Mother's Love
Title: Mother's Love
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia
Characters/Pairing: Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy, Mrs Pevensie.
Disclaimer: CS Lewis has been dead for some time. If he were posting this stuff on the internet that would be weird, wouldn't it? Narnia is now owned by his estate, Walden Media & Disney. Not me.
Summary: Mrs Pevensie reflects on the change in her children since they returned from Professor Kirke's house.
Rating: What's below PG?
Word count: Approx 1300.
Author's notes: A blend of movie-verse and book-verse, post-LWW. The last line is a bit sentimental for my tastes, but then so is the title.
The fire crackling in the grate was warm and comforting in the unseasonably cold weather, but that was not what made Helen smile to herself behind her book. The sound of Edmund’s quiet laughter wrapped itself around her, an almost-perfect substitute for the hugs he hadn’t given her since he was a very small boy. She lowered her book slightly and peered over the top of it, anxious not to draw their attention; she was almost certain they had forgotten she was even there, curled up in an armchair on the other side of the room as though she were a young girl herself, and she would not interrupt this moment for the world. They were all smiling, a sight she had not seen for a very long time. Susan said something she could not quite hear that set the others laughing again and Helen felt her chest tighten with joy. Lucy’s laughter was bright and cheerful as ever; Peter’s was full-bodied and rich - he was almost a man now. Susan’s was more like Edmund’s; an audible smile rather than outright laughter, though on at least one occasion since their return she had seen both her girls reduced to helpless shrieks, tears running down their faces.
She had hated sending them away and had worried about them dreadfully, but now she was glad of the necessity; their time spent in the country had done them more good than she could possibly have imagined. She could never thank Professor Kirke enough. They seemed to have grown simultaneously older and younger. There was less moodiness and angry bickering from all of them. Peter and Edmund could sit in a corner talking for hours like two old men in a study; Helen could almost see the pipes and slippers. And yet, the elder two could join in with Lucy’s games with genuine pleasure, and there was none of the old sense of them simply humouring her. They still missed and worried about their father, but his absence no longer filled the house.
She caught the words ‘dancing’ and ‘woods’ from Lucy, and a reply from Peter that sounded as though he was talking about bears, but she must have misheard. They may have been dancing in the woods, but Helen was quite certain there wouldn’t have been bears present. Before the children retuned home, the thought of either of the boys willingly dancing anywhere would have been absolutely incredible. But she had thought the same about fencing, which Peter had never been very good at and Edmund had never shown the slightest interest in, until she had walked into the dining room two days previously and found them going at it with a pair of pokers. For a moment she had thought they had gone back to their old bickering ways with a vengeance, until she noticed that they were both laughing. She had also noticed that, to her untrained eye at least, they were both rather good. Despite their laughter they fought with concentration and determination; she could almost see the men they would one day become. She had been so surprised that she did not tell them off at first, until there was a near-miss with her grandmother’s china vase and then she had to step in. Both boys had whipped around and hidden their pokers behind their backs, as if she would suddenly forget what they had been doing. She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. “Sorry, Mother,” Peter had said after a long moment.
“That’s not really an appropriate use of fireplace utensils is it?”
“No, Mother,” said Peter.
“Sorry, Mother,” said Edmund, looking her straight in the eye rather than at the carpet as he used to do when in trouble.
Helen had finally let the smile escape. “Did Professor Kirke teach you to fight?” Was it her imagination, or was there a slight hesitation before Peter spoke?
“No. It was a friend of his.”
“A friend?”
“Mr Oreius,” said Edmund.
“Oreius? That’s an unusual name. Is he foreign?” She could have sworn Edmund was biting the inside of his lip.
“I believe he is, yes.” She had been quite sure there was laughter in Peter’s voice.
“He must have been an excellent teacher.”
“Oh, he was,” Peter had said with a grin that was mirrored by Edmund. She had wondered, not for the first time, if the secrets they were obviously keeping were of a sort that should concern her, but decided that anything that brought about such a positive change couldn’t be bad.
