, please do not hesitate to ask.”
Ask me, he means. Find me. Come back to me.
Y/N smiles tentatively. “I might take you up on that.”
“Please do,” Peter says, urgency bleeding through the words. This can’t be it, the end of these past few golden days, but the horses are stomping their hooves impatiently outside, and the soldiers are watching on, and none of it is as Peter hoped it would be.
“Goodbye,” he whispers, and waits for Y/N’s smile one last time before forcing himself away.
The ride back seems far too short. Before he knows it, Peter is being ushered into the castle, past throngs of courtiers and soldiers telling them how relieved they are at his safe return. He changes into garments more suitable for a king, but cannot stop himself from keeping the clothes Y/N had given them. The cloth still smells like the herbs she kept, and all at once he’s homesick for a place he hadn’t even known for a full week.
Peter tries to throw himself back into the life of a royal. He attends court functions with renewed vigor, leads debates, listens to his subjects. He treats his siblings well. He is always diligent with the sword, and makes time for visiting diplomats and scholars whenever they grace his door. No matter what, though, no matter how he overfills his schedule so he won’t have one moment for his mind to settle into bleak wanting, Peter is not happy. He does not feel like himself, not the way he had in that small village. The gilded shackles of royalty are clamped tightly around him, cutting Peter off from what he wants.
And, at last, he can take it no more. The captain of the guard is quite taken aback when he spots Peter hurrying to the stables. “Your Grace, I hope you are taking a patrol with you if you wish to ride, you remember the last time–”
“If you wish to accompany me,” Peter shouts over his shoulder, “I encourage you to try and keep up.”
He’s saddled and out the door in the blink of an eye, his horse charting a path its rider has kept alive in his mind since the day he left it. Somewhere behind him, a few soldiers are racing after him, but Peter cares not for what’s in his wake, only what lies ahead.
Y/N looks surprised when she opens the door to find Peter there. “What are you doing here?” She asks, eyes darting from Peter to the equally confused guards behind him. “Don’t tell me you hurt your head again, I’ll be quite upset.”
Peter actually laughs. It rings from him like a bell. He thinks it’s the first real laugh he’s had since he left her. “Come back with me,” he says. “I miss you. I’ve missed you since I went back. You can work with the castle apothecary if you like, or never lift a finger again if it pleases you. Just return with me, please. I can’t feel sane unless you’re by my side.”
Y/N looks stunned. “You can’t be serious. I’ve never been to court, Peter. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea what to do.”
“I’d teach you everything you’d need to know,” Peter assures her. “I came to court a total novice, and I was king. And if you get sick of me, there are plenty of teachers and old masters who would be more than happy to help you out. I’d do anything to make you feel at home.”
Y/N looks tentatively up at him. “You mean it? You really want me there?”
Peter nods, suddenly more sure of himself than he’s ever been. “I want you, Y/N. More than anything.”
Peter has been treated to a lot of her smiles in the past, but this one is so dazzling he feels as if he’s been knocked off his feet. “I would love to go with you, Peter.”
“Perfect,” he says, and he means it– perfect. As High King, Peter is constantly making concessions, agreeing to deals he doesn’t like just so he can squeeze some much-needed detail out of the bargain. For once, though, Peter has everything he could want. His home, his family, the girl he’s grown to love, all in one place. This, then, is what winning must feel like. It occurs to Peter that from here on out, he’s going to grow quite accustomed to that feeling.
narnia tag list: @remussbitch, @faerieroyal, @goldfish4403
It's Edmund who figures it out first, you know, who Aslan is. Like, a week after they're back in England, they go with the Professor to the little village church, and they stand and sing Amazing Grace, and the rector preaches something about Jesus dying for sinners, and Edmund is nailed to the pew with utter certainty: That's Aslan.
He doesn't say it directly to anybody, he has to chew it over, has to test it and try it, and see if it holds true. He and the Professor have many lively discussions about what Narnia actually is, what it's for, what other worlds would mean for science or philosophy or theology. But every time he goes back to the Bible and reads it, he finds echoes of Narnia, echoes of the Lion's voice, and the truth settles into him, becomes something solid and certain deep down inside.
