Lucy Pevensie - Blog Posts

“The director of the first film, Andrew Adamson, was very focused on preserving real emotion, on seeing things for the first time, and having, like, a real sense of wonder.“ 

“So he didn’t actually show me the set of Narnia where the lamppost is until we shot it. I was blindfolded and guided into my place, and he told me to just walk around, that the camera would follow me.”

“And so I turned around and I saw it for the first time. It was in a studio but it was ri-dic-ul-ous-ly real. I couldn’t get my head around it. And so what you see is my real reaction to everything. It was incredible.”

Source

The Guardians of Narnia Update!

Hey Guys! I decided to move my Guardians of Narnia over to Wattpad, and Chapter 2 was just updated! 😁

Please give it a looks and remember to Vote, Comment, and Share!

Also be on the lookout for FAQ's and artwork about our new Guardians!👀

Can't wait to see you guys in the next chapter! ❤️

Guardians of Narnia Now Updated!

After months of putting it off, I finally updated The Guardians of Narnia and you can now read Chapter 1 on AO3! Take a look and let me know how y'all like it!

Also, stay tuned for what our guardians look like!

What did the Pevensie’s eat when they ruled/where in Narnia. Were they strictly vegetarian or what pls someone give me head cannons this is driving me crazy

back in my narnia era what even is the timeline

Into The Wardrobe Headcanons

Into The Wardrobe is a Edmund Pevensie fic that I'm currently writing. Had some litte ideas, so here they are! (OC's name is Vanessa Kirke)

Nicknames

Peter-

Calls her the usual nickname she goes by: 'Nessa'

Majority of the time however, he calls her 'Kirke'

Sometimes calls her 'Your Majesty' as a joke because she severely dislikes people addressing her formally

In retaliation, she calls him by his full royal title

He hates it but it's so funny

She also calls him 'Pete' as a normal nickname

Susan-

Susan usually calls her 'Vanny'

She also calls her 'Goldie' in reference to the color of the younger girl's powers

Vanessa calls Susan 'Susy' or 'Su'

'Bookworm'

That one that appears when Susan starts spending more time in the library at Cair Paravel, reading all sorts of Narnian stories, fictional or non-fictional

Edmund-

He calls her a large variety of nicknames, but usually sticks with 'love' or 'darling'

'Sweetheart'

'My dear'

'My darling'

Edmund is the only one who is allowed by Vanessa to call her anything pertaining to her royal title

'My Queen'

She calls him basically all the same things, but 'My King' instead

'Love'

'My love'

'Eddie'

'Nessie'

Lucy-

Lucy is the only one who gets to call Vanessa 'Nessie'

Apart from Edmund

She also calls the older girl 'Ness' on occasion

Vanessa calls her things like 'Sunny'

'Soldier'

'Little soldier'

'Strawberry'

Names that sound like small things

Lucy loves it

I outgrew Harry & Ron & Hermione… And Alisa Seleznyova… And the Pevensies… And Kalle Blomkvist…

*sheds a tear*

the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.

Susan did not see Peter in battle for years—arriving to his stand against Jadis almost too late, catching up while he picked himself up from the torn earth, on the other side of the conflict when the remnants of Jadis’ army tried their luck at the Cair. Sure, she knew he fought and killed, just as she did, just as Edmund and Lucy did—and oh, how Susan loathes that last part, but Lucy had been the one to find the first assassin in their halls and there was nothing to be done about it now. There was entirely too much death in their first year, Susan thinks, the fairytale shine of Narnia soon breaking apart and leaving a country and people in desperate need of rest and time behind. It took her days to get the blood out underneath her and Lucy’s fingernails, and she knew Peter had just as bad a time with Edmund next door. With a lump in her throat, Susan wondered often if this was to be the rest of their lives: washing themselves clean of battles that were forced upon them by a world far too big for their hands to hold. But even then, with the bloodied waters between them all, she never truly saw Peter in battle. A slain Maugrim who had about as much a part in his own death as Peter’s shaking sword did, a witch that Susan never saw die, assassins that ended up on the moth-eaten carpets she had found in old storage rooms; things that should give her pause but she simply couldn’t consider for long with all there was to do. They had killed to end up where they were, and Susan knew deep down that they would have to kill to stay, too. Now, standing with her bow held tight and a quiver empty of arrows, a sword at her side she has yet to finish learning how to swing, Susan finds herself in a pocket of tar-slow time. Here, she stands with a muddied hemline and their castle once more under siege—unknown foes, but foes all the same—and there, across the way, with his hair longer than Susan has ever known him to have, Peter lets out a roaring laugh. Rhindon is far out of sight, a glaive taking its place in Peter’s steady hands. Even from afar, Susan feels it in her bones when Peter’s swing launches an enemy’s torn body across the field. There are bodies, horror-frozen faces, the stench of blood and bile. The steps to the Cair will perhaps forever bear the stain of this assault. They have lost people they held dear. Susan has wept enough to fill an ocean. And Peter laughs. With storm-eyes, bloodied tongue, and bared teeth, her older brother wages joyous war.

