Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was well-known to all, and well-recorded in the history of Narnia, that it was extremely rare to see one of the great Kings and Queens of Narnia without the centaur, Oreius, at their side.

He had been by the rulers’ sides from the moment they had approached to meet Aslan, and it seemed only fitting that he be brought into their inner circle of private counselors, as he was the general of Aslan’s Army.

However, what was also documented in Narnia’s history, was the warm and loving relationship that Oreius had with the Kings and Queens, particularly during the early years of their reign. He was their protector, their steadfast general who would die before any harm would come to his rulers.

The rulers, in turn, adored the centaur more than anything.

Those who worked in Cair Paravel itself, and other members of the royal council, reported how the kings and queens would seek out the centaur eagerly on days where there was nothing to do but sit around. Oreius could often be found sitting in the royal library, the Just King and Gentle Queen curled up against his side as they read books and conversed about the beginnings of Narnia.

The Magnificent King often sought out Oreius for advice, and it was not uncommon for palace workers to see the two walking the grounds, heads bent together in deep conversation, Oreius arm often wrapped around the young king’s shoulders.

The Valiant Queen was the one who clung the most to the centaur’s side. When she was not bustling around with her siblings, she was most often skipping through the marketplace of the towns around Cair Paravel, Oreius following along her every step, watching her with a protective eye.

(Some reports stated that he watched over all the rulers with something more akin to a father’s protective eye than that of a general.)

The rulers loved Oreius, and Oreius loved them just as fiercely, not hesitating to loom threateningly behind them during their first few months as Kings and Queens, daring any courtier to even attempt to take advantage of the children.

When asked just why they cared so much about the centaur, the Kings and Queens would look at the questioner as though they had just been asked something extremely silly. Each of them would give their own answer, personal reasoning that they thought should be obvious to everyone around them.

“Besides Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers, we’ve known Oreius the longest out of anyone.” High King Peter would say, a polite smile on his face with fondness sparkling in his eyes.

“He taught us almost everything we knew in order to be strong rulers.” Queen Susan would say warmly, happy to discuss one of her favorite confidants.

“He rescued me from the White Witch’s camp.” King Edmund would answer, a rare admission of what had happened before their rule began.

“He protected us.” Queen Lucy would answer, quite honestly, before darting off in search of more adventure, her siblings trailing just behind her.

Though their answers differed, one thing was quite enormously clear to all those who saw the rulers and their general.

Oreius had been their steadfast guardian and companion from the day they met, and no one would be quite able to break that bond.

Oreius had known nothing else except for the Long Winter for most of his life.

The White Witch’s magic had coated his country in snow by the time he had been born, and the stories of sweet-smelling flowers and warm, rushing waters slowly faded as the older members of his herd passed on into Aslan’s Country. His father had died dreaming of the Narnia before the snow, and Oreius would do everything in his power to see his father’s memory of their home return to reality.

When he was old enough, Oreius picked up his swords and led those of his people who were of age to join Aslan’s Army. He fought, bled, and nearly died for the position of general of Aslan’s Army, swearing to stand by his country’s Creator until the fabled Kings and Queens joined them.

Of course, like so many other Narnians, he truly doubted that the day would never come, that when the prophecy would never be fulfilled.

Until they entered the camp.

Two daughters of Eve and a son of Adam, walking through the camp, looking around with eyes full of childlike wonder.

Because they were children.

Oreius knew he was not the only Narnian who had felt more than a little disbelief when the children were revealed to be the prophesied Kings and Queens. They had all been expecting a group of four seasoned warriors, humans who could hold their own against armies, and make decisions with the wisdom that came with age.

That is what they had expected, the stories of hope that had been passed down throughout the generations.

It was almost laughable how wrong they all were.

Their Kings and Queens of the prophecy, the ones believed to save all of Narnia from the evil of the White Witch, were barely older than the foals in Oreius’ herd. The littlest of the three, with hair the color of Aslan’s mane, was painfully and heartbreakingly young, barely reaching Oreius’ waist when she stood beside him. Her eyes had never seen battle, her hands had never held a weapon.

And yet…

There was something deeper tucked behind their innocence and naivety, something that only revealed itself when the two sisters were nearly killed by the White Witch’s soldiers.

The way Susan had lifted Lucy into the tree first, putting herself in harm’s way as her feet dangled above the snapping wolves, all to make sure that her younger sister was high up in the branches, tucked away from danger.

The way Peter rushed in against Maugrim and his companions, no longer hesitating as instincts guided him the moment he saw that his sisters were in danger.

The way that Lucy’s face had been set with determination when she and her siblings told Aslan of their missing brother, of their treatment of him, and how she looked as though she was prepared to face down the whole of Jadis’ army to rescue her sibling.

Oreius recognized the pure survival instincts in the children, the instincts that he himself had honed in his earliest days as a ground soldier in Aslan’s army.

What had happened to these children, children who had never seen battle, to make them fall onto instincts they should not have?

When Aslan commanded him to follow after the wolves, Oreius had expected to come upon the Witch’s camp. He had expected to find members of her army, and her weapons, and he took great delight in ordering their destruction. Anything to pause the Witch’s efforts would be helpful.

The sight of the battered and bruised child, tied up against a tree with coarse rope that was already making his wrists bleed, had Oreius slowing, approaching him with less fire. His dark hair was identical to that of Susan’s, his eyes held the same calculating gaze as Peter’s, and he shared the shape of his nose with Lucy.

Oreius moved as though he was approaching an injured animal, not wanting to scare the boy off, or cause any more harm to come to him.

“Greetings, my prince.” The centaur said. The honorific caused a near-imperceptible flinch in the young son of Adam, which Oreius filed away for a later date. “Aslan has sent us to find you, and I am grateful that we have.” He pulled out a dagger, no bigger than his palm. “If you allow me, I will cut your bonds.”

Edmund straightened slightly, regarding Oreius for a moment before nodding. As quickly and gently as he could, he sliced through the rope, and the boy let out a small hiss as he rubbed his raw wrists.

“Aslan really sent you?” he asked, gingerly getting up to his feet. He stumbled slightly, and Oreius reached out, steadying him with a gentle hand.

“Your siblings reached our camp not too long ago. Their first request of the Great Lion was for your safe return to them.”

There was a flicker of something in the boy’s eyes. “Really?”

Oreius had never heard a voice so small come from anyone before, and he regarded the child. Edmund’s arms were now wrapped around his stomach, a self-hug as though reassuring himself that he was safe, and his eyes were wide and swirling with different emotions. Disbelief, hope, surprise, suspicion all warring with each other.

Oreius nodded, extending a hand. “If you will permit me, young one, I will bring you to them.”

There was a moment where neither of them moved. They simply stood, watching each other, until Edmund slowly reached out, taking Oreius’ hand, his grip surprisingly tight.

Every instinct in the centaur screamed at him to gather the boy up into a hug, to protect him and his siblings from every source of pain and evil in the world. It was heartbreaking, the genuine surprise on Edmund’s face that someone would come along to rescue him.

When Oreius returned to the camp, he watched from afar as the boy reunited with his siblings. Lucy threw herself at her brother, burrowing into the sweater he wore, and the soft smile on Edmund’s face was a sight to behold.

Watching as the four siblings reunited later that day, Oreius made a promise to himself that, no matter how old his Kings and Queens became, he would never, never allow for such emotions and fears to plague their eyes and hearts again.

“What is on your mind, my friend?”

Aslan’s voice came from behind Oreius, and he turned to see the Great Lion watching the siblings reunite with a warmth in his eyes.

“They are so young.”

Aslan hummed, sitting beside the centaur. “They are.”

Oreius pushed on, knowing he could voice his thoughts to Aslan without fear. “Yet their eyes are old. I see those same instincts in myself now, but those are instincts a child should not have.” His attention returned to the siblings’ tent, and watched as Edmund walked into the tent, Lucy happily holding onto his arm as she accompanied him. When their younger siblings were safely tucked away, Oreius watched as Peter sat heavily on the ground, Susan clinging to his side and her shoulders shaking. The older siblings hugged one another, muffled cries of relief coming from both.

“Where they have come from, they have had to grow up far too quickly.” Aslan explained gently. “Their father fights in another war, and their mother is filled with worry. They have had to take care of themselves.”

Oreius had seen such scenarios before. It was a painfully normal occurrence, when young foals in his herd lost a parent, and the other was so lost to worry and grief that the young one became their own caretaker.

The difference, however, was that his people stepped into the parental roles when young foals lost their own. They were never alone, or lost to grief and fears.

A fierce, protectiveness filled Oreius at the thought of his young kings and queens stepping into parental roles for each other when they themselves could barely hold the weight of the weapons Father Christmas had bestowed upon them.

He turned to Aslan, who was watching him intently. “Do they know that they are no longer alone? That they have others to rely on?”

Aslan’s eyes sparkled merrily. “I have no doubt you will let them know of that fact, Oreius.”

Chapter Text

Oreius' first chance came that evening, when he was patrolling the camp.

His longsword was strapped to his back, and his keen eyes surveyed the camp around him, making sure that there were no threats coming into their haven before the battle.

As Oreius patrolled, his mind, of course, traveled to the Pevensie children, who had spent the rest of the day of Edmund’s rescue glued to each other, rarely separating except to go off and bring something back to the rest of their siblings. It was endearing, yet incredibly heartbreaking how desperately they clung together.

Oreius was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps, quiet enough that whoever it was obviously was attempting to make themselves quieter. He turned, and met the eyes of Lucy, who immediately froze, wide-eyed.

“My queen.” he said, inclining his head, and holding back a laugh at the way Lucy wrinkled her nose at the use of her title. It was not the painful wince Edmund had given him when they met. Lucy’s expression was much more that of a little girl not quite used to being treated a certain way. “It is very late, my lady. Are you alright?”

Lucy wrung her hands, and it was then that Oreius noticed she had neglected to wear her cloak, and her small form was beginning to shiver at the cool night breeze. Before he could even process what he was doing, Oreius lowered himself to the ground, tucking his front legs beneath him, and took hold of the edge of his own cloak, opening it up to Lucy. The little girl’s face instantly lit up, and she darted over to his side, standing close and making a small, contented sound as Oreius tucked the warm fabric around her shoulders.

Oh, Aslan was certainly laughing at him.

A few minutes of peaceful, quiet silence passed before Lucy spoke. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Oreius glanced down at her, watching as her eyes stared ahead towards the forest around them. “Why is that?”