Peter... sees the possibility almost as quickly. He's not so sure of it though, is a bit shy of something so incredible, doesn't want to get it wrong. He wants it to be true. He thinks about it a lot. But he doesn’t say any of it aloud, until he says to Aslan, at the end of his last trip to Narnia. It gets decided then, in there somewhere. He doesn't understand how or why, but he will believe anyway.
Lucy, now, Lucy always knew in a way that was beyond words, unconsciously, deep inside somewhere she never stopped to examine. She stands in Eustace's room, with Aslan’s words ringing in her ears, and it's like a light bulb has come on, or a bucket of cold water has been dumped over her head. Oh. Oh, that's what he meant, oh, now I understand.
And Susan, dear Susan, she suspects, she wonders, but no. Impossible. Too strange, too illogical. Waves it away like a nagging fly. But she figures it out years later, not too late, no sir, not too late at all. Maybe it's a book, maybe it's a song, maybe it's retelling the Easter story to a little girl curled up in her lap. Maybe it's an old poem pulled from the wreckage of a train. She pauses, startled, before the tears come tumbling down, and she murmurs the name she hasn't spoken in what feels like a lifetime, murmus it like a prayer: Aslan.
But what was most baffling to all that met the Pevensies after they came back was that they were kind.
Really. Not pretending, not because they were insecure. True, empathic. Far too understanding for children their age. They all have music in them.
Peter’s hands feel too small for him, but he shakes hands all the same. Gentle pressure. There is nobility behind those eyes. Eyes that always border on the supernatural sort of blue, especially in the dark.
He plays the guitar, gently coaxing otherworldly sounds out of an instrument that did not know it could be played like that. He helps his siblings with their homework, is taller much faster than his peers. Seems to take up more space, even though no one understands how a teenage boy manages that.
He doesn’t like doing nothing, ever. He instructs his classmates in grammar, gives away figures he cuts from wood with a knife that seems too sharp for a boy that small. He never hurts himself, though.
As the years pass, Peter grows strong. But he is gentle. He does not seem to be brash, even when many of his friends are. Peter keeps his emotions in check. Noble. Not undangerous, but not belligerent. Peter only ends fights, and only with people that deserve it.
He offers advice, a pat on the back. Teachers wanna dislike him, some do not like the look behind those eyes. Most find they cannot. Peter is popular with both adults and children, speaks sense and laughs often.
Peter is kind. Pious, devout. His faith is unmovable like rock. Did the kids meet God on the estate of their uncle?
Edmund plays the violin. A sad Edmund is a rare sight, but when he plays sad he can keep his whole floor awake. Somehow, Peter always finds him quickly, effortlessly attuned to his brother’s moods. They play chess, then. Their chess master must have been a champion, Ed beats people with ease. He’s usually not smug about it.
Ed speaks politics and war in earnest, accepts critique graciously, is elegant in a way Peter never manages. Peter speaks frankly, but Edmund can wrap words up real nice. He doesn’t mince words, but his classmates grow into liking the sound of his voice. They appreciate that Edmund does not lie, even when speaking tactfully. Edmund can dial the temperature in a room, change it to suit himself.
He, too, laughs often, but Edmund is known to smirk. He likes being right and he often is. He’ll entertain anyone with a good story, always seems to have the right information to help you out. Remedies to illness, connections, job openings, how to sneak out of PE.
He’s a spider in a web. A bit reserved for a 11 year old, and oddly well-connected. A real ghost when he wants to be, but he never scares people with it.
Aslan would not approve of that. He believes in God as well, but much more intellectually. He’s got the intelligence to back it up and wit to match. A scholarly belief, but not lacking conviction.
Teachers like his enthousiasm, remember a moody nagging child when he left and see a secure young man come back.
Edmund will stand up for what is right. He gets into some trouble like that, but his verbal agility saves him always. Edmund has strong principles and will not bend them for anyone. No matter the trouble he gets in.
The bond with his brother is unbreakable. They even walk the same, chest out, left hand on their belt. They seem most at ease when fencing.
Susan was always warm and tenderhearted, but when she comes back there is a difference.
She seems to have gained authority. It’s real strange watching a 13-year old use her beauty like a grown woman, but Susan has learned to wield it, to stun people so she can creep under their skin. People LISTEN to her now.
Her wit is like a knife, but she avoids cutting deep. Susan is reasonable, and strong, and principled. The little drama others get involved in does not bother her, and she seems immune to petty insults. She has killed before, with her hands.
