Author's Note: Well, my first foray into this fandom. There aren't many stories out there for Peter and Lucy, but it's always been my favorite pairing. Darn it, I just can't seem to write them well, I shall try some other time maybe!
Warning: If incest bothers you, I'd suggest not reading it.
She's sixteen and she's just too young.
The problem with Narnia is; they don't use words like right and wrong. There's love and there is hate. And somebody should have told her.
Maybe that was the beginning.
(Or maybe it was the end really; when she realized that she looked at him too much and laughed too hard at his jokes and felt so-).
It's funny (hilarious, so goddamned hilarious) how he's been the only boy in her life to make her feel beautiful. Really beautiful. There were others of course, whom she danced with under the moonlit night, feeling the haunting semi-darkness weave it's magic around her. Till she was dizzy with the swaying (or was it the wine?) and thought it was love. She'd read the word somewhere in her books. It had to be this, just…had to.
(And then he'd looked right across at her and raised his glass in silent toast to his little sister.
And she'd known then- there was love... and there was love).
She doesn't know him but he has eyes that she likes and a strong mouth and she thinks she might like to kiss him, just to see what it's all about. Just to see whether the world moves like it's supposed to, to see if the stars shine brighter like they do when Peter touches- (she doesn't think that. She wasn't thinking that. She won't think that because that way lies madness).
"You're so beautiful."
He's smiling down at her, his tone almost playful but not quite because his eyes are just a little too hard, a little too dark to be completely innocent. And she catches a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror. She's wearing the red dress made of dreams and her hair is flowing like (what did he call it? Spun gold?). And he's obviously never seen Susan, because then he wouldn't have wasted the word on her. After all, her hair is too non-descript and her eyes don't have the half-closed, seductive look that Susan's do. Lucy's a lot of things, she's brave and smart and sort of pretty but she's no Susan.
He's lying but she forgives him because his eyes are so pretty.
And later, when he finally does see Susan, she knows he was lying. Otherwise he wouldn't have kissed her sister (like she'd foolishly thought she'd like to kiss him). And she feels the stinging hurt of not being good enough. Of never being enough. Just like always. And maybe if she wasn't crying she'd have laughed.
Peter finds her (of course he does) in the closet with all the dresses which would probably look better on Susan anyway. And all she can think is; she's pathetic. Crying in a closet because of a boy (who thought she was beautiful, but obviously not enough). And maybe if Aslan could see her; he'd realize what a big mistake he'd made. She isn't valiant. She isn't anything but a silly little girl who plays at being grown-up and turns red whenever her brother touches her.
He holds her and doesn't say anything, because he knows her. He knows she's afraid of the dark (how's that for valiance?) and that she cries over boys who don't deserve it. And he knows her and yet he never leaves. That's love.
And later when she's sitting down on the floor of the closet unable to look at him, he speaks.
His voice is firm and he's not smiling. She catches a glimpse of herself in the closet mirror. Her hair is tangled and all over her face, eyes red-rimmed and her skin is covered with tiny freckles.
Tumnus knows. She can tell because he knows her better than anyone (except him, but then everything is always except him).
"I don't think it's…supposed to happen." He says, carefully, his eyes shifting too much to read. "It's not…normal."
And as Peter swings her in his arms after his defeat of yet another invader, and she dreams again, waking up tangled in her sheets, gasping for air, she thinks that maybe somebody forgot to add the word normal to her dictionary.
She knows what heartbreak tastes like. (Like crystal water and that strawberry he'd pressed into her mouth that day which she doesn't remember. At all).
He's taller than she remembers which is ridiculous because she just saw him a few hours ago or maybe the girl in his arms in too short. Short and beautiful. And not her. That's important, maybe that's the only important thing in the world right now. And as his fair head bends over hers she can almost see her dreams (fantasies) coming to life. And maybe she should go away and pretend some more, but her feet seem to have detached themselves from her body and she just can't move.
(The stupidest thing is; her healing cordial can't help her. Not this time. How's that for irony?)
He looks up and catches her gaze. And as he mouths her name in surprise, she runs.
And now she knows what heartbreak looks like. (Like green eyes staring into grey).
He finds her (of course he does) and she thinks it really, really isn't fair. So she doesn't look up from the flowing river. It's so loud and beautiful and she thinks even Aslan's Country can't have something better than this.
"Why did you run away?"
She looks at him tiredly. "Don't you know?"
He laughs (actually laughs), "Silly girl. No matter how many women there might be in my life, you'll always be my little sister. Nobody can take your place. Don't you know that, Queen Lucy?"
She turns and looks at him. For someone so smart, he's so stupid. And in this moment, for someone so young, she's too old.
And so she damns herself. And kisses him. Hard, and with too little experience and maybe...there never was anyone but him. Even without the talking animals, and endless wars and ridiculous titles and magical closets. No one else.
And later as she's lying on the grass, his hand tangled in her hair, her feelings scattered around her like pieces of broken glass, breaking his name, harshly and too loudly, she thinks if this is what not being normal feels like, then normalcy is way overrated.
And then there's a lamp-post and a stag hunt and she's back.
There's no loveandhate any more; there are lines drawn and books about this sort of thing and there's right and there's wrong. And then there's them. Somewhere in between. And his brotherly kisses which aren't supposed to make her remember. (But she does, oh God, she does).
And as Edmund teases him about his latest 'flame', he turns beet-red and it's too cold for her to breathe easily. And then he looks at her and turns away abruptly and she feels an almost vicious satisfaction. And maybe if she hadn't known what heartbreaks tasted like, and maybe if she couldn't remember the feel of his hand on her bare skin, and maybe if she'd never heard of love, she'd have laughed. Because.
She's ten again and she's just too old.