“I haven’t been able to sleep properly in a while.” she admitted. “Back home… the bombs are so loud. Even if they aren’t dropped near our home, we can still feel the ground shake, and sometimes, I can even see how the sky lights up.” Oreius did not exactly know what a “bomb” was, but it sounded similar to a shot from a catapult. The thought made his stomach churn, that children so young were terrified to the point of losing sleep. Lucy continued to stare off into the distance as she spoke. “The strikes come during the night, and sometimes I get so scared that I can’t move from my bed, and Susan has to come and get me. I know she doesn’t sleep well, and neither do Peter or Edmund.”

“You and your siblings are safe here, Lucy.” Oreius said gently.

Lucy moved closer to Oreius. “I know that, but I just can’t sleep.” Her quiet voice broke slightly. “I’m so scared.”

Shifting, Oreius brought Lucy to stand in front of him, his hands on her shoulders as she looked at him with wide eyes that were beginning to fill with tears. “Tell me what you are scared of, little one.”

“I’m scared I’ll wake up and this will all be a dream.” Lucy said after taking a deep breath. “I’m scared that Edmund’s going to get taken again, and that Peter will be sad, and Susan will be serious again. I’m scared that the White Witch is going to hurt my siblings. I’m scared that I’m not strong enough to keep them safe.” Lucy furiously wiped at her eyes, stubbornly attempting to keep the tears at bay. “I’m trying to be happy for them so they don’t worry, but I’m just so sad.” At that, she let out a small sob, and wrapped her arms around her body, curling in on herself.

Oreius found, once again, that his heart was breaking. This child, this wonderful little beacon of light who already captured the hearts of every Narnian in the camp, was so consumed by fears. Fears that no child should ever have to worry about, but Lucy was completely and utterly drowning. She was so small, and yet it seemed as though the weight of the entire world was resting on her small shoulders.

He did not hesitate before shifting his hands to pull Lucy into a hug, wrapping the child up, and placing one hand against her hair. Immediately, Lucy melted into the embrace, and the attempt to hold back her cries failed. Her sobs were quiet, but shook her entire body, and Oreius just held her as close as he could. Lucy’s arms uncurled from around her body, and instead wound around Oreius’ neck, clinging to him.

Slowly, as Oreius made soft sounds of comfort to the child, her cries came to a stop, save for the occasional sniffle and tremble of her shoulders. He looked down at her, and a small, fond smile appeared on his face at the sight of Lucy blinking slowly, sleep arriving to claim her now that she had been able to talk through her fears with someone.

“I cannot tell you that there is nothing to be scared of, little one.” he said softly, and Lucy nodded resignedly. Oreius gently tilted her chin up, his smile widening with comfort. “But I can tell you that you and your siblings do not have to deal with this alone, and as the general of Aslan’s army, I give you my own personal promise that I will keep you and your siblings safe for as long as you all reign.” A tired, bright smile appeared on Lucy’s face, and she nodded.

Satisfied, Oreius maneuvered her around him, guiding his yawning young queen to curl up on his back. Lucy went contentedly, snuggling against his soft coat as Oreius placed his cloak around her shoulders.

Making sure that she was comfortably situated, he began to speak quietly. “Have you been told the story of how Narnia came to be?”

He felt Lucy shaking her head. “Mr. Tumnus played me a Narnian lullaby when I first met him, but he didn’t tell me any stories.”

“Well then, we shall have to fix that, my little queen.” Oreius replied, grinning at the sleepy giggle he received in return. He felt Lucy’s small hand tracing patterns against his coat, an absent-minded action that he had seen many young foals do with their own parents before they would fall asleep.

He began to speak, keeping his voice low and quiet, telling Lucy of the pools, and the trees, and the humans who stumbled through. He told her of the lowly common man who became the first king of Narnia, and how the land had flourished until the White Witch had arrived to poison their beautiful home with her winter.

Slowly, Lucy’s head fell further and further, until it was nestled against his back. Oreius’ voice trailed off as he turned slightly to look at her, huffing out his own quiet laugh. A dryad floated around the pair, their petals forming into a lithe form that gazed down at the now-slumbering queen adoringly.

“She’s so sweet.”

Oreius gave them a narrowed-eyed look. “Do not wake her, Yarrow.”

The dryad returned his look with an amused, knowing smile. “Her sister is stirring. Should I bring her here?”

“Tell her that Lucy is safe with me, she merely needs the fresh air.” Oreius replied. “I will keep watch over her.”

They giggled as a flurry of petals swirled around the centaur and young human. “You’re getting soft in your old age, Oreius.”

“You are a thousand years older than I, Yarrow.” he shot back, though there was no heat in his voice.

Yarrow’s petals flew apart for a moment before they reformed, sitting beside Oreius and reaching out to brush Lucy’s cheek. “They have seen so much pain.”

Oreius shifted, being careful to not disrupt Lucy, and he looked at Yarrow.

They were one of his oldest friends, having known them since he himself was just a foal. They were one of the dryads who had survived through the Long Winter, and that had meant Yarrow was attached to those they considered friends, desperate not to lose any others. They were one of the only ones remaining from the forests that had once bloomed, and Oreius suspected it was Aslan’s paw that stayed the cold frost from completely destroying Yarrow’s tree.

“She waved to you.” Oreius decided to say, and a warm smile spread over the dryad’s face.

“She did.” They looked back at Oreius. “Is it wrong for me to feel scared for them? They are Aslan’s chosen rulers, the ones of the prophecy. But…”

“They are still children.”

Yarrow nodded.

Oreius reached out, placing a hand on Yarrow’s shoulder, the shifting petals beneath betraying their true fears. “They will have years to learn and grow. For now, through this battle, we will just need to make sure they stay safe.” He glanced back towards the tens where the other siblings were resting. “You should go inform Susan that her sister is safe.”

“I think you’ve found yourself with four little foals to take care of.” Yarrow remarked, their voice fading to teasing laughter as their petals dispersed, swirling around him and Lucy before whirling away to return to Susan’s tent.

Oreius shook his head fondly, and for the rest of the evening, kept a look out for any danger that may threaten to harm the little queen curled up as small as possible beneath his cloak.

The following morning, Oreius returned to the kings and queens’ tents. He spotted Yarrow swirling around, keeping busy as they explained various aspects of the Narnian army to their captive audience.

Edmund sat tucked beneath Peter’s arms, the expression of a startled animal on his face, as though he couldn’t believe his older brother was holding him. Peter was asking Yarrow every question he could think of, and Susan was on Edmund’s other side, listening with rapt attention.

Lucy was happily chatting away as Oreius walked towards her siblings, in much better spirits than she had been the evening prior. Any semblance of awkwardness and nervousness had disappeared, and she had moved forward, leaning her chin on Oreius’ shoulder as she spoke, waving her arms around.

Her energetic voice caught the attention of her siblings and Yarrow, and Oreius could see the relief on their faces upon seeing their happy little sister.

“You alright, Lu?” Peter asked, the tone of his voice failing to hide glimpses of concern.

Lucy beamed at him. “Oreius stayed with me! He told me lots of stories.”

Oreius chuckled, helping Lucy down to the ground as she slid off his back. “Your sister was telling me stories as well.” There was a playful glint in his eye as he looked towards Peter. “She was just telling me how you were going to turn Mr. Beaver into a hat.” Peter’s eyes flicked downward sheepishly, cheeks reddening as Edmund and Susan hid laughter behind their hands. “You’d better learn how to keep your threats from reaching the gossiping ears of little sisters, my king.”

Lucy let out a dramatic gasp, looking at Oreius with faux betrayal in her eyes as Peter’s sheepishness disappeared and he let out a boyish burst of laughter. Edmund snickered, leaning into Peter’s side as Yarrow laughed along with them.

The joyful sound echoed around the tents and clearing, and Oreius felt a wave of hope wash over him as he looked at the happy siblings laughing with one another.

He watched as Lucy rushed from his side to all but tackle Edmund in a hug, clinging to her brother securely. Edmund went still for a moment before he relaxed, shifting around to hug Lucy back as she snuggled into his side.

“Have you all eaten breakfast?” Oreius asked, looking to Peter and Susan.

Susan gave her younger siblings a warm smile. “We were waiting for Lu.”

“I believe it’s been set up in the meadow just there.” Yarrow suggested, petals brushing around the siblings. A kind smile was on their face as they observed the four young humans. “You’ll all need your strength.”

Susan and Peter nodded, and stood, Susan’s hand going to hold onto Edmund’s. It was a sweet display, and Oreius had a feeling it would become commonplace for the siblings to always want to have a hand on their brother.

Before walking off with her siblings, Lucy darted back to Oreius, wrapping her arms around his middle in a tight hug. Her head barely came up to the middle of his torso, and she clung to him as tightly as possible. “Thank you.”

Oreius returned the hug tightly, bending slightly to encompass her in his arms. “If you ever feel that fear again, little one, come find me.” He looked down at the child with hair the color of Aslan’s mane, eyes the same shade as the springtime grass, and he knew that he would never, ever, let his youngest queen be hurt by anyone around her. “I will protect you.”

Lucy gave him a beaming smile before rushing off after her siblings.

“Your foal.” Yarrow sung, voice teasing as they swirled into their solid form beside Oreius.

He huffed, but did not deny his friend’s words.

After all, Oreius was not in the habit of lying.

Chapter Text

Oreius never doubted Aslan.

He trusted him more than anyone else, and knew, from the moment he was chosen as one of the leaders of the Narnian army, that it was an honor to be considered among the few that was truly trusted by the Great Lion.

The Great Lion knew all, and was never wrong. All Narnians relied on his judgment and his wisdom, and understood that sometimes, Aslan’s decisions were far beyond the comprehension of their minds.

However, as he looked down at the boy in front of him, Oreius thought to himself that Aslan was completely and utterly out of his mind if he thought Peter Pevensie was a warrior.

Yes, the boy had fought with a ferocity that rivaled the most seasoned warriors.

Yes, Oreius knew the boy was not a weak, innocent baby incapable of protecting himself and those he loved.

Peter Pevensie, however, was a child.

The top of the boy’s head barely reached Oreius’ chest, and his arms trembled beneath the weight of his sword as they sparred together.

A sword meant for a great warrior, one who knew his way through a battle.

A sword that was nearly half the height of the High King, the boy who was meant to lead the entire country of Narnia with his siblings.

He was a child who had grown up far too quickly.

However, his eyes were steel, a glimmer of something deeper, something firmer.

