Author's Note: Written for the wonderful songsmith for NFFR's Secret Santa Exchange, Christmas 2011. Her prompt was "brotherfic," though she benevolently allowed me to interpret that however I saw fit. A huge debt of gratitude to snacky for serving as beta and helping me work out the lousy bits :) This version is slightly different than the one posted during the Secret Santa and, mostly thanks to snacky, I think it's much improved. Enjoy!

The Rest of Our Days

They were the First Sons, and they came into the world much as they would live in it: one squalling for and receiving the attention and adoration of a jubilant people, the other quiet and steady, the result of a long labor and recipient of a more subdued celebration.

Helen had a difficult time with William. The announcement of the queen's pregnancy had been the most joyous event in Narnia since Aslan had departed two years before, and all of its myriad citizens had outdone themselves according to their kind in celebration. For King Frank, the jubilation had all but ended there, for soon after his beloved wife's condition worsened, and there was fear that she might not only lose the baby but her own life as well. The good Physician, a Centaur whose prowess was astonishing for one brought so recently into a brand new world, did what he could and ordered the queen to bed, where she spent a precarious five months waiting for the arrival of Narnia's first heir into the young world.

When William finally made his entrance, after few but furious hours of pain and blood and uncertainty, the kingdom had exploded in revelry and jubilation. The previous months had been dark, but the tiny prince and his valiant mother had prevailed. There was sweet relief at a peril defeated, but also the incredible excitement of the birth of a future king. The future of Narnia was secured for another generation, and its glorious promise shone brighter than the midsummer sun that glinted off the Eastern Ocean.

David was easier, though her labor lasted longer. After the exhausting and terrifying ordeal of his first son's birth, Frank was more anxious than overjoyed at the news that he would again be a new father. But when the first months passed with no more trouble that most mothers could complain of, the king relaxed and the kingdom breathed a tentative sigh of relief. When the time came, Frank spent hours pacing outside the doors of his wife's chambers, kept at bay by a stoic and silent Hound guard and a constant stream of his wife's attendants who scurried in an out of the room in search of more water, towels, and other miscellaneous needs. He had held Helen's hand as she struggled with William, but as this birth was less precarious he spent much of the time staying out of the way.

After a full day and night of labor, the second prince was finally born, and the country again rejoiced. The celebration, however, paled in comparison to that which welcomed the first son. Children are a joy, and ones that belong to an entire nation most of all, but David's birth lacked the newness and relief and pride that had surrounded William's triumphant entry into the world. Although both the princes, as well as their sisters Mary, Nellie, and Rose, who came later, were beloved by their father's people, William was always the first among them. It was William, the firstborn and the heir, who was the object of the Narnians' adoration.

The princes grew, as children have the stubborn habit of doing despite efforts to keep them tiny and innocent. William was energetic and charismatic, David reserved and steady. William lived for adventure; the world around him was new and wild and begging to be explored. He was enchanted by the glorious hodgepodge of creatures that called Narnia home, and had both the passion and gift for learning the intricacies of the hundred different social systems practiced by his future subjects. Before he could read, William could match a Dryad to his tree, understood the ramifications of living in an Elephant Matriarchy as opposed to fitting into a Dog pack's hierarchy, and sought advice on any number of childish problems from the wise Centaurs who studied the stars and sometimes came to the castle to advise his father. He was well and truly Narnian, and the Creatures to whom the country belonged loved him for it.

On the other hand, from a very young age David preferred a smaller world and a calmer one. He loved the Narnians, but his concerns were closer to home. Did the masons need help as they built the strong castle walls? Had his sisters had enough to eat at supper, and were they content in their evening playtime? Was there an errand he could run for Father to help ease his heavy workload as the first king of a brand-new country? David was the constant middleman, always moving, always working, always caring for those around him, even when he was tiny enough that he was the one most frequently being cared for.

Years passed, and Narnia established herself as a peaceful and prosperous country, if unconventional by other worlds' standards. The castle continued to take shape until it neared completion, a yearly rhythm of festivals and celebrations evolved, and relations were established with the peoples of the far South and West. Small populations of humans had appeared inexplicably out of nowhere to take up residence in the lands of Calormen and Telmar, and although King Frank was initially shocked to learn of other humans in their world, he sought Aslan's counsel and extended a hand of friendship.

