Slip-Ups

by
Aytheria

A collection of one-shots dealing with the aftermath of the Pevensies' lives in England. After all, once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia. It is doubtful that one can a live a life as a king or queen and expect to be able to fit into the life of a child long forgotten. And that's to be expected of the Pevensies. Because even Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy slip up occasionally and accidentally say or do something strange...and that perhaps suggests that the four siblings may not be exactly who they seem...

August 21, 2015

I first posted this fic...good grief...EIGHT years ago. Don't I feel old? I've come back to it occasionally, but to be honest with you, I've never quite been able to find my muse again. Maybe I will or maybe I won't ever continue, I can't quite say for sure. The nice thing about one-shots is that they stand alone.

What I can do, however, is edit what I've already written. And that's what I'm doing. Completely reposting each chapter, with all those horrifying typos and mistakes and terrible word choices left out. I haven't completely re-written them, but I have polished them up, if you care to re-read. Mostly I'm doing this because I see that even now I get new readers and quite frankly the previous state of these one-shots is shameful. So. Many. Errors.

If this shows up on fic alerts as a new chapter...I'm so terribly sorry. No new chapters. Just old chapters, polished up just a tad.
Chapters will be more streamlined. I'm getting rid of ANs and other horribly embarrassing details of my life. Sorry if those amused you for whatever reason. I just want to keep this about the writing. Not me. This is the only AN I will have.

So, new readers, enjoy. Old readers, welcome back.

Peter Pevensie, Boarding School, During Class:

Peter wasn't entirely sure what made him do it. Only that his mind was still on recent events...namely Narnia and Caspian. And in his experience, having one's mind elsewhere always resulted in the occasional bout of disorientation. After he and his siblings had first returned from Narnia it had taken a good deal of time before Peter had stopped waking up expecting to be in his chambers back at Cair Paravel - to see the red-gold velvet drapes above him and the rampant lion tapestry covering the wall just opposite. It also took a while before he stopped expecting to be obeyed at every word - to be treated like an equal, an adult, a king.

And when finally - finally - everyone had begun to settle back into life as plain old English schoolchildren and pick up where they left off, they had been (cruelly) sucked back into the magical world of Narnia and Peter had once more taken up the mantle of High King. That had been a few weeks ago, and Peter was still regaining his equilibrium.

Then again, he supposed that given the nature of what had happened, he could hardly be expected to take it well, now could he?

After all, one does not simply spend half their life being a king only to turn around and suddenly become nothing but an ordinary child again. It reminded him of being thrust into Narnia with such high expectations - defeat the White Witch, save the kingdom! - only in reverse. And somehow that made it all the crueller, for as a child he had yet to know the joys of adulthood, of living and loving and growing into a role he had clearly been born for. To have that all snatched away - to know what it was he was missing and yet not be able to attain it…

It was an unsettling experience and one Peter wasn't entirely sure he liked - nay, knew he didn't like, though he would hardly admit it in front of the others. He was High Kind after all - the eldest. He had to be strong. Sooth, he'd become used to shouldering that responsibility and even now he could not give it up lightly. He had liked his life - so had his siblings. They had had many a discussion on the matter.

And now here they were, ripped away from their existence. Adult minds in children's bodies.

So perhaps that was why he did it.

The professor was a terrible bore, that much was clear. It was also clear how well he thought of himself by the manner in which he lectured his class. By and large, the topic of their class would have been of great interest to most of the boys in the room, but when the professor began to drift away from fact and speculate as to how he, Charles Morten, might have achieved a greater victory, the boys' minds began to drift.

The current topic of discussion? Battle tactics.

Now, Peter was quite fond of battle tactics. It was familiar; comforting, like a warm blanket on a cold night. There was an ease that came with discussing waging war and politics. After all, he was High King and quite good at it. (Peter conveniently forgot that he had been High King and was currently no longer in such a position).

But even Professor Morten could take something as interesting as battle tactics and turn it into a sleeping draught.

And honestly, Peter reflected as the professor droned on, the worst part was that Morten didn't even know what he was talking about. Oh sure, he knew his history, but when he he tried to re-imagine how said historic battles could have been won more efficiently, Morten truly had no clue what he was talking about.

So Peter generally ignored him and stared out the window, mind travelling through daydreams of rolling grassy hills and deep golden forests, while most of the other boys in the class took their cue from his inattention. Peter's new friend John had even taken to drawing ridiculous little caricatures of Morten as he lectured, mocking the way the man talked and gestured.

Peter, though...Peter knew how difficult planning a good battle strategy could be - especially to come out the victor with minimal losses. So perhaps he couldn't fault the man for trying. He had never experienced the reality of that desperate, bloody confusion, therefore Peter couldn't be too harsh on the man.

Snickers suddenly erupted throughout the class. Morten had just said something particularly foolish.

Peter briefly trained an ear on the conversation that was now escalating between Morten and an especially rambunctious boy by the name of Jack.

"Mr. Perry," Morten spluttered. "I'd ask you to come up with something better but it is obvious from your lack of attention that you have no idea how one might go about organising a successful campaign."