Even as Oreius stepped back, giving them both a moment to breathe, Peter only gave himself a second before moving back into a ready position, hefting the sword up to restart.

“Again.”

Oreius saw that, behind the determined look in Peter’s eyes, there was a bone-weary exhaustion, and his arms began to shake more. “My king, I believe we should both take a break.”

“I don’t need a break, I need to get better.” Peter’s voice was sharp and firm as he tensed up. “Again.”

“You have been training for hours, and are still recovering from the battle.” Oreius attempted to get him to see reason. The last thing he wanted to happen was for Peter to completely collapse from exhaustion. It had happened to him when he was beginning to train in the army. He had practiced and practiced until his legs failed beneath him, and he had barely been able to move.

Peter seemed to be going in that direction, though he spared no thought to his bandaged shoulder. “Which is even more of a reason why I need to keep training.” Something broke in his expression, and his hands twitched.

Oreius lowered his own sword, placing it on the ground. He stepped closer to Peter, his hands held out in a placating gesture. “We are not stopping your training completely. We are stopping for today before you collapse from exhaustion, my king.”

“I’m not weak.” Peter snapped. His determined expression completely disappeared, and there was something much more heartbreaking in his eyes. “I can’t… I can’t fail.”

Oh.

Oh.

His poor king.

Before he could process his own actions, Oreius was moving forward, and wrapped Peter up in a hug, cautious of the sword he was still holding. Peter froze almost immediately before melting into the embrace, dropping the sword to the ground unceremoniously.

The facade of a confident and strong young man vanished, and in his place was a child with far too many burdens on his shoulders.

Peter’s shoulders shook as he cried into Oreius’ shoulder, clinging to him as tightly as possible as Oreius simply held the young king, one arm around his shoulders, and the other gently combing through his hair.

Feeling a soft breeze, Oreius glanced up to see Yarrow appearing a few feet away, a look of concern on their face. The centaur flicked his eyes towards the castle, and Yarrow nodded, disappearing in a flurry of petals to return to the castle. They would keep an eye on the other three siblings while Oreius stayed with his king.

A few more minutes passed, and Peter’s hold on Oreius began to loosen as he pulled away, wiping at his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Oreius placed his hands on Peter’s shoulder, a small, warm smile on his face. “Do not apologize, Peter. You are only thirteen. You were thrown into all of this, and expectations were placed on you before you were prepared.”

“I’m supposed to be the High King. Aslan picked me for a reason.” Peter replied, and Oreius couldn’t help the small laugh at the boy king’s stubbornness.

“Aslan also knows that you are still young, and you deserve to rely on others around you.” He countered, and Peter immediately ducked his head down. “The war is over, Peter, and my duty now is as your advisor and your confidant.”

Peter picked up his sword, returning it to the scabbard. He made his wya to one of the benches that sat on the outskirts of the training area, and sat down with a heavy sigh, a sound much too grown-up for such a boy. “I haven’t… I’ve been in charge of my siblings for so long.” He placed the scabbard on the ground beside him, resting his arms on his knees as he stared at the grass. “I’m not used to having other people to rely on.”

Oreius joined him, tucking his legs close as he lowered himself close to the boy’s height. “Tell me of your parents, Peter.”

“My dad was drafted into the war two years ago. I haven’t seen him since then.” Peter said, eyes remaining on the ground. His face was heartbreaking, and Oreius thought back to Lucy’s words of bombs and running out of their home. His heart grew pained at the thought of the children living in fear. “Mother works to support us, so I’m the one at home, after school, keeping my siblings in line.”

“That is a heavy responsibility.” Oreius said carefully as Peter’s eyes shut, watching as the boy king took a deep breath.

He continued speaking, voice quiet as though he was just talking to himself, or thinking out loud. “When Dad was drafted into the war, he told me it was my job to protect my siblings and my mother. I don’t know what else to do.” It was then that Peter looked up at Oreius, eyes wide and searching for answers. “If I can’t protect them, what else can I do?”

Oreius placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “You can be their brother.” Oreius had seen Peter behave like a king. He had marvelled at the sight of such a young boy being able to command troops and fight back against the forces of evil. More impressive, though, was how he treated his siblings. He cared for them deeply, and it was obvious that his younger siblings cared about him just as much. “Your siblings love you, Peter. You all take care of each other in your own beautiful way. And you deserve to be protected just as much as the other three do.”

“We’ve changed. I think I’m glad that we have.” Peter said, a small smile on his face as he looked towards the castle. The smile fell, just enough to be noticable, and Peter leaned into Oreius’ side. “I’m scared of becoming king, Oreius. What if I don’t do a good job?”

“Listen well, my young king.” Oreius said, lifting an arm to wrap around the boy’s shoulders. Peter tensed for a moment before relaxing into the hold. “You have protected your siblings in a strange new land. You have kept them safe, you have fought in a battle for them. Now, you are no longer expected to protect them alone. Your siblings rule with you, Peter, and the four of you are meant to work together to take care of Narnia.” A quiet laugh left the centaur, and he looked down at the golden hair, the only bit of Peter that he could see as the boy curled into his side. “Besides, you and your siblings are not alone. You have Tumnus, the Beavers, Yarrow, and me to be at your side and help you.

The two sat in silence after that, Peter content to simply lean on Oreius. As the silence stretched on, comfortable and easy, Oreius vowed to always be able to be there for his king. He would happily be the shoulder that Peter needed when things became too difficult, when he felt as though he could not go to his siblings. He would happily be a pillar of support for all four siblings.

Peter shifted, rolling his shoulder, and Oreius watched the motion closely. “How is your shoulder?”

“Still sore.” Peter said, lightly touching the bandaged site. His own eyes grew worried as he looked up at Oreius. “I never asked how you were. Jadis…”

“I am fine, my king. Truly.” He felt a burst of affection towards his young king for his concern. “Aslan and your sisters helped me, and I no longer feel any chill in my bones.” Oreius went quiet, looking towards the cluster of trees that were blooming near the castle. There were new buds on the branches, and the afternoon sunlight was streaming through the leaves. He let out a contented sigh. “I have not felt the chill in quite a few months.”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it quickly, as if second-guessing his question. Oreius waited patiently, watching his boy king with a gentle smile. Finally, Peter seemed to nod to himself, and opened his mouth again. “Will you tell me about it?”

“About what?”

“The Long Winter.” Peter said softly. “Tumnus doesn’t like talking about Jadis, which makes sense, and the Beavers spent most of their time in their dam.”

“It is an unpleasant story, and does not have many points of joy, Peter.” Oreius’ voice became serious, memories of the cold, of the older members of his herd dying from the chill and sickness during the first rush of winter storms.

Peter lifted his chin, and suddenly looked every inch a king. Oreius suddenly found himself thinking into the future, of the golden-haired High King, who wanted to know everything about his people, and the centaur felt very, very proud. “I still want to hear it. I want to know.”

Oreius settled back, leaning on the bench. “Very well.” Peter brightened, a boyish excitement in his eyes, and he shifted. He moved off of the bench, and sat beside Oreius on the ground, legs crossed, and he leaned into the centaur’s side to listen. “The snow had only just begun when I was born. For most of my young life, I did not know anything but the cold and ice that the White Witch brought to this land.”

For the most part, it was not a tale Oreius enjoyed telling.

However, sitting in the warm grass, the sun shining above him, with the boy who would one day grow to be more than a king, who would eventually grow to be Oreius’ son, the tale was easier to tell.

Chapter Text

Oreius felt a stiffness in his bones as he walked through the halls of Cair Paravel. In the ten years since his kings and queens had taken their thrones, he had aged. Thankfully, peace was spread amongst Narnia in the first five years of the Golden Age, and there were few battles to fight.

The castle was quiet. Servants walked the halls, chatting amicably and greeting Oreius as he passed by. There were no balls to prepare for, no meetings. The kings and queens were scattered around the grounds, but Oreius was on the hunt for one specific queen.

He found Susan standing at the railing of one of the balconies, overlooking the beach and ocean. She obviously came from training, as her bow was laid on the bench, and her polishing supplies were beside it.

Oreius paused, simply looking at the eldest queen. At twenty-four, Susan had become a great beauty, and her gentle nature had only served to make her more desirable as a wife to princes and kings around the country. Peter and Edmund had supported their sister’s decision not to marry, and Lucy had happily offered to show her dagger to any suitors who did not listen to her decision.

“You can walk as silently as you like, athair, but I’d know your gaze anywhere.” Susan turned her head, an amused smile on her face as she looked at Oreius with a raised eyebrow.

Oreius chuckled, stepping out onto the balcony. “I did not want to disturb you.”

“You never will.” Susan replied. She motioned to the empty spot beside her. “Please.”

“You trained today.” Oreius noted as he moved to her side, his hands resting on the rail. Susan’s gaze returned to watching the waves. Oreius felt his heart break a little as he saw the sadness in her eyes. “Who was it this time?”

Susan let out a small, bitter huff. “Just another lord who was trying to urge the boys to get me to marry.”

Oreius narrowed his eyes, debating on whether he should go hunt for the man who insulted his queen, or stay and comfort her. “Which lord?”

“Athair, it’s alright, I promise.” Susan said, resting a hand on his arm.

“If you say so.” he sighed. He would never get used to his kings and queens calling him that. In the eight years since that fateful Christmas, it was a blessing he cherished every single time. Oreius noticed, however, that there was something behind the sadness in Susan’s eyes, something deeper and more unknown. “Something else is on your mind, my girl.”

She took a breath before speaking, leaning so that her elbows rested on the rail, her head dropping, and hair falling over her face. “Do you ever think about the time before?” He hummed quietly. “When we first came, the battles, the war.”

“I do.” Oreius admitted, looking to where a few dryads were playing a game with some of the younger animals on the border between the beach and the forest. “It is hard not to, after fighting for so long. I remember the members of my herd who have fallen, I remember the comrades killed by the Witch’s forces.”

“Sometimes I can’t stop thinking about it all.” Susan whispered, as though afraid to admit her words. “A part of me misses it.”

“What do you mean?”

She lifted her head, looking to the same group Oreius watched. “It was almost easier. We knew what our goal was and who we had to fight. Aslan…” Her voice broke slightly, and Oreius rested a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “Aslan was among us, and it was like we had a solid purpose.”

“Now there are no wars to fight, and any battles we have no longer change the future of Narnia.” Oreius continued knowingly.