Until the arrival of other humans into the world, there had been little reason for King Frank to worry much about the protection of his people. Any small dangers could easily be handled by the predatory Beasts, who were already equipped with weapons according to their kind and instinctively knew how to use them. It wasn't until populations began to appear outside of his realm that Frank began to see the need for a defensive army. The Beasts would do as a guarding force for now, but if the Calormene and Telmarine races continued to grow future generations could have need for a proper army.

Frank could not quite remember what he had done before he'd become King of Narnia, but he was fairly certain that he hadn't been a warrior. He had no expertise to offer those of his fighting populace who did not have claws, talons, or teeth upon which they could rely. Thankfully, fortune, or perhaps Aslan, had smiled upon him and a convenient solution practically fell at his doorstep.

The solution came in the form of a bedraggled man, with tanned skin but thinning toward starvation. He was of the band of mysterious men who had settled in Telmar, and by the looks of him that country had been less than kind. His was a story that might have been almost too fantastical to believe had it not been told to one who had seen the birth of a world; a tale of a cave that was supposed to provide shelter from enemies but instead led into a new and unfamiliar land. His was a race of island-dwellers, accustomed to feasting from nature's ever-renewing bounty and growing only minimal crops. Now, surrounded by unfamiliar vegetation, the people were slowly starving. They had hunted and gathered as much as they could, but it had become clear that without a system of basic agriculture their small band would soon succumb.

King Frank, in his benevolence, pledged his aid and even offered the man and his people a place in Narnia. He was politely declined, as the strangers had come from a fiercely free and egalitarian community and would prefer to do without kings and courts, thank you very much. But he did gratefully accept the offer of agricultural assistance.

It was then that King Frank saw the solution to his problem of national defense. He would exchange knowledge of agriculture for knowledge of warfare, and thus ensure the survival of both nations. With his envoy of Dryads and Centaurs, experts on the land and the things it grew, he also sent a few Fauns and Dwarfs to be taught swordplay and as much military strategy as a band of rovers might possess.

And so it was that a midsummer afternoon in the eighteenth year of the reign of King Frank I found the midday sun beating unmercifully down upon the training yard. The heat scorched the dry, dusty earth and caused sweat to drip of the noses and brows of the two boys in their middle teens who were caught up in a bitter struggle. Their swords sung in the hot air, clashing against each other with the deafening clang of steel on steel. It was a fairly new sound in Narnia; the country had known little of swordplay until only recently.

One of the fighting boys, the elder, seemed to have the advantage; though his brother showed no signs of tiring, the older boy's footwork was better and his movements more effective and precise. After a few more moments, the younger brother was on the ground with his combatant's blunted swordtip just touching the hollow of his throat. An instant later a soft thud could be heard as the younger boy's sword landed just out of his reach. There was a small knot of spectators standing to the side of the sparring ring: a Faun and a Dwarf, who broke into enthusiastic applause at the decisive victory, as well as a human man who remained silent with an unreadable expression.

"Third time today, David!" William exclaimed with a jubilant grin as he pulled off his crude practice helm. "Have you had enough of that disarming move yet? You must not, as you don't seem to be particularly keen on learning to block it."

David scowled and kicked his brother's legs out from under him, causing William to lose his balance and quite nearly end up on the ground as well. William only laughed and offered his brother his outstretched hand. David took it, albeit reluctantly, and clambered to his feet.

"A fine feint, Prince William," the Faun complimented, grinning from ear to ear.

"And excellent form," the Dwarf added.

The man, however, had kept silent throughout the exchange and remained so until both boys had dusted themselves off, retrieved the fallen sword, and stood expectantly in front of him. Then, at last, he spoke in tones that lilted with the peculiar accents of the West.

"Well done, my young princes," the swordmaster said. "You are both improving."

William grinned, but David stared glumly at his booted feet as the man continued.

"That will be all for this afternoon. Same time tomorrow, please."