"Ha!" exclaimed Jack, "I reckon I could single-handedly organise the best victory ever. I bet even Her Majesty's Generals would be impressed and recruit me immediately."

"Then why don't you show us right now? The battle we've just been discussing perhaps? How might you have lead your troops to victory, Mr. Perry?"

If Morten hadn't a clue what he was talking about, then the boys in Peter's class had less battle sense than a newborn baby. But again, Peter could not fault them for it. After all, to them, a battle was something fanciful - a vision of glory and heroism. They could never imagine it in all its gruesome reality. Even with all the detailed reports coming in about the condition of the battles being waged out on the front-lines in Europe and Russia or under the ocean in those new U-boats, it did not come close to a dose of real life experience.

(But didn't you used to be one of them once? A young boy, riding by the seat of his pants, knowing nothing and yet succeeding anyway?) Peter shook his head, a few strands of golden hair flopping into his eyes. He looked past them, out the rain-stained glass, hearing an echo of a brilliant roar and the sound of clashing swords in his mind.

Jack had fallen silent and so had the rest of the class. Peter, caught up in memories, simply sighed slightly. This proved to be his undoing. Perhaps he ought to have been more aware. If he had, when Morten dared anyone in the class to contradict him yet again, Peter was quite obviously not paying attention, and attracted his notice like a moth to the flame.

"Mr. Pevensie!" he exclaimed, almost gleefully. "Since you obviously don't need to pay attention in my class, care to come up here and demonstrate to us how this campaign should have been organised?"

Peter jerked in his seat at the sound of his name and turned to face the class, still half immersed in his days of glory. The rest of the class was staring at him, the boys silent, and John was sending Peter sympathetic glances from his left.

Slowly, Peter stood and mechanically said, "Yes, sir."

Morten moved to the side as Peter approached the front of the classroom, giving him full access to the large geographical map of Europe pinned to the wall over the chalkboard. It had markers in blue and red indicating the initial position of troops during some battle Peter couldn't name (seeing as he hadn't been paying attention). All he could recall was that it had taken place during World War I, therefore he would have to take into account modern weapons and guerrilla war tactics instead of bows and arrows and talking beasts.

He paused a moment in consideration, when he realised a rather important oversight. "What... which colour are we?" It was strange only because he had never had to ask something like that before. He had always known which troops belonged to Narnia when he had planned his past battles. Although none had ever been so great as the battle at the fjords of Beruna.

Peter distantly heard the answer to his question, but he was already lost, remembering his very first battle. His mind began calculating the best geographical placements and deployment of troops. In his minds eye he could see the battle play out before him as modern weapons were brought to the fore and he adjusted his plans accordingly. Different scenarios flashed through his head, one after the other, like lightening. It didn't take him long. Generally, one didn't have long under the pressures of war.

Without even realising it, Peter addressed the class like he would his troops, demanding reports of the battlefield - conditions, numbers, weapons, enemy intelligence. He didn't notice, but his shoulders were thrown back and his head held high, his brow strong in thought. His voice had adopted a tone that spoke of authority - the type of tone that was always obeyed. He even pitched his voice to carry, as if he were addressing a great war room of people. It cut through the stunned silence and carried easily, filling the small confines of the classroom.

Even professor Morten nodded dumbly and stuttered facts as Peter outlined and explained the plan in a straightforward and unarguable manner. Peter's diction veered into strange territory, mind slipping further back, and he almost tried to deploy a regiment of fauns and centaurs. He caught himself at the last moment and switched these words with guns and trenches and bombs. They seemed foreign on his tongue, but a king was a king and no matter the circumstances, a king would lead his people to victory against any odds.

So his plan was brilliant. It shocked his classmates into speechlessness and when Peter fell silent, emerging at last from the trance-like state he'd been swimming in - his battle head-space, the class remained in shocked stillness until he took his seat again.

Then, Morten cleared his throat and managed to say, "W-well, Mr. Pevensie, that was, uh, a brilliant example. Yes, very, thank you. Perhaps we should move on to other aspects of World War I such as the effect it had on..."

Peter once again tuned Morten out. He closed his eyes and tried to centre himself. That display had been foolish of him, but he had been caught up in the motions and feelings it had evoked, in the memories it had evoked.

Silently vowing to be more careful and mentally chiding himself once more, Peter began to strategise just how he was going to unobtrusively avoid answering his peer's soon-to-be questions about his recent behaviour.

He imagined he was going to have a right time of it, pretending not to realise how well he'd really addressed the issue or how he'd presented himself. Had he really slipped in some Shakespearean language? Well, maybe he'd been reading a little too much Hamlet lately, that was all.

Ignorance is best, he decided, hunkering down slightly in his seat and pointedly ignoring John's wide-eyed questioning glances. Yes, ignorance is definitely best.

Peter still failed to realise just how much like a king he was still thinking. After all, most boys his age tended not to "strategise" against anyone, let alone try to run interference against rumours of their prowess.

He could have simply said he'd read a lot of books on tactics over the holidays, but the thought never crossed Peter's mind.