“Exactly!” Susan exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air as she turned around, lifting herself up to sit on the railing. Oreius bit back a small smile at the action, something so similar to what she used to do as a child. “Athair, I feel like I’m lost. I love ruling, our people, our kingdom, but I feel like my purpose is fading.”

Oreius reached out, taking her hand. “Susan…”

Susan squeezed back. “You’ve led for so long. How are you able to settle so easily? To keep your heart so kind?”

“It was more difficult before the war was over.” Oreius began. “It was easier to close myself off. When the war ended, it was seeing you and your siblings step forward to rule that made me softer.” Susan ducked her head with a shy smile, and Oreius lifted her chin, looking into her eyes that always held so much warmth towards her family. “Seeing the people love you so dearly, and seeing the four of you come into your own, what has kept my heart kind.”

“People call me cold.” Susan admitted softly, and Oreius felt a fire light in his chest. “Not everyone. Visitors, people who don’t know me and only know of my rejection of suitors. They say I’m gentle, but that my heart is stone towards romance.” Oreius had never felt such anger before. His tail flicked with annoyance, and he released Susan’s hand, turning to leave the balcony. “Where are you going?”

He called over his shoulder. “To find Lucy. It’s just about time for us to have a father and daughter outing.”

Susan let out a startled laugh. “Athair!!”

“I am joking.” Oreius admitted, amusement on his face as he turned back to Susan, who was looking at him with fond exasperation. “But Susan, you know that they are wrong.” He returned to holding her hand in a firm grasp, and she held on just as tightly. “The suitors who approach you, they see your appearance first. You are beautiful, but you are gentle, and loving, and you are so very strong. You and Edmund speak with words honed by the war you were thrown into, you and Lucy are perfectly content not to be married off, and your brothers respect that.”

“They all see someone different.”

Oreius felt his heart grow even heavier at Susan’s words, and he wondered how long his queen had felt such a way. “The suitors who court you, they expect your gentleness to be your weakness.” He scoffed quietly. “They expect you to wilt the moment you are confronted with a potential marriage opportunity, and you do not, and that scares them.” Lifting his other hand, Oreius placed it over Susan’s heart, causing her to look at him with wide eyes. “Your heart is guarded, Susan, but not because you are made of stone. You are wise, and you know what you want.”

Susan placed her own hand over his. “I worry that their words affect me too much.” Words suddenly came tumbling from her mouth, an admission she had been keeping in. “I’ve drawn away from the others. Peter mentioned it the other morning when I didn’t come to breakfast. I know Ed sees it too, and Lucy worries.” She smiled at the mention of her sister. “She knows us all better than we know ourselves.”

“Your sister knows you better because her heart is Aslan’s, and he knows all his children.” Oreius reminded, not unkindly. He knew Aslan loved all four of the rulers dearly, but Lucy was the lion’s Dear One. “She sees things before we even know they exist.”

Susan giggled. “You sound like Him.”

“I remember His voice.” Oreius mused. He pointed towards the forest, where the mid-morning breeze was causing leaves to rustle and shake. “Like Lucy, when the wind makes the trees dance, and when the fauns play their lullabies, I can almost make out an echo.”

“I miss him.” Susan said, and she suddenly sounded twelve again, a frightened girl placed onto a throne. “Do you think He’ll return, one day?”

Oreius thought of Aslan. “He never truly leaves us.” He paused for a moment, thinking of how to word his next statement. “He has a different understanding of ‘leaving’. Aslan is able to walk in places that are beyond here, but His steps are ingrained in the very soil of Narnia.”

“Sometimes, I’m scared I don’t see His steps anymore.”

“That would not change what the truth is, Susan.” Oreius tapped her forehead teasingly, making her scrunch her face in mock annoyance. “Even a blind creature can feel the sun on its face.”

That made her go silent, and for a few minutes, Oreius and Susan stayed together in the quiet. The only sounds came from the beach, of the waves gently hitting the sand, the laughter of the dryads and animals beneath them. Within the castle, the sounds of conversations could be heard, no doubt preparing for outings and cleanings.

Susan tilted forward, resting her head on Oreius’ shoulder. “I miss it sometimes. Our world.” Oreius placed his arm around her. “Not because I prefer it, or because I wish to go back, but just because… it felt simpler, there.” She went quiet once more, contemplative. “I wonder if I’ll ever belong anywhere completely.”

The Pevensie siblings had told Oreius about their world. England, where there was a war going on, where fathers had to leave, and bombs fell from the sky. They had told him about being sent away for their safety, of living in the countryside with a mysterious professor.

Susan hesitated, but Oreius gently nudged her side. “Go on, Susan.”

“Back in England, I felt pulled in all different directions, and I feel that way here. I was always being pushed to be more, more like Mother, more like Lucy, more like a lady. Here, sometimes I’m not warm enough, I’m not welcoming enough.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, and Oreius tightened his hold on her, hugging her to his side as close as he could. “I was so sure of my place in England. I was holding onto my family and keeping my siblings together.”

“Now, you keep a kingdom.” He said, understanding where her thought process was taking her.

Susan nodded against him. “We’re happy, I know we are. These past ten years have been the most wonderful years of my life. I feel closer to my siblings than I ever did before. I have you, and Tumnus, and the Beavers, and everyone around us, but it's all going by so quickly.” Her fingers held onto the baldric she and her siblings had given him so many years ago. “What happens when we’re no longer Kings and Queens?”

“Do you remember what Aslan said on your coronation day?” Oreius asked gently.

“Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen.” Susan quoted, the tension in her shoulders easing almost automatically when the words were spoken. She went silent for a moment before pulling back, looking at him desperately. “What about when we’re no longer here? When we’re just myths?”

Oreius cupped his daughter's face in his hands, holding her as gently as he could. “Then we will be myths who stood for something, my girl.” Tears formed in Susan’s eyes, and Oreius leaned forward, kissing her forehead. “Jadis is remembered because of her cruelty and drive to cause fear. You and your siblings will be remembered for your mercy, your wisdom. You will be remembered for being magnificent, gentle, just, and valiant. You will be remembered for holding your ground with your siblings, your resolve and bond strengthening each other.”

Susan laughed, a watery sound with not too much joy. “I don’t feel very strong now.”

“I have often felt the same.” Oreius admitted, using one of his hands to brush her hair away from her face. “Before you and your siblings came, there were days when I stood in the camp terrified. I felt as though I could not move a step.”

“How did you manage?”

“Doubting yourself, and feeling uncertain, and still moving forward despite that, is the greatest show of strength a creature can do.”

“Am I doing the right thing, athair?” Susan asked, and Oreius would never lose the feeling of joy that came over him when one of his children sought his counsel. “Are we?”

He nodded firmly. “You are, Susan.” Motioning towards the castle, Susan followed his gaze. “I did not know a Narnia before the White Witch, but now I do, because of the four of you. The trees sing, the dryads dance. The people of Narnia are happy, and sleep safely without fear. Not all rulers can claim that.”

It was true.

Oreius had spoken to those in his herd who had also only ever known the Long Winter, and they all agreed, speaking in joyful tones about the lightness their kings and queens brought to the country. The Narnians rejoiced every day for the freedom they had from Jadis, and winters were no longer spent cowering in fear, but playing and laughing together. The Golden Age was something to behold, and it was all thanks to the Pevensie siblings.

Oreius was almost painfully proud of his kings and queens.

Susan came off of the rail and wrapped her arms around Oreius in a proper hug. He hugged her back, mourning the fact that her head now came to his chin, and that she was no longer small enough to lift into his arms. “Thank you.”

“We remember the difficult times, Susan, but I also remember the good.” Oreius said softly, pulling back to rest his hands on her shoulders. “I remember seeing you and your siblings walking into camp for the first time, and Lucy waving to Yarrow.” The joy that the siblings had brought, wide-eyed and innocent. “I remember how Peter, with little to no training, pulled a sword on Jadis to protect Edmund, and how you pushed Lucy into the tree when the wolves came.” Her courage and selflessness, never hesitating to protect her sister. “I remember your coronation, and how it seemed a blanket of peace fell over the kingdom in one fell swoop.” As though a sigh had been let out by the country, the knowledge that they were finally safe and at peace. “You will be remembered for that.”

Susan’s smile was brighter than the sun, and Oreius cherished it.

Chapter Text

“Even a traitor may mend. I have known one that did.”

Edmund’s words rang through Oreius’ mind as their small group made camp.

Peridan’s encouragement to execute Rabadash had been concerning, but Oreius had been more focused on his son. The way that Edmund’s eyes had looked as though they were seeing someone else before him, thinking back to a different time, that had concerned Oreius even more. He and Lucy had shared a look with each other upon hearing Edmund speak, and Oreius had promised his daughter that he would speak with her brother as soon as possible.

As the camp quieted, and the fire at the center crackled merrily, Oreius found Edmund sitting in front of the flames, his cloak drawn tight around his shoulders as he stared at the fire.

Slowly, the centaur approached the young king, lying down at his side to watch him. The only hint that told him that Edmund was aware of his presence was the small smile that appeared on the boy’s face.

“You and Lu have been staring at me since we left Archenland.”

Oreius kept his eyes on the fire as well, knowing that he had to tread carefully with the conversation he was about to attempt to have. “What you said to Peridan, Edmund…”

“I wasn’t wrong, athair.” Edmund said, sighing like he was a teenager again. The tone made Oreius smile slightly, glad to see his son’s usual attitude returning, though the worry remained. “I meant it in a good way. I betrayed my family, but it’s been years, and they’ve forgiven me.”

“Have you forgiven yourself?” Oreius asked softly. Edmund stilled, eyes falling down to his hands that were clasped tightly in his lap. “Do you still think about her, Edmund?”

Edmund finally looked up, meeting Oreius’ eyes. “Will you be angry if I do?”

Oreius reached out his hand, placing it on Edmund’s shoulder. “It’s alright if you do.” The silence was now tense as the two looked at one another. “Ed, she was your first introduction into Narnia, and you did not know any better.”

“I should have listened to Lucy.” Edmund whispered, his attention returning to his hands that were now twisting.

“You and your siblings had a difficult relationship when you first arrived here.” Oreius reminded him gently.

Edmund sighed again, drawing his knees up to his chest, and Oreius was reminded of how small his king had looked when they first met, tied to a tree in the Witch’s camp. “I’ve been thinking about that time lately. I don’t… I don’t know how to feel about it anymore.” Edmund reached out his hands towards the fire, rubbing them together to feel the warmth. “I think about how easily she pulled me in, how I was just taken in with the promise of sweets and a warm drink.”

“You were a child.”