William dipped his head in courtesy to the swordmaster and his assistants, then hurried out of the sparring ring and back toward the nearly-completed castle, presumably to inform his father of his latest triumph on the field of battle. David, however, was less enthusiastic to provide an account of the day's instruction to King Frank and was accordingly painstakingly slow in putting away the swords and practice armor. The Faun and Dwarf were chatting amongst themselves, going over the day's lessons and progress as well as a play-by-play examination of the final sparring match, but the man was watching the young prince with a keen eye. He seemed to be expecting the frustrated outburst that soon broke David's attempts at composure.

"He always wins, Master Inian. Always."

"Prince William is two years your elder, your Highness," the Faun offered before the swordmaster could reply. "He is taller and stronger and has had two more years of practice. You will undoubtedly catch him up in time." There was a reassuring smile on the Faun's face that did little to ease the prince's suffering. "Why, Kinnery and I were just saying how much the prince has grown in the past few months alone."

"Tobus is right," the Dwarf agreed. "Prince William is shooting up like a Dryad sapling after a spring rain. And he has always taken to the sword like a Mole to dirt. Technique comes quite easily to him."

Their reassurance, however, did little to assuage the younger prince's suffering. Explanations, however kindly meant, about the constant defeat not being his fault entirely were less soothing when the very reasons given were also things that he was acutely aware of each day. David was tired of being younger, smaller, and slower than his brother, but he was even more tired of being told to wait patiently for that to change someday. It was meant kindly, but David hadn't been looking for excuses so much as a miraculous solution that would make him his brother's equal overnight.

Besides, he thought bitterly, What do they know? No one in Narnia knew anything about swordfighting until Father sent the envoy to Telmar. Thank goodness they brought back Master Inian to be our instructor or I'd be even more terrible than I am now.

He finally chanced a glance up at the swordmaster and his assistants. Kinnery and Tobus were both smiling at him, but the Telmarine was as unreadable as ever. David had almost turned to escape back to his rooms when the man finally spoke.

"Have you not noticed, your Highness, that you and your royal brother are as unevenly matched as two swordsmen can be?"

David's face contracted into another scowl whose venom matched the sting of his wounded pride. "Of course I have, Master Inian. I have the bruises to remind me daily."

Inian was unmoved by the severity of the retort and continued as if David had merely remarked about a change in the migration patterns of the northern Narnian Terns. "And do you feel that the disparity is entirely due to a difference in skill level or size, as your other instructors have suggested?"

"Well, what else could it be? I should think it's quite obvious who is the better swordsman."

"And so, when you grow to match him in stature and knowledge of technique… then you shall also be evenly matched in swordplay, yes?"

"Well, I should hope," David answered, then mumbled, "unless I'm really just rubbish at it altogether-"

"Ah, but you are wrong, your Highness," Inian interrupted. "You and your brother, by my estimation, may potentially always be unevenly matched, even if you eventually grow to be the same height, with the same breadth of shoulder and length of arm, and the same level of technical skill. Never will you be your brother's equal, unless he begins to take some lessons from you."

David's face, which had fallen even further, suddenly clouded in confusion.

"Master Inian?"

"My prince, who would you count as the greater hero: an easy victor or a battle-hardened and –scarred challenger who finally triumphs? Who has more merit: one who experiences frequent, quick victories or he who emerges from each struggle, each defeat, to fight anew? Is it not the warrior who is steady and true, who sticks like a thorn in a paw, emboldened and humbled by hardship, but who outlasts any adversity by continuing the fight until he overcomes?"

Inian paused, thumbing the ornately carved handle of the sword that hung at his waist. He seemed to be waiting for David to respond, but the prince was so dumbfounded that Inian found himself filling the silence instead.

"You, my prince, may not possess your brother's fine flourishes, or the intricate swordplay that will draw attention and admirers and lead to quick and decisive victory. Rather, you are the sort of swordsman who endures, who outlasts. It is already obvious. Your father may have mandated these lessons, but you still arrive each morning impassioned and eager for the day's drilling and sparring. Other men would dread each day's constant defeat, but you rise to the challenge. That determination, when combined with a solid foundation of skill that you will attain, will wear out your opponent and keep him at bay until eventually you emerge triumphant. You who have known hardship will not fear it; you will understand its intricacies and moods and be able to use them to your advantage, where men like your brother, having known only glory and victory, become increasingly desperate in the face of a turn in the battle's favor. Prince William would do well to study you at times."

