Further Up & Further In

For Their People

The Pevensies will protect their people. They will always fight for those they love. They are more loyal than they are brave; their titles are sometimes false.

In Narnia, it's easy.

Someone is scared, weak, hurt, and cornered, and the Kings and Queens step in. They step between the victim and their attacker; their oppressor; whatever the case may be.

Peter stands tall. His hand rests on his sword hilt, but he has no intentions of drawing it unless absolutely necessary. He lifts his head high, and speaks in his best High King voice. If threats are made, they are heavily veiled. Peter hopes to disarm; defuse; bring peace. But he will not leave his place until the danger is gone, even if that means he must fight, and he will never show his fear when there is someone who needs him.

Susan steps in quickly, and speaks sharply. Her hands shake, but her voice doesn't. She doesn't carry a weapon, but the way her eyes glint would make you believe she does. Her threats are not violent, but they're willful. Nothing more will happen to whoever cowers behind her, even if that means she's standing in the way of danger herself. Her courage is temporary. She gets no high from it, and deflates the moment the danger has passed. But for the moment she feels bigger than she is, and it's enough to keep her standing.

Edmund pushes his way through, his sword out, making it into a barrier no one would want to cross. He doesn't just want to defuse the situation; he wants to end it entirely. "Never agains" and other ultimatums cross his lips, and his eyes are dark, and his feet are planted solidly. He has been small, he has been weak, and he has been broken, but no more; no more; no more. Not as long as he lives. Brokenness can be fixed. Weakness can become strength. And until it does, he will be a sword for those who need it. Sharp teeth. Sharp tongue. Sharp blade.

And Lucy stands straight, shoulders back, stance firm, and she glares up and up and up — a height difference never bothers her. She's getting taller, but she's still smaller than most of her opponents, and that's fine. She's used to it. She knows her advantages; she knows her skills. So she stands stubbornly in front of the person who needs her, and Aslan help anyone who dares to laugh at her and her threats. Lucy draws her dagger, resists the urge to stomp her foot, and repeats her warnings. Not here, she thinks. Not anymore. Lucy is a queen, and she is a fighter, and she will stand no matter what is before her. All that matters is what's behind.

But England is not Narnia. Children are not kings; not queens.

The Pevensies, however, still are.

Peter still notices those who are pushed around; he notices those who duck their heads and live in fear. Peter is terrified, sometimes. Peter doesn't acknowledge it. He has no sword, but he once wore a crown, and that crown came with a duty. Protect your people. If England was his world now, then its people were his own, and he would - always, always - protect them. So he steps between again. He has no sword this time, and he's not a king this time. Kings are respected, but, as he discovers, boys are not. Being a hero gets you hit. Kicked. Sometimes spit on. But behind Peter is someone who needs him to stand there anyways, and that's enough every time.

Susan trembles more than she used to. Sometimes she doesn't remember being a queen at all; she doesn't remember how it felt to have a world in her arms. But boys can be rude, and girls can be cruel, and sometimes she sees someone who knows this even better than she does. And when someone ends up with their back against the wall, Susan doesn't know how to take it. She lets herself believe she's taller than she is, and wears heels that make her feel like a tower, and she wears lipstick red as blood, and she feels like a sort of warrior, and she feels familiar, and she enters the battle before her. Her hands tremble again, but her words are steady, and maybe, just maybe, she has more power than she thinks she does. Maybe, just maybe, she's brave again.

Edmund has no sword, but he has fists, and he doesn't have the time to stop and think. If he rushes in fast enough, pushes hard enough, sometimes he gets lucky and no one feels like fighting back. Sometimes he goes home covered in bruises. Still, Edmund raises his voice. He shouts, stomps, kicks, shoves. Because sometimes all it takes is one word, and bullies turn out to be cowards. But even when it doesn't, there's always someone there who needs someone to fight for them. Edmund had been fought for. Edmund had been saved. And he isn't scared of blood, because sometimes blood is the only way to do it.

Lucy doesn't hesitate. She lacks authority, and worse than that, she lacks a dagger, but she's determined. This world needs her. All she needs is a prayer and a little bit of courage. And when her friends are cornered; when something is wrong, it doesn't matter that she has no dagger to fight with, because she is - always is, always will be - a lioness, and she speaks with such power she's nearly unrecognizable.

Peter never feels magnificent, holding his bloody nose. Susan forgets gentleness, and chooses to be venomous instead. Edmund is rash rather than just. And Lucy never feels valiant; she sometimes thinks she's less brave and more stupid.

Their titles are sometimes false.

But they always bear the ones that matter.