“I was greedy. I wanted to be more than myself, more than Peter.” Edmund’s voice was bitter, a burst of anger directed towards the Witch, towards himself, towards his memories. “She made me realize that.”

“You were ten years old, and your mother had just sent you away during a war.” Oreius disagreed. This conversation was a familiar one, though they had not had it since the first year of the Pevensies’ rule. “The White Witch always seemed to know her pawns’ greatest fears. Think of Tumnus. She manipulated and preyed upon you.”

Edmund moved into Oreius’ side, leaning against him. “I thought, when I followed Lucy into Narnia, that all my problems would be solved. Maybe Peter and Susan wouldn’t be so strict, maybe I’d become friends with Lucy again.” His eyes closed, his face closed off as he ducked his head while Oreius wanted nothing more than to bundle his boy in blankets. “I wanted that ability, that power, to make people like me and listen to me. I just didn’t want to feel weak.”

Oreius tilted his head, resting it atop Edmund’s gently. “You did gain that power, Edmund.”

“After hurting my siblings.”

“Yes.” The centaur said bluntly. He knew that, sometimes, when his children got into their heads, it was better not to beat around the bush with their conversations. It was more helpful to simply be as honest as possible. “You learned from your mistakes, and that is what gave you the power to be strong, to have people want to listen to you.”

Edmund went quiet, his eyes opening. His cheeks were red from the warmth of the fire, and his eyes reflected the flames as he looked past them to where Lucy’s tent resided, his sister no doubt fast asleep within.

“Sometimes I can’t stop feeling scared.” His confession came out in a whisper barely louder than the crackling wood. “There are nights when I wake up and, for a moment, I feel as though I’m tied up against that tree again, or that I’m chained in her dungeon and left to freeze.”

Oreius felt his heart break for his boy. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

Edmund’s eyes brimmed with tears, and he looked ten years younger, huddling against Oreius like he could protect him from every evil. “I don’t know.” His voice shook as he spoke, a mixture of guilt and shame in his tone. “I think a part of me believes I deserve those nightmares, that I deserve that moment of panic.”

Oreius went still, staring at the boy beside him in shock. He had marvelled for years at how Edmund had grown into his role as the Just King. The people of Narnia adored him nearly as much as they adored Lucy. His quiet, calm demeanor and fair rulings made anyone who had a problem want to speak to him. His days were often filled with Narnians visiting his office, or him and Lucy going out into the town to visit their people. While the Narnians knew of his past, it was as though they loved him more because of it. They respected him for what he went through, and never judged or hated him.

“You do not deserve that, lad.” Oreius’ voice broke slightly as he squeezed Edmund close to his side, attempting to hold back his own tears. “You do not.”

“It’s been years, athair. I hate still being scared of that time.” Edmund managed to say before going quiet again, attempting to curl into an even smaller ball.

Wanting to pull his son from the dark memories, a moment came to Oreius’ mind. “Do you remember when we met?”

Edmund looked up at him, slightly surprised. “Of course.”

“Your siblings had begged Aslan to save you. I volunteered to lead the charge because I had a feeling Peter would forge a path on his own back to you.” Oreius explained, and the small smile on Edmund’s face felt like a victory. They both knew of the elder’s tendency to want to rush into every fight if his siblings were ever so much as mentioned by an enemy. “When I saw you, I did not see a traitor who sided with the White Witch. I saw a boy who desperately needed his siblings to take care of him.” Edmund’s face softened, and the darkness in his eyes faded to shyness as Oreius looked at him with pure affection in his eyes. “A boy who wanted to be loved.”

“I was that obvious?” Edmund asked, a cheeky smile on his face.

“Hush.” Oreius rolled his eyes, tapping the back of his boy’s head as they both laughed quietly. “Then, you came back to the camp, and your siblings’ joy at your return, and your relief, that was what gave me the hope that we could win this war.”

Edmund ran his fingers over the grass beneath him, tearing up a few blades to roll in his hand absent–mindedly. “I remember feeling so worried. Speaking with Aslan helped, and seeing everyone again, but I felt terrified that she’d take me back.”

“And yet you stared her down when she came into the camp.” Oreius reminded him, and Edmund’s cheeks grew even darker at the proud tone in his father’s voice. “You faced her in battle, Edmund. You ignored Peter’s instruction and fought alongside your brother against the woman who had hurt you.”

“I don’t know how I could have done it without the others, and without you.” He admitted. “Getting to rule with them… I feel as though it’s a new life for me. I don’t think I’ve ever trusted anyone as much as I trust the three of them.” Oreius always admired the love that his children had for each other. Through the years, it had only strengthened, boosted by the ways they had learned to rule together and trust one another. The four siblings had all grown in their own ways. Edmund looked back up to Oreius, gratefulness in his eyes. “You’ve given me so much, as a guard, as a mentor, as a father, and sometimes I still struggle to believe that I deserve it.”

Oreius tilted his head back down to gently place his forehead against his son’s. “You do, Edmund. You and your siblings all deserve this peace and protection.”

“I’ve spoken a bit with Pete about it, but sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had just… not followed Lucy, or if I had gone quicker, maybe asked her to take me to Tumnus that first night.” Edmund’s tone did not have any of the guilt or shame it had previously. He was simply thinking aloud. “Do you think things would have ended up the same?”

“We can think of all the what-ifs, Edmund.” Oreius said gently. “I do know, however, that you would not be the Just King without what you went through. Your experience shaped you and your siblings into the rulers that you are today.” He pulled Edmund closer against him, wrapping his cape around the man who was no longer a boy. “I do wish that this pain did not follow you, lad.”

Edmund let out a breath, as though releasing all the stress that had been building in him over the past few days of adventure and fighting. “I still struggle with forgiving myself for what happened. I think I did accept, years ago, that I was manipulated and tricked, but it’s difficult for me to truly understand that.”

Oreius moved so that he was facing Edmund. “Aslan told you, when you returned to the camp, that you were absolved of your part.” He had not been present during the conversation, but he could remember standing beside Peter near the tent, watching as tension seemed to leak out of the young boy as Aslan spoke gently to him. “He does not want you to dwell on that. Your siblings, your people, they forgive and love you. Many admire what you went through, and the strength and love you gained from that.” Oreius pulled him close, hugging Edmund tightly. He felt him return the hug, head tucked against his shoulder. “Jadis is gone, Ed. I will not give her credit, because that witch does not deserve it, but part of what she did to you is why you are so just and kind, lad.”

Edmund stayed tucked against Oreius as the fire slowly died down and the setting sun faded into the deep blues and blacks of the night.

The following morning, when the campsite woke up for their final march back home to Cair Paravel, Lucy burst from her tent to throw her arms around her brother. Edmund, who was stretching his back after having fallen asleep out on the grass, was not expecting the attack, and promptly fell back on the ground as Lucy laughed.

Oreius shook his head fondly at the two, listening as Edmund half-heartedly complained without even attempting to dislodge his beloved baby sister.

He did love his children so very, very much.

Chapter Text

For the first few years of their reign, Oreius could confidently say that he remained a steadfast general and advisor to the kings and queens. They were reestablishing Narnian customs, and helping their people to settle into a peaceful time that none of them had truly experienced before. Narnians were beginning to call the era a Golden Age, and Oreius agreed completely. He was proud of his rulers, and knew they would only continue to grow and improve.

During the Christmas of the third year of the Pevensies’ reign, something changed, and Oreius would be forever grateful that it did.

The rulers had invited the entire kingdom to a Christmas ball, and the halls had been packed with Narnians. It was loud and joyful, the laughter of the occupants mixing with happy music that made everyone want to dance. It was the first Christmas that truly felt magical and hopeful, the first without any weight of plans or meetings in the following weeks.

Oreius had stayed on the outskirts of the ballroom, keen eyes watching the Pevensie siblings as they spun and danced through the room with each other and their friends. Lucy was almost always attached to Edmund’s side, the youngest siblings giggling together as they darted around. Susan and Peter danced gracefully, though there was the glimmer of childhood innocence in their eyes as they looked at the flowers and wreaths covering the walls.

Oreius had not felt so much happiness in his life, and he could not help the smile that spread over his face.

Later that evening, when the children’s eyes were beginning to droop, Oreius herded them together, trusting the others to finish the ball and escort Narnians out of the castle. He brought the siblings to the library, where a fire was already crackling, and blankets were set out, along with mugs of tea and plates of treats.

There was also a stack of four gifts beside the fireplace, and Oreius hid a smile at the looks of curiosity that the siblings sent towards him.

Despite still being in their finery, Lucy and Edmund immediately grabbed a blanket each, wrapping it around themselves, and curling up together in front of the fire. Susan followed, her silver skirt pooling around her legs as she sat on the ground, and she clasped a mug in her hands happily.

“I will be right back!” Peter announced, darting out of the library. A few minutes later, after Oreius settled between Lucy and Susan, the boy reappeared, holding a wrapped package in his hands. “You four have done remarkably well during the holidays.” Oreius praised.

Lucy leaned against him, yawning dramatically. “I’m going to sleep for a month once all the parties are over.”

Edmund snickered at his sister as Peter voiced his agreement.

“I like having the doors open to the kingdom.” Susan said, taking a sip from her tea. “It helps the Narnians feel closer to us, and I like getting to spend time with them.”

Oreius looked at her with a fierce fondness. “They all adore you four, they would not deny spending time with you.”

The four siblings each looked down, all with identical expressions of a shy happiness at his words. Peter sat down between Susan and Edmund, completing the little circle in front of the fire. With the wood crackling merrily behind him, Oreius reached to the four gifts, pulling them closer.

“I have gifts for you four.” he announced, and the children’s eyes lit up with delight.

Lucy looked at hers as Oreius handed it to her. “Really?”

“We have one for you!” Edmund said excitedly.

Oreius chuckled. “I wish for you all to open yours, first.” He nodded to the eldest. “For Peter.”

The boy carefully pulled off the ribbon that tied the box shut, opening it as if it were made of class. He let out a quiet gasp upon seeing the piece within, and he pulled out a golden compass. His siblings all leaned closer to look as Peter ran his thumb over the crest on the top before opening it. To his surprise, there were three points; one colored blue, another green, and the third red. Each point went towards one of his siblings, following them as they shifted. Peter looked up at Oreius questioningly. “Is it… broken?”

“No.” Oreius smiled, taking the compass from him, showing how the blue point remained focused on Susan, the green on Edmund, and the red on Lucy. “This is a traditional gift within Narnian families to the heads of the household. Each point of the compass shows the way to a member of your family.”

