Plot bunnies. They don't always make sense!

Disclaimer: I am not C.S. Lewis; I do not profit by this. I would if I could!

It wasn't even fair. Father would never – he couldn't. He simply couldn't. How did he ever – what was he thinking? It wasn't even as if – it wasn't! No. No, that couldn't be it. It had to be something else, but – no. He refused to believe it. It simply didn't seem as though he would ever find happiness without – NOT going there.

These were the thoughts running through the head of the elder prince of Archenland on the day when his father, King Lune, told him that it was, to quote the good king, "time stopped being a child and became what shalt be." (Cor could never understand why Aravis didn't correct the dear old king when he completely omitted subjects from his sentences, if she was so insistent that he himself use proper grammar. She said, "For shame, Cor! You're far more uncivilised than I thought if you think I would correct the King!" Cor had gone red and Aravis had bitten her bottom lip, looked sheepish, and left in a whirl of angry red silk and perfume that smelled the way that happiness must– but Cor was not thinking of Aravis. He was not.)

Part of growing up, King Lune had said, was finding a bride and fathering an heir. Cor wondered what Aravis would say to that. She would probably look prim, using her "princess look" to hide her uncertainty and longing to have a family of her own. She was rapidly approaching her twentieth birthday, and the lords of Archenland – may they all fall into a bog and rot – were beginning to notice her. But Cor was not thinking of Aravis.

He was thinking of a royal baby, his baby, who would have such beautiful brown eyes – wait, they would be blue – who would wrap his tiny hand around Cor's finger and squeeze. He was thinking of marrying a perfect, golden-haired, Archen maiden, who had no calluses on her hands, had no flaws on her skin, whose feet were small, whose ears were perfectly even, who had no opinions, unlike – but Cor would not think of Aravis.

The person he was not-thinking of, he knew, was probably in the courtyard at this time of day, like she usually was. She was most likely miffed at him for missing their tea together, but his father had called him into the study and told him that – oh, royalty was terrible, and being royal was even more so! Aravis had been raised in the splendour of wealth and consequence, but he had been a poor fisherman's son. Sometimes he thought that it would be easier to explain to his father that he and Aravis were going to run away and take up fishing on the Narnian coast, than it would be to be king. But Aravis was happy here, in Archenland, and – no. He was not thinking about her.

Corin had come to her ten minutes after Cor was supposed to be there. He usually could not refrain from teasing her mercilessly, but this time he was sober and gloomy.

"Father's in there telling Cor he's got to grow up and get married."

A numb feeling, spreading through her body, coming from her heart. "Has to, and be," she corrected.

"Aravis, you didn't hear a word I said."

Of course she had heard what he said. She has been dreading those words since she learned he was royalty. She had known then that there would be no happy ending to their story, even though so much had gone right for them. "Cor is a nicer name than Shasta" had been a lie then, and it was a lie now. She called him Cor – it was his rightful name, and it fit him – but she would have been so much happier if – but she could not think that.

She sometimes thought that if they had gone with their original plan, she would have been her fisherman's wife by now, living on the Narnian coast under Cair Paravel, far from the wealth and glamour of Anvard. They would have three children – a boy and two girls. The boy would be the image of Cor, with his blue eyes...wait – they would be brown – but she could not bear to think of that. Not now. Not when she knew he would never be hers.

She was approaching her twentieth birthday. She would have been a mother several times over by now, if she could have brought herself to marry a middle-aged Archen nobleman. The idea had felt too much like Ahoshta, and it would have been a lie and a mockery to accept him. Sometimes she wondered if she was too unlikeable, since Cor did not notice her, but then an offer would come from someone else and she could not accept it. She hid her languishing dreams behind her upright posture and unreadable face, but sometimes she would be crushed by the knowledge that life and love had passed her by.

Sometimes she was mean to him, hoping to get him to confess that there was more than friendship between them. Sometimes she was mean to him and did not mean to be. She would feel less than the lowliest spider in the palace, and she could not face him. But at night she would slip down to the armoury and breathe in the smell that she had come to associate with Cor, with warmth, with home, with happiness.

How could King Lune do this? Why now?

"Father, did you ever say he had to marry someone from Archenland?"

It was too much – too much. He could not believe it. But he reveled in the softness of the skin, the eyes that were brown, after all, the tiny fingers squeezing his. He looked over at his queen, and his boy, and said, "You've got a sister, Ram."

Her eyes were bright as the boy – so much like Cor, but with her hair, and skin, and eyes – took his sister in his arms and smiled Cor's smile.

"Have, Cor. 'You have a sister.'"

A/N: And that's all. Hope you enjoyed!