She was snapped out of her reverie by a shout of laughter from Lucy. She was laughing at something Edmund was saying, his gestures growing more and more expansive as he spoke. Helen was struck again by the change in him; of all of them, he had changed the most. He used to be so sullen, and there had been reports from school of him bullying other children. It had broken her heart to think her boy was capable of such cruelty, but she knew it to be true. She had too often seen the way he sometimes treated Lucy to doubt it. This new, more thoughtful Edmund was a wonder to behold. She could only hope it would last when he went back to school. Somehow, she felt sure it would. The stubborn pride that used to cause so much trouble was turned to better things; he was steadfast.
Peter, too, had changed. He thought before he spoke, and when others spoke he listened. His siblings looked to him now as though it were the natural thing to do rather than because their mother had told them to. He held himself differently, more confidently. He was prone to bouts of moodiness that could rival Edmund at his worst, but he was sure of his place now. Sure of himself.
Like Peter, Susan wore authority more easily now. She no longer tried so hard to mother the others, and as a result they were happy to be mothered by her. She was less afraid. While no-one would call her adventurous, she no longer shied away from things as she once did. Always pretty, Helen could see her growing into a beautiful woman. It saddened her, even as it made her smile, to see the eldest growing up so fast. They were not the little children who once clung to her skirts; they were not even the children who had looked so lost, even as they tried to be brave, as they boarded a train bound for a big house in the country.
But she still had Lucy. Little Lucy who, Helen was sure, or maybe she just hoped, would always be young at heart. The change was more subtle in her; she hadn’t changed so much as grown. She was herself, only more so; her joys ran deeper and so did her sorrows. She was quick to tears but she was also quick to laughter. She had always been one of those children who were prone to saying things that made adults glance at each other with raised eyebrows and say things like ‘out of the mouths of babes’. Now her statements had an air of knowingness about them; she was wise on purpose, rather than by accident.
The wind gusted suddenly down the chimney, causing them all to jump. The fire roared and for a moment Helen thought it almost sounded like a lion. Then she shook her head and laughed at herself. She was growing almost as fanciful as Lucy. She returned to her book, still smiling, the sound of her children’s laughter filling her ears and her heart.
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia
Characters/Pairing: Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy, Mrs Pevensie.
Disclaimer: CS Lewis has been dead for some time. If he were posting this stuff on the internet that would be weird, wouldn't it? Narnia is now owned by his estate, Walden Media & Disney. Not me.
Summary: Mrs Pevensie reflects on the change in her children since they returned from Professor Kirke's house.
Rating: What's below PG?
Word count: Approx 1300.
Author's notes: A blend of movie-verse and book-verse, post-LWW. The last line is a bit sentimental for my tastes, but then so is the title.
The fire crackling in the grate was warm and comforting in the unseasonably cold weather, but that was not what made Helen smile to herself behind her book. The sound of Edmund’s quiet laughter wrapped itself around her, an almost-perfect substitute for the hugs he hadn’t given her since he was a very small boy. She lowered her book slightly and peered over the top of it, anxious not to draw their attention; she was almost certain they had forgotten she was even there, curled up in an armchair on the other side of the room as though she were a young girl herself, and she would not interrupt this moment for the world. They were all smiling, a sight she had not seen for a very long time. Susan said something she could not quite hear that set the others laughing again and Helen felt her chest tighten with joy. Lucy’s laughter was bright and cheerful as ever; Peter’s was full-bodied and rich - he was almost a man now. Susan’s was more like Edmund’s; an audible smile rather than outright laughter, though on at least one occasion since their return she had seen both her girls reduced to helpless shrieks, tears running down their faces.
She had hated sending them away and had worried about them dreadfully, but now she was glad of the necessity; their time spent in the country had done them more good than she could possibly have imagined. She could never thank Professor Kirke enough. They seemed to have grown simultaneously older and younger. There was less moodiness and angry bickering from all of them. Peter and Edmund could sit in a corner talking for hours like two old men in a study; Helen could almost see the pipes and slippers. And yet, the elder two could join in with Lucy’s games with genuine pleasure, and there was none of the old sense of them simply humouring her. They still missed and worried about their father, but his absence no longer filled the house.