Peter looked closer, and his eyes lit up when he realized that his count had been off. There was a fourth point, this one silver.

It pointed towards Oreius.

“There’s four points.” he remarked.

“There are.” Oreius replied firmly, and Peter’s face lit up as he took the compass back, closing it and staring at it with awe.

He handed Susan her gift, and she smiled softly. “My turn?”

Oreius nodded, and she opened the box, beaming at the sight of the boots within. They were made of brown leather, and had the imprint of mountain-ash leaves. On the side of the ankle of each boot sat the same crest that was on Peter’s compass.

“These will make your footsteps as soft as a feather and as silent as a dryad.” Oreius explained, and Susan’s eyes sparkled as she studied the intricate work of the leather.

“They’re beautiful.” she breathed.

Oreius hummed. “I know many archers who wear these, and I have fought alongside them. They sneak up without any detection.”

Susan’s joyful expression became even more mischievous as she looked towards her siblings.

“Oh no.” Edmund groaned, face falling into his hands.

Peter shook his head in mock-disappointment. “What have you done, Oreius?”

Susan and Lucy giggled at their brothers’ reactions, and Oreius hid his own laughter behind his hand.

“Thank you.” Susan said earnestly as the laughter quieted, placing the boots back into the box carefully.

Oreius nodded, and turned towards the third of the Pevensie children. “Now, Edmund.” He quickle opened his own gift, and let out a delighted sound at the book that sat in his hands. It was bound in a similarly-colored leather to Susan’s boots, and the boarders were etched with birch leaves. In the center was the same crest as his siblings’ belongings, and the edges of each page were painted gold. “This is a book of riddles and fables that are from the old Narnian days, before the time of Jadis.”

Edmund’s delighted expression turned reverent, and he slowly opened the book, as though terrified to even crease the pages. “Amazing.”

“Many of these fables are not found in the library here.” Oreius explained, willing himself not to become choked up. What he did not say was that many of the fables were of his own herd, the stories his ancestors had collected and passed down. Stories a parent would tell their child. “They have either been destroyed, or were told orally, so they were never written down due to the danger of Jadis finding them.”

Edmund’s eyes grew suspiciously misty, and he quickly wiped his sleeve as Peter let out a teasing laugh, wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “We’ve just lost Ed until the new year.”

Oreius’ smile grew as Edmund looked to him, gratitude in his gaze. “Perhaps you can add your own in the blank pages.”

He nodded, and Oreius turned to the last of the Pevensies, who was watching her siblings with love in her eyes.

“Finally, Lucy.” he announced, and Susan bounced excitedly, knowing the gift. “Your sister actually helped me with this one.”

Lucy happily revealed her gift, and her mouth fell open upon seeing the gold necklace within. “It’s a locket!”

The front of the locket had the image of a fireflower etched upon it, red crystals forming the petals and center.

“Open it.” Lucy did so, and immediately clutched the locket to her chest. Within the locket sat a small tuft of fur, tied with a red silk ribbon to hold it together. “Susan collected a bit of fur that was left on the Stone Table, and brought it to me for safekeeping. This locket will warm when Aslan is near, whether you can see him or not.”

Lucy immediately shifted her hair, handing the locket to Oreius and turning. He shook his head fondly, carefully latching the necklace around her, and Lucy beamed as she held the pendant carefully, turning it around to look at it reverently. Her eyes caught on the crest on the back, and she turned it so that Oreius could see it as well.

“What’s this?” Lucy asked.

Oreius took a breath, tugging Lucy close, and beckoning for the siblings to come closer as well. “Come, little ones.” His voice grew soft, a tone he had not taken with the young kings and queens before, but they happily listened to his direction. Peter moved to sit nearly on top of Susan, leaning against her side and making her push him with a roll of her eyes. Edmund sat behind Lucy, pulling her close and resting his chin on top of her head as they all looked at Oreius with wide eyes. He motioned to the medallion holding his cloak over his chest. “This is my crest. It has been passed through my family since the early days of Narnia.” He pointed to the center of the crest, which held three flowers that, in reality, were a sparkling midnight blue that resembled the night sky, with a center as bright as the sun. “These are mooncrown flowers. They have a very special importance to centaurs, and have specific properties, like your fireflowers.” Lucy reached up, tracing the flowers reverently. “They allow the stars to send their messages to us, and for those in positions of importance, like myself, it gives us clarity for judgements.”

Susan pointed to the vines that surrounded the mooncrown blooms. “And these?”

“The border is made up of whisperbind and ivy.” Oreius explained, and Lucy’s eyes grew sad.

“I recognize this from the night Jadis...”

Oreius wrapped his arm around both her and Edmund, pulling the two youngest closer. “Yes.” Susan inhaled sharply, and leaned against his side. “This vine grows only in places of great memory, such as the Stone Table and the Wood between Worlds.” Oreius’ own eyes grew teary as he remembered the stories of his grandparents and great-grandparents, of their dedication to remembering their herd’s past, and the responsibility that came with the position. “My ancestors took whisperbind as part of our crest because they were often those charged with holding onto our herd’s history.”

Peter looked down at his compass.

Susan looked at her boots.

Edmund looked at his book.

As one, four pairs of eyes locked onto Oreius, questions and hopeful glimmers shining as he gazed at each of them.

“It’s here on each of our gifts.” Peter said for his siblings.

“I do not have a wife. I do not have children.” Oreius said, though he knew the four children were aware of that. He took a breath, allowing weakness to be his guide for once in his life. “From the moment I met the four of you, I have felt nothing else but love and a fierce protectiveness for you all. Aslan told me, when we first encountered one another, that I would be the one to remind you that you are no longer alone. I have taken that responsibility with joy.” Peter’s face was shining with joy. Susan’s eyes welled with happy tears. Edmund was holding Lucy happily. Lucy was nodding along knowingly. “I care deeply for the four of you, and in the few years we have known one another, I have come to love you all as my own.”

Oreius looked at each of the children around him as he finished speaking, watching their reactions and the looks they gave one another.

Susan rested her head on his shoulder. “Well, we’re very happy to hear that.”

“Otherwise this would have been a really awkward gift to give.” Edmund said with a grin as Peter handed over the gift he had retrieved earlier.

Amused, Oreius took the present, opening it under the watchful eye of the four siblings. As he pulled the paper away, his hands stilled upon seeing what lay within.

“Children, this is…” He could not finish his sentence, touching the leather piece as a mixture of emotions created a tight bundle in his chest.

“A baldric?” Lucy finished softly.

Oreius nodded. “With my crest flowers.”

Susan leaned forward, pulling the paper away completely and tossing it to the side. “Fereth told us about them, but didn’t tell us the meaning, just that using those would add more importance to what this means.”

“Do you know what it means?” Oreius looked at the children, and he had a feeling they knew exactly the importance behind the gift.

Edmund’s face grew shy, and his hand held onto Lucy’s like a vice. “Baldrics are gifts that fauns give to their parents.”

“When Aslan sent you off to Jadis’ camp, I didn’t think much of it.” Peter said, his voice soft as he held his compass in his hands, thumbs rubbing on crest carved into the top. “Then, you came back with Ed, and he was safe, and all of a sudden you were taking care of all four of us. You trained me and Ed, you helped Lucy and Susan learn to use their weapons and how to fight properly.”

Oreius looked at Peter, affection flooding his soul at the boyish smile on the king’s face. “I was your general.”

Peter raised an eyebrow with a laugh. “You knew us for less than a month, and before the battle began, you told me you’d fight at my side to the death.”

“I haven’t seen my dad in years.” Lucy chimed in, as though hesitant to share the information. “He went off when I was six, and had been gone for two years when we first came to Narnia.” Oreius placed a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up, eyes bright as her siblings gave her encouraging looks and smiles, understanding radiating off of them. “I remember him a bit, but when I think of my father, I imagine you, Oreius.”

He was beginning to feel quiet overwhelmed, and his eyes burned with tears as the young rulers all spoke to him, the fire crackling almost joyfully at their conversation.

“You’ve taken care of us from the moment we stepped into this country. You gave us a home, and protected us, and encouraged us throughout the past three years ruling here.” Susan’s words were firm, as though she was speaking before her people, a tone she took to make sure everyone before her would listen to her.

“If you accept this, we want to…” Edmund trailed off, looking to his siblings before taking a deep breath. “We’d like to stop calling you Oreius, and just call you athair.”

Athair.

The Pevensies had started learning the Narnian language the moment they began their rule. Oreius had thought it almost unnatural, how quickly they had taken to the language. He suspected it had something to do with Aslan, and the fact that the four siblings were the kings and queens of the prophecy.

Hearing them converse in his native language had always brightened Oreius’ day, and he had delighted in being able to simply sit and teach the siblings the different words and phrases he had grown up using.

That word, however, was not one he had taught the siblings, and was not one he had heard them practicing.

The word for “father”.

A word that Oreius had never believed he would hear directed towards himself.

Gazing upon the hopeful eyes of the four children in front of him, Oreius believed it to be the most beautiful word he had ever heard in his years of living.

He smiled, bright and proud and loving, and opened his arms. “I would be honored.”

The children, his children, laughed as they surrounded him, arms wrapping around his neck and chest, hugging as tightly as possible. Oreius clung to them, his heart a bright sun in his chest. It was almost too much, the joy and excitement he was feeling, but Oreius wanted to stay in the moment forever.

Behind them, the fire continued to crackle, forming the face of a smiling lion who seemed much too smug about the entire situation.

Chapter Text

Christopher and Helen Pevensie knew that something had happened to their children during their time away from home in the country.

Christopher understood, of course, that he had been gone for two years. He knew his children would not be the same, and that they would grow as he fought in the war. When he returned home, however, it was Helen who looked to him with the realization that their children were very, very different from the ones he had left behind.

There was a heaviness that settled on their shoulders, a look in their eyes that told stories of pain and experience that children their age should have never been able to have. It was a look that Christopher was used to seeing in the men he had fought alongside with, never in his children.

Edmund, whose favorite season had always been winter, who once had begged to be allowed to play outside without a coat, now hated the snow. When winter storms arrived, Edmund would cower away from the window, curled in a chair or beneath a blanket, unable to step outside into the cold without one of his siblings at his side. (It was always Lucy who accompanied him. Lucy, who knew of his fears, who had found him after his first meeting with the Witch, who knew the difference between a comforting, beautiful snowy day and a freezing, unrelenting winter storm.) Peter, who previously could not go two hours without getting into an argument with Edmund, or snapping something sarcastic at Susan, was quieter, more patient, more thoughtful. He engaged Susan in conversation in the corner of the sitting room, the two talking about anything and everything for hours. Edmund and Peter were inseparable, as they once had been when they were children. They constantly looked to each other when in the same room, and often, Edmund was the one to soothe Peter’s sharp temper when it flared up.