The incredulous young prince's mouth had fallen open into a tiny O, and as the usually taciturn swordmaster fell silent, David sat dumbfounded. Kinnery and Tobus, too, were quiet; as Narnia had never had reason to take up arms against anyone they had no battle-won experience to verify the Telmarine's man's assertion, but the logic seemed sound.

Inian was the sort of man who could tolerate a pregnant silence for as long as it took for someone to fill it, and so he seemed completely at ease as David struggled to formulate some sort of response in his young mind.

"Do… do you really believe that, sir?"

"The question, my prince, is not whether I believe it, but if you do." Inian paused a moment to allow his comment to sink in, then added, "No response is necessary. Time will show what you choose to believe. Now go on into the castle; your mother will be expecting you."

With a final glance up into the stern face of his swordmaster, the second son cracked his first genuine smile of the afternoon and turned toward Cair Paravel.

o0o

His coronation had been the sweetest in history for being the first, and so too was his passing the deepest wound Narnia had yet been forced to bear. It was whispered throughout the castle that Aslan himself had visited the elderly King Frank in his final, painful moments; Beasts with keener ears than those of his sons had reported hearing voices through the thick door, one feeble and soft, the other low and strong. The Lion who had been standing guard outside the King's door claimed to be "too polite" to reveal the exact content of the conversation that he overheard, and "anyway Aslan is a Lion too, like me, and we Lions don't go around sharing each other's business." (Lions in those days could be quite annoying, as many of them seemed to be in the habit of dropping frequent reminders about the fact that they and Aslan happened to be of the same species.)

The royal family and the members of Frank's advisory council had to devise a plan for a state funeral, having never had the occasion before. The heartbroken Queen Helen offered a few suggestions, drawing on memories from a time and place she couldn't properly recall, and the Narnians filled in the blanks with a collection of ideas that stemmed from the newly-founded traditions and practices of each kind. What resulted was something new and innately Narnian, with a touch of a certain otherness that Helen herself couldn't even explain. Regardless of the method, Frank was well and sincerely mourned for his thirty-one years of just and peaceful rule.

Unfortunately, grief must be set aside when there is a country to be run, and so it was that after only a week William stood in front of his father's myriad subjects and accepted the dead man's crown. His Dryad wife stood beside him and was made Queen, and the celebration was so joyous and genuine that it was hard to believe that only days earlier despair had hung in the castle air like an impenetrable fog.

David, second son of King Frank I, had stood beside his mother with a supportive hand under her elbow, watching the proceedings with a certain amount of numbness where his heart was supposed to be. When the dancing began, he excused himself from his mother and wife and made his way to the empty council chamber. He closed the door behind him and stepped into the room, drawing closer to the long, peculiar table that dominated its center. It had been his late father's ingenuity that had resulted in such a table, which solved the difficult issue of how to comfortably accommodate a council when the majority of members would not be using chairs. As a result, wide ledges had been constructed at varying heights around the table and occasionally equipped with cushions for the comfort of the Beasts who would be seated there. There were perches, as well, for the Raptors and other Birds, plots of earth for the Dryads, and all manner of other seats that could be devised so that any species of Narnian might be comfortable around the council chamber.

David was pondering all this, contemplating the legacy that his father had left as Narnia's pioneering monarch and wondering at the newly-begun reign of his brother. As he did, he felt the room suddenly grow much warmer, the kind of warmth that touches not only your skin but seeps down into your very soul and warms you from the inside out. He suddenly had the feeling that he was no longer alone in the council chamber, but he felt no concern. Even before he turned, David knew who he would find.

He couldn't say how he knew it; he had never met the great Lion. David knew that Aslan had come to his father frequently during the first year of his reign, and irregularly in the years that followed. Queen Helen had only seen him twice since that first year, and the vast majority of the Narnians never laid eyes on their Creator again after he drew them from the earth on that first day. Frank never said much after the Lion had visited, but sometimes there had been a certain light about the king that usually meant that he had received a rather special visitor during the night.

David felt rather than saw that light now, and turned slowly, glancing first over his shoulder as the rest of his body followed. There, looking far too big and grand and glorious for the space that he occupied, stood the Lion himself. David knew him as certainly as he would have recognized the face of his own father.