She caught the words ‘dancing’ and ‘woods’ from Lucy, and a reply from Peter that sounded as though he was talking about bears, but she must have misheard. They may have been dancing in the woods, but Helen was quite certain there wouldn’t have been bears present. Before the children retuned home, the thought of either of the boys willingly dancing anywhere would have been absolutely incredible. But she had thought the same about fencing, which Peter had never been very good at and Edmund had never shown the slightest interest in, until she had walked into the dining room two days previously and found them going at it with a pair of pokers. For a moment she had thought they had gone back to their old bickering ways with a vengeance, until she noticed that they were both laughing. She had also noticed that, to her untrained eye at least, they were both rather good. Despite their laughter they fought with concentration and determination; she could almost see the men they would one day become. She had been so surprised that she did not tell them off at first, until there was a near-miss with her grandmother’s china vase and then she had to step in. Both boys had whipped around and hidden their pokers behind their backs, as if she would suddenly forget what they had been doing. She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. “Sorry, Mother,” Peter had said after a long moment.
“That’s not really an appropriate use of fireplace utensils is it?”
“No, Mother,” said Peter.
“Sorry, Mother,” said Edmund, looking her straight in the eye rather than at the carpet as he used to do when in trouble.
Helen had finally let the smile escape. “Did Professor Kirke teach you to fight?” Was it her imagination, or was there a slight hesitation before Peter spoke?
“No. It was a friend of his.”
“A friend?”
“Mr Oreius,” said Edmund.
“Oreius? That’s an unusual name. Is he foreign?” She could have sworn Edmund was biting the inside of his lip.
“I believe he is, yes.” She had been quite sure there was laughter in Peter’s voice.
“He must have been an excellent teacher.”
“Oh, he was,” Peter had said with a grin that was mirrored by Edmund. She had wondered, not for the first time, if the secrets they were obviously keeping were of a sort that should concern her, but decided that anything that brought about such a positive change couldn’t be bad.
She was snapped out of her reverie by a shout of laughter from Lucy. She was laughing at something Edmund was saying, his gestures growing more and more expansive as he spoke. Helen was struck again by the change in him; of all of them, he had changed the most. He used to be so sullen, and there had been reports from school of him bullying other children. It had broken her heart to think her boy was capable of such cruelty, but she knew it to be true. She had too often seen the way he sometimes treated Lucy to doubt it. This new, more thoughtful Edmund was a wonder to behold. She could only hope it would last when he went back to school. Somehow, she felt sure it would. The stubborn pride that used to cause so much trouble was turned to better things; he was steadfast.
Peter, too, had changed. He thought before he spoke, and when others spoke he listened. His siblings looked to him now as though it were the natural thing to do rather than because their mother had told them to. He held himself differently, more confidently. He was prone to bouts of moodiness that could rival Edmund at his worst, but he was sure of his place now. Sure of himself.
Like Peter, Susan wore authority more easily now. She no longer tried so hard to mother the others, and as a result they were happy to be mothered by her. She was less afraid. While no-one would call her adventurous, she no longer shied away from things as she once did. Always pretty, Helen could see her growing into a beautiful woman. It saddened her, even as it made her smile, to see the eldest growing up so fast. They were not the little children who once clung to her skirts; they were not even the children who had looked so lost, even as they tried to be brave, as they boarded a train bound for a big house in the country.
But she still had Lucy. Little Lucy who, Helen was sure, or maybe she just hoped, would always be young at heart. The change was more subtle in her; she hadn’t changed so much as grown. She was herself, only more so; her joys ran deeper and so did her sorrows. She was quick to tears but she was also quick to laughter. She had always been one of those children who were prone to saying things that made adults glance at each other with raised eyebrows and say things like ‘out of the mouths of babes’. Now her statements had an air of knowingness about them; she was wise on purpose, rather than by accident.
The wind gusted suddenly down the chimney, causing them all to jump. The fire roared and for a moment Helen thought it almost sounded like a lion. Then she shook her head and laughed at herself. She was growing almost as fanciful as Lucy. She returned to her book, still smiling, the sound of her children’s laughter filling her ears and her heart.