Susan and Edmund, despite not being the closest of the four siblings before their stay in the country, were now spending hours in the living room, seated side-by-side on the couch, and pouring over history books that had long sat dormant on the bookshelves of their home. She and Peter looked to each other as equals, able to exchange conversations with a single glance. She and Lucy were attached at the hip, and their relationship had shifted as well.

No longer was Susan resentful over having to take on a maternal role for her younger sister. They were sisters once again, and could spend late evenings sitting together and giggling over various topics in their room.

Lucy, who was still the eager-eyed, bright little girl who had left, but was more grounded. No longer did she make up stories and games, but rather, she spent as much time outside as she possibly could, tossing her shoes and socks to the side, and digging her bare feet into the ground. More often than not, she was found laying on her back during sunny days, beneath the shade of the oak tree that sat in their back garden. One of her siblings usually could be found near her, quietly chatting with her head in their lap, reading a book, or playing a quiet game with the other two siblings.

What made the changes in their children so stark was that both Christopher and Helen knew that the home they had sent them to was not a terrifying place. It had been a beautiful country home, surrounded by lush green grass and trees, and there had been plenty of room for the children to have a content time together. They had even met Professor Diggory Kirk when they had retrieved the children a few months after sending them away.

Professor Kirk had raved about the Pevensie children, saying that they had been the most wonderful guese he had ever had, and that he would more than happily welcome them back if they ever desired to visit again.

(That last part had been said as the professor looked to the children, a sort of strange and silent understanding passing between them that Chrisopher and Helen did not truly know what it meant.)

When they had arrived for the children, the two parents had expected, of course, for the four to run to them, crying and arms outstretched for hugs. Helen, in particular, expected them to all but tackle their father, as they had not seen him in nearly two years.

That had not been the case, however.

Peter and Susan had been happy to see their parents. The two oldest had hugged them both tightly, though Christopher had noted that his thirteen-year-old son carried himself with a strength and pride he had never seen before. Susan had kissed her father’s cheek with a gracefulness Helen had only ever seen in pictures of the king and his family.

Edmund and Lucy had been much more down cast, surprisingly. They clung to each other, stepping forward to hug Christopher and Helen when they were asked, but their hugs were not nearly as tight as their older siblings. Lucy had tears in her eyes as they walked away from the house, and Edmund had to keep tugging on her hand to pull her away. Lucy had cried for a week when they returned home, curled up with her siblings and clutching a locket that she had somehow found in Professor Kirk’s house. Edmund had stayed at her side, his own eyes wet with unshed tears as they talked quietly, comforting each other.

The most notable change, however, came to light during the evening, when the children had been put to sleep.

It came a few weeks after Christopher’s return to their home. He and Helen sat together in the sitting room, cups of tea before them as they simply enjoyed the ability to sit in the other’s presence.

The quiet, however, was soon broken by the sound of Peter’s frightened shout. This sent both his parents jumping up from the couch in their sitting room, running to their son’s bedroom as quickly as they could, only to find that they were a hair too slow.

Peter was sitting up in bed, eyes red and wet with unshed tears, a fear in his eyes that was not unlike the fear Christopher saw in the eyes of the more veteran soldiers that had returned home from the war. Lucy sat in her brother’s lap, curled in his arms, whispering to him softly as Edmund rested a strong hand on his older brother’s shoulder. Susan bustled past her parents holding a soft blanket and a few other trinkets. She tossed the blanket around Peter, and pressed what appeared to be a compass into his hands, which he immediately held with a white-knuckle grip. After handing a leather-bound book to Edmung, Susan sat on Peter’s other side, tucking the blanket around her brother and younger sister, running a gentle hand over his hair.

Peter’s eyes were wide, and it seemed as though he did not know where he was. He looked around the room, arms tight around Lucy, who continued speaking in a quiet voice, words that her parents did not understand falling from her lips.

“Athair… where’s athair?”

The three other siblings instantly looked heartbroken, and Edmund leaned heavily into his brother’s side, head resting on his shoulder as he opened the book in his lap. “He’s not here, Pete.”

“Was it the battle?” Lucy asked softly in English, tilting her head up.

Peter nodded, ducking his head to hide his face in Lucy’s hair. “She shattered his statue. Aslan couldn’t get to him in time.”

Susan and Edmund exchanged heartbroken looks, and Susan adjusted the blanket around her siblings. “He’s back home, Peter. He’s safe with everyone else.”

“I thought…” Peter’s voice broke, and his hand tightened even more around the compass. “I thought for a moment we were back.”

His siblings immediately pressed closer, hugging their eldest tightly. Peter lifted his head, and opened the compass in his hand. All four looked down at the face, eyes growing sad.

“It’s still spinning.” Lucy said softly, bottom lip jutting out slightly as a tear fell down her cheek.

Peter immediately reached up, wiping it away, and kissing her forehead. “It’ll point in his direction again, one day.”

“Will you read to us, Ed?” Susan asked, gently closing the compass as she looked at her younger brother.

Edmund smiled warmly, and looked down at the book he held. “Which story?”

Lucy perked up slightly. “Oh, read the one about Brindle! That’s my favorite!”

Her siblings all laughed at her excitement, and Edmund flipped through a few more pages before finding the one he wanted. He cleared his throat dramatically, and began to read: “In the days before the Long Winter, when Aslan still walked openly through Narnia, there sat a lovely little dam on the Dewspire River.” Peter closed his eyes, leaning his head to rest on Susan’s shoulder, and Lucy snuggled closer to her oldest brother as Edmund’s quiet voice filled the previously tense room. “In that home lived a young beaver named Brindle, who was as boastful as he was clever, and who longed to be more than a simple dam-builder.”

Unnoticed, Christopher and Helen silently stepped away from their sons’ bedroom, feeling extremely wrong-footed.

Neither could recall ever seeing their eldest son looking so shaken, so terrified. In fact, neither could recall any of their children really ever having any sort of nightmares. The only time that Helen could pinpoint was when the bombings would occur around their home, but those moments of terror happened when the children were startled awake our of their peaceful slumber.

On the very rare occasion that their children did have nightmares, Christopher remembered waking up to their terrified shouts for him, the small voices yelling for their father making him leap out of bed and rush to their bedrooms to comfort them.

He felt out of place, watching as Peter clung to his siblings and not having a place for himself to go and comfort his son.

It was as though Christopher had gone to war, and when he returned, the children that he had once known and loved had been replaced by strangers.

He still loved his children, as did Helen. They loved them fiercely, but they could recognize that there was a type of wall between them now that kept them from truly connecting with the children.

As the years went by, the changes remained, and only ever became stranger.

Peter would speak with the authority of a leader, straightening up until Christopher swore he looked fifteen years older, despite having the face of a young teenager. His very tone of voice commanded attention, and many men who returned from war who heard him speak before seeing him would turn, expecting a general, but freezing upon seeing a child.

Susan mediated discussions between her classmates, listening to each side, and coming up with compromises that had even her teachers asking for her opinion on issues. She had always been intelligent, but there was a new level to it, a way that she had of getting right to the core of a problem without being told all the information, and pulling solutions out of thin air.

Edmund, who was still slightly standoffish and quiet, had become a confidant to many of his schoolmates, who approached him when something was bothering them. He would give them such sound advice that it felt as though they were talking to a great sage rather than their classmate.

Lucy was still kind and playful, but there was a more determined and alert look in her eye. She would pause in conversations as if weighing her words before speaking, and she had become respectful towards nature and animals, as though knowing something about their value in a way that others did not comprehend.

Christopher found his relationship with his two youngest children quite different as they returned home together. Lucy, who had listened to his stories and happily played with him, now seemed almost hesitant around her father, as if not knowing how to approach him. Edmund was very much the same as his sister, having once idolized his father, and now appearing more closed off. It was as though there was a great chasm between the Pevensie parents and their children, and none of them knew quite how to bridge the gap.

A year after retrieving them from Professor Kirk’s country home, the children had returned home from school with a new level of oddness to them that Christopher and Helen could not decipher. It was similar to how they had returned from the country, with new weight on their shoulders and looking as though they had aged in the hours they had been away in their classes.

Lucy had not stopped to greet her parents, going straight to her bedroom and closing the door. She did not slam it, but it closed with a sense of finality. She did not emerge for the rest of the day, and it was only when her parents were going to bed in the evening that they passed by the door.

It had been cracked open slightly, and Christopher and Helen could not stop themselves from looking in.

Lucy sat on the floor beside her bed, curled over the same locket, and one hand was pressed against her mouth, stifling the most heartbreaking sobs the two adults had ever heard in their lives.

Edmund crouched in front of his little sister, one of his hands on her arm, and the other resting on her cheek, wiping away the consistent stream of tears. Peter was crying as well, sitting at Lucy’s side while holding a silent, blank-faced Susan in his arms.

“Why would he keep us away for so long?” Edmund asked during a pause in Lucy’s crying, looking to Peter.

The oldest Pevensie sibling shook his head. “I don’t know. We got so long with athair, and he had lived for so many years.”

“He was getting older when we came back.” Susan whispered in a shattered voice, reaching out to hold the hand that Edmund had on Lucy’s arm.

Lucy looked at her siblings, eyes red and cheeks damp with tears. “Do you think they agreed with everyone else? Do they think we abandoned them?” Her voice broke at her words, and Edmund immediately moved, sitting right beside her and wrapping his little sister up in his arms.

“No, Lu. They’d never.”

Susan squeezed Lucy’s arm tightly. “Athair would never in a million years believe that we just up and left. I have to believe that Aslan told him and the others where we had gone.”

“I thought we’d get to see them again.” Lucy whispered, bringing her locket up to hold it over her heart, thumb rubbing over an etching on the back of it.

“Or at least get to say goodbye.” Edmund added, his own voice shaking. “To tell them we love them, one last time.”

Peter’s face was determined as he reached out with one arm to pull Edmund and Lucy into a hug, and the four siblings clung to each other. “I think they know.”

It was at that moment that Christopher and Helen realized that they did not know their children anymore.