"Aslan."

The prince moved closer, drawn magnetically toward the great Beast until he was on his knee before him with his head bowed low. He felt the Lion's breath riffling his hair and caressing his face, and heard a deep rumble from within the depths of Aslan's chest.

"You have chosen a peculiar place to celebrate your brother's coronation, David, Son of Adam."

"I have, sir. I'm afraid I wasn't feeling particularly festive."

"You are unhappy to see your brother on your father's throne?"

"It's not that I am upset to see him crowned," David said quickly. "William will make a fine king of Narnia, I am certain. It just…" he paused to collect his thoughts. "It feels so soon, after Father… and I suppose I am also wondering what it is that I am to do now. I have always been a son of the king, but now there is a new king with a son of his own. I suppose I wonder what is to become of me."

The Lion was silent, listening intently with a look in his eyes that David couldn't quite understand. When at first Aslan didn't speak, David continued.

"But Aslan, if I may ask… Why is it that you are here with me, rather than with William? I am not the one who has been made a king today."

"Aren't you?" the Lion said softly.

David frowned in confusion. "I am no king. I am the second son."

"There are no seconds or firsts with me," Aslan replied. "And you, David, son of Frank, may be second in Narnia, but I have prepared a place where you are to be first."

A thousand thoughts and questions exploded in David's head, but he was able to articulate none of them. "Aslan?"

"There is a land between Narnia and Calormen," Aslan began.

"The Archen Wilds?"

"They are wild only in name. It is a land of plenty, of mountain streams and lush forests. One day, it shall be populated by a race of good, honest, hardworking people. I have chosen you, David, to be the first king of this country called Archenland."

"King?" David exclaimed. "Me? Surely—"

"Do you doubt me, Son of Adam?" the Lion asked, with just the hint of a growl.

"Never, sir!" David answered quickly. "It is only… I just…"

"Archenland needs a firm but gentle hand, a ruler who is as steadfast as her mountains. Life will not be easy there; there are borders to protect and evil will once again enter this world to test the strength of them. Your southern neighbor will have riches to build grand palaces and amass great armies, and your northern neighbor will at times overshadow you, but it will be Archenland that prevails where others falter. You and your line will be responsible for guiding Archenland through many hardships, but you are not a line that will fail."

"Is William's line to falter, Aslan?" David broke in, incredulous. "You speak as though something will happen to Narnia."

The Lion shook his great, shaggy head. "That is not your story to know, Son of Adam. I can only tell you that you are my rightful King of Archenland, and within the fortnight this destiny will begin to take shape. I come to you only to ask if you will accept the charge with which I have tasked you, and if you will do all in your power, with my aid, to be the King that that land needs."

David did not answer right away, but neither did he hesitate long. "I will, Aslan. If it is your will, then I need have no fear in accepting this charge. I will do all in my power, and instruct my sons to do the same, to be deserving of such a gift."

Aslan smiled then and gave a slow, approving nod. "And always I will be with you, Son of Adam. Remember, dear one, that the first step you take in Archenland is the one on which the rest of her days depend. You shall set her course, and you shall chart her history. You do not undertake this task alone, but rather with my blessing."

David again felt his warm, emboldening breath on his face and closed his eyes to relish in it. When he opened them, the Lion was gone, and he was left alone with an empty room, a peculiar table, and incredulous thoughts of an unknown land beyond the southern mountains. His land. A country for a second son.

Archenland.

Author's Note:

A couple of little things about this one-shot. First of all, for a couple of different reasons I have gone with a completely book-based timeline for this piece rather than using one of Lewis's. (This is true for most, if not all, of my works, actually.) At the end of MN, it states that the second son of Frank and Helen went on to become King of Archenland, so I stuck to that rather than going with Frank V's son Col. Also, I've taken a bit of liberty with the introduction of the Calormenes and Telmarines into the world, since as far as I know Lewis never really states when they arrived (or how, in the case of the Calormenes) in the books.

The title and Aslan's charge at the end come from a Voltaire quote brought to my attention by the phenomenal snacky: "The first step, my son, which one makes in the world, is the one on which depends the rest of our days." Credit where it's due and all that.

Hope you enjoyed! I'd love to hear your thoughts :)