She will do it with kindness now. She is not very approachable ( that would be Lucy ), but she is kind. She used to mother over her brothers and sisters, but now that they have raised each other in a court full of magic she has gotten more relaxed. They listen to her on important issues, trust in her judgement. Her brothers does not deem himself more important, she is both well-spoken and well-respected by her siblings. Equal. It baffles the old men that teach her. Irritates them, too.
There is an air of mystery around her. Half a look is enough to get what she wants, Susan’s friends laud her security in herself, her Mona Lisa smile. She seems to temper moods easily, makes people feel at ease.
She most of everyone exudes royalty. It’s the grace. Susan plays the harp, her long fingers dancing across the strings like she’s had a lifetime of practice. She’s elegant, never caught off guard. Jamais faux pas.
She does not get angry. She knows who she will be. She is anxious to become an adult, yes, but she only wishes to look how she feels. Not to look differently. Yet the wish to be taken seriously, to have someone see you as an adult, it makes her surprisingly similar to her peers.
Her friends have not been old yet, is all. But Susan is calm and collected. People see her as someone you can tell a secret to. She never hurts someone, is usually a neutral party, speaks sense to adult and kids alike. She is not ignorant, however, will use every trick in the book to keep the peace. She knows when to go nuclear. Vis pacem para bellum.
Lucy is a sun in human form. She has a joie de vivre that is unmatched, is gay and golden-haired and never in a bad mood.
Lucy is kind by default, does not turn it off, does not turn it down. She’s witty and funny and quick on her feet. She has been grown before, yes, but enjoys being young for a few years more. She dances, sings old tunes. Her voice is her favorite instrument, you can usually hear Lucy coming.
Whistling a tune in the halls is known to improve the moods of everyone who hears it immensely. Young girls need to figure out who they are, but Lucy knows, knows what she’ll be and who she likes and what kind of people she wants to be around. She is not pretending, never moody. She can get sad, of course, but her older brothers and sister are always nearby when that happens.
Lucy is genuine and fierce and convinced, immovable at times. Admired for her drive, but respected for her empathy. She speaks to everyone, often distributes flowers. There’s no naivite in her at all, she simply wishes to be like this so that the world may imitate her. She likes to see people prosper, is the first with praise.
She will go far, is the consensus. There’s steel beneath the soft exterior, Lucy has fire below the flowers. She’s well-liked and well-loved. She has love in spades, it seems, animals and stragglers and misfits and outcasts. She’s popular, her room is a good place to get a cup of tea and someone who will listen to you for some time. After a while she no longer bothers with the door.
That a heart that size fits in a girl that small is a mystery to many. Lucy does not think it is a mystery at all. It is the heart of a lion.
Her faith is as vocal as the rest of her, she sees it confirmed in all that is beautiful, all that is kind. She never tries to convert anyone but there are several people who have told her that version of God is someone they would like to know.
The Pevensies often see each other at parties, where they like to stand together. Edmund knows about everyone, everyone knows Peter, everyone likes Susan, but it is Lucy who knows everyone.
They are kind, but not weak. Peter gets his knuckles bloody sometimes, Edmund does not abide by the rules of unjust teachers. Susan and Lucy solve their problems differently but no less effective. Kindness is their usual way of operating, but they are still kings and queens. They will not allow cruelty, will not let bullies go unpunished.
They are sure of what they are and sure of what comes after death and this makes them kind. Kind , not harmless. Kind, not spineless. Kind, not ignorant. Kind, not naive.
Kind despite. Maybe kind because. The kings and queens of Narnia are proud of what they are, honour the teachings of their lion friend. Kind.
When the crash happens and three siblings die, everyone they know mourns deeply. Without them, the world is less kind.
I can finally unveil this personal project! My comic version of chapter one of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, which I finally managed to get to shortly after SOTR came out. This was a unique project for me that I've been working on, on and off, for the past year or so. Lots and lots of fun, although I did mess up in some parts (typesetting :') ) and the limited color pallette was a unique challenge. Rest of the chapter under the cut! Hope you enjoy :)
I really wanted to draw Lou Lou and Maysilee's interview dresses. Effie specifies that the dresses are from the war era, and in the ABOSAS movie, the fashion is very 30s/40s inspired, so I went for similar silhouettes for the dresses.
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