The name, “athair”, had been spoken by Peter after his nightmares, and it was not uncommon for Christopher or Helen to hear the children say it in their sleep.

Something had happened while they were away at Professor Kirk’s home, and the siblings had not shared it, keeping whatever events they had experienced close to their hearts, and secret only to their group of four.

Just months after that event, Christopher was called away to America. He brought Helen, Peter, and Susan with him, hoping that it would help his children to leave England. He hoped that Lucy and Edmund staying with his sister and brother-in-law would help their own heaviness.

It did not.

During Christmas, after they had returned to England for a visit, Christopher realized that Eustace, who had once been, for lack of a better term, a spoiled brat, was now much more grounded, and quiet. He was pensive, sticking close to Lucy and Edmund, and speaking to them in hushed tones. He even spoke in the same language that his cousins did, though he stumbled over pronunciations.

“What was he like, your athair?” Christopher overheard Eustace asking his cousins as they all sat around the fireplace, not noticing him lingering in the doorway.

Susan smiled slightly, and her eyes lit up briefly with a joy that Christopher hardly recognized. “He was wonderful. He protected us, and he kept us safe for our entire rule.”

Lucy, who had regained some of her joyful spark that had been lost since half of her siblings left for America, perked up. “He’s the one who saved Ed from Jadis and got him back to us.”

“I think he would have liked you.” Peter remarked, and Eustace’s eyebrows rose almost comically at his eldest cousin’s words.

“Really?”

Peter smiled slightly, looking like a boy and a man at the same time. “Honest.” His siblings all nodded in agreement, and a shy little smile spread over Eustace’s face as he looked down at his hands. “He was gentle, and understanding. He listened to all of our issues and concerns as we grew up, and never judged us.”

“I think I would have liked to meet him.” Eustace agreed, nodding as if he knew exactly who they were all talking about.

“I have some stories written about him.” Edmund said, revealing the leather-bound book that Christopher had seen him with almost every day since reuniting. “Would you like to hear them?”

Lucy’s smile grew bittersweet, and Susan took a deep breath.

Eustace nodded, moving closer to his cousin’s side. “Yes, please.”

Christopher backed away, knowing that the stories that were about to be told were not for his ears.

He loved his children, but as the years passed, both Christopher and Helen saw how they behaved differently from everyone around them. They were regal as they grew, each of the four siblings settling into their growing limbs like welcoming an old friend. Peter and Edmund did not stumble as their gangly limbs strengthened with muscles, and Susan and Lucy took to their new figures with an ease Helen had never seen before.

They were infinitely more comfortable as they grew older, knowing each other’s needs and hurts as the years passed.

The Pevensie parents resigned themselves to watching their children become strangers, though they knew they still loved them dearly.

That love turned into unimaginable pain on the day that Christopher and Helen found out that three of their children, as well as their nephew, had been killed in a train wreck. It had been so sudden, and a horrible coincidence, as the train carrying Lucy and Eustace had derailed right onto the platform where Peter and Edmund had been waiting.

Susan, who had been at home with her parents working on a letter, had let out a scream that still haunted her parents, even years down the line.

She had collapsed after her parents told her, wailing with grief as she clutched the pen in her hand so tightly that it broke, spilling ink that ran unnoticed down her arm.

In the days following the accident, Susan remained in her bedroom. She refused to leave, either staying curled up in her bed, or sitting and staring blankly out of her bedroom window. In her hands she held Lucy’s locket and Peter’s compass, two of the only items recovered from the wreck. Edmund’s book had been left at home, and it became the only thing that Susan read, often with tears running down her cheeks.

Helen attempted to soothe her daughter, bringing meals to her to try and get her to eat. On one such occasion, she knocked on the door, opening it slightly. “Susan?”

“Leave me alone.” Susan was sitting on the floor beside her bed, Edmund’s book open on her lap, Lucy’s locket around her neck, and Peter’s compass balanced on her leg.

“Susan, darling, you need to eat.” Helen attempted to urge, stepping further into the room. Susan looked up at her mother with tired eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

Helen tried not to sigh, her heart still broken for all of her children. “I’ll leave it here for you.” She placed the plate on the dresser beside the door, and stepped away, moving out of sight to try and see if her daughter would eat.

Instead, Helen heard quiet sobs coming from the bedroom, and then, Susan’s voice, tired and grieving, and pleading in a way Helen had never heard before.

“Why did you take them from me?” Susan asked to no one. Helen looked around the corner to see Susan on her knees, staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom with wide eyes. “Why didn’t I just go with them?” She dropped her head, looking at Peter’s compass, and turning it in different directions. Her voice changed, and Susan suddenly sounded so young that Helen thought they had gone back in time. “Athair,, I’m so alone. I just want to be with them. I want to see all of you.” Susan closed Edmund’s book, brushing reverent fingers over the spine and carved leather. “What am I supposed to do without them? Who will tell me the stories, or sing with me? I don’t want to forget anything.” She closed her eyes briefly, a fist closing around Lucy’s locket. “Aslan, if you’re listening, please help me to remember our stories, and our time there. I don’t want to forget any of it.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as Susan brought the locket to her lips, kissing it as though she was kissing her sister’s cheek. “Those were the happiest years of my life.”

Helen went to move away, eyes still on her daughter, when Susan suddenly let out a gasp, eyes flying open. Helen froze, worried, but she watched as Susan opened her hand, staring at the locket. A true smile, something small and fragile, appeared on Susan’s face as she now regarded the locket with the same reverence as Edmund’s book.

“Thank you.”

Her whisper was almost too quiet to hear, and Helen had to walk away to keep her own sobs quiet.

Christopher and Helen never saw their daughter again, after that day.

At least, not the daughter they had once known.

Susan threw herself into writing, filling books meant only for her eyes with stories and poems. She left her parents’ home and moved to Professor Kirk’s country home, which had been left to her in a will found in his desk drawer. Susan had cried fresh tears when she received the letter from the solicitor, but had not hesitated to pack her things.

Christopher and Helen had attempted to stop her from leaving, concerned about her health, but Susan had simply kissed them farewell and left. She wrote them letters, keeping them aware of her health and her activities. She told them of her published writings, the poems that were dedicated to her siblings.

While Christopher and Helen had expected their daughter to wither into herself after her siblings’ deaths, Susan had flourished. It was as though all the life that had been pulled from her throughout the years had rushed into her all at once, giving her a rebirth of sorts.

Susan opened the country home to tours and students, turning it into a place of wonder and study. When Christopher and Helen had visited, a large, wooden wardrobe had been placed in the entrance hall of the home, a carved masterpiece. Susan looked at it with the same love she had once looked at her siblings with, but had explained nothing.

Susan’s letters continued as she grew, and as her parents aged. There was always a slightly detached quality to them, as she simply told them what she was doing, and that she was healthy.

No one ever truly understood Susan like her siblings did. Like her athair did.

No one ever knew the true reason behind her writing, the stories she published that seemed just to be fairytales for children.

With every stroke of her pen, with every turn of the page, Susan’s heart continued to beat, and the warmth of Lucy’s locket stayed strong against her chest.

Her final book, published just a few months before her death, had been titled “The One Who Carried Us Home”.

The story centered around a centaur warrior, following the themes of Susan’s books of a magical land filled with various creatures. The story told of the warrior who fought for the side of good, until he found a group of children, far from home, who he took in as his own.

Susan wrote the story with trembling hands, in the years after her parents’ death, and when those she had once known were long buried. She sent the book off to be published, and in the quiet of the night, just before her book became known to children all over, Susan fell asleep, and she did not wake up on this earth again.

She did wake up in a new country. One where her siblings and father were happily waiting to welcome her into their arms.

An Excerpt from “The One Who Carried Us Home”, by Susan Pevensie:

The night fell over the forest like a cloak of deep midnight velvet, sprinkled with stars and shimmering like diamonds. A breeze blew through the leaves of the tall trees, the scent of pine and flowers from the field just past the line of trees.

In the clearing, a fire crackled, casting a golden glow onto the camp that had now grown quiet after an exciting day of laughter and adventure.

Nearby, the centaur sat. He learned against the trunk of an ancient tree, a sense of calm radiating from his slow, steady breathing as his amber eyes watched the children around him with tender affection.

The eldest girl sat beside him, her dark hair woven with daffodils and pearlbuds. She was absentmindedly braiding the same flowers into the centaur’s tail. Her eyes reflected the dancing fire as she took a breath.

“I want to become a scéalaí, like you.”

The centaur’s lips curled into a gentle smile, his voice deep and soothing as he glanced at the girl. “Really? Why, my girl?”

The girl looked down, returning her focus to the braid she was creating, before she lifted her gaze to the centaur’s. Around them, her three siblings were scattered, each doing their own quiet activity, but always within each other’s orbit, linked by an invisible string that held their family together.

The youngest of the four siblings sat against a fallen log, her eyes trained up at the stars with a thoughtful expression. In her hands she held a small flute, occasionally filling the clearing with a quiet, contemplative melody, her eyes never leaving their duty of tracing the constellations.

The second-youngest sat crosslegged nearby, his attention taken by the stick in his hand and the knife he was using to carve the wood. His eyes occasionally turned towards the flowers growing nearby, and his tongue stuck out in determination as he carved the likeness.

The eldest of the four, ever the protector, stayed close to the fire, poking the embers to life as the flames began to fall, casting sparks into the air that rose like the tiniest of fireflies around their small camp. Occasionally, his gaze flickered to his siblings, and a small smile appeared.

Their quiet conversations, the music of the flute, and repetitive movements created a content atmosphere that transformed their little clearing into a happy, temporary home.

The girl’s voice broke through the quiet as she leaned against the centaur, her braid finished. “I want to always remember this.” she said, her voice firm with determination. “I want to remember my siblings’ happiness, your love, my joy.”

For a moment, the crackle of the fire and her sister’s flute were the only sounds. The centaur’s eyes shone with pride, as well as something ancient, an old hope. “I think you will be a great scéalaí, my daughter. Perhaps the best of our lineage.”

The girl smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest that was not just from the flames of the fire. The trees of the forest leaned inwards towards her and her siblings, as though yearning for their stories to be told, and their memories to be recorded.

Her siblings stilled, glancing over to their sister and father. They drew closer, pulled by their invisible string, their eyes soft with affection. One by one, they curled together, a pile of love guarded by their father.

The centaur’s steady presence, the flickering fire, and the velvet night formed a sanctuary, a place where their stories would grow and be passed between hearts.

It was simple, it was peaceful, and it was theirs.