I'm torn between a desperate want for the Pevensies to have lived out their lives in Narnia air fad, and the absolute beauty people come up with when writing about their return to earth. This is brilliant. Everything I love!

thoughts on the Pevensies returning home

Peter Pevensie was a strange boy. His mind is too old for his body, too quick, too sharp for a boy. He walks with a presence expected of a king or a royal, with blue eyes that darken like storms. He holds anger and a distance seen in veterans, his hand moving to his hip for a scabbard that isn't there - knuckles white. He moves like a warless soldier, an unexplained limp throwing his balance. He writes in an intricate scrawl unseen before the war, his letters curving in a foreign way untaught in his education. Peter returned a stranger from the war, silent, removed, an island onto himself with a burden too heavy for a child to bear.

Only in the aftermath of a fight do his eyes shine; nose burst, blood dripping, smudged across his cheek, knuckles bruised, and hands shaking; he's alive. He rises from the floor, knighted, his eyes searching for his sisters in the crowd. His brother doesn't leave his side. They move as one, the Pevensies, in a way their peers can't comprehend as they watch all four fall naturally in line.

But Peter is quiet, studious, and knowledgeable, seen only by his teachers as they read pages and pages of analytical political study and wonderful fictional tales. "The Pevensie boy will go far," they say, not knowing he already has.

His mother doesn't recognize him after the war. She watches distrustfully from a corner. She sobs at night, listening to her son's screams, knowing nothing she can do will ease their pain. Helen ran on the first night, throwing Peter's door open to find her children by his bedside - her eldest thrashing uncontrollably off the mattress with a sheen of sweat across his skin. Susan sings a mellow tune in a language Helen doesn't know, a hymn, that brings Peter back to them. He looks to Edmund for something and finds comfort in his eyes, a shared knowing. Her sons, who couldn't agree on the simplest of discussions, fall in line. But Peter sleeps with a knife under his cushion. She found out the hard way, reaching for him during one of his nightmares only to find herself pinned against the wall - a wild look in Peter's eye before he staggered back and dropped the knife.

Edmund throws himself into books, taking Lucy with him. They sit for hours in the library in harmony, not saying a word. His balance is thrown too, his mind searching for a limp that he doesn't have, missing the weight of his scabbard at his side. He joins the fencing club and takes Peter with him. They fence like no one else; without a worthy adversary, the boys take to each other with a wildness in their grins and a skillset unforeseen in beginner fencers. Their rapiers are an exertion of their bodies, as natural as shaking hands, and for the briefest time, they seem at peace. He shrinks away from the snow when it comes, thrust into the darkest places of his mind, unwilling to leave the house. He sits by the chessboard for hours, enveloped in his studies until stirred.

Susan turns silent, her mind somewhere far as she holds her book. Her hands twitch too, a wince when the door slams, her hand flying to her back where her quiver isn't. She hums a sad melody that no one can place, mourning something no one can find. She takes up archery again when she can bear a bow in her hands without crying, her callous-less palms unfamiliar to her, her mind trapped behind the wall of adolescence. She loses her friends to girlishness and youth, unable to go back to what she was. Eventually, she loses Narnia too. It's easier, she tells herself, to grow up and move on and return to what is. But her mourning doesn't leave her; she just forgets.

Lucy remains bright, carrying a happier song than her sister. She dances endlessly, her bare feet in the grass, and sings the most beautiful songs that make the flowers grow and the sun glisten. Though she has grown too, shed her childhood with the end of the war. She stands around the table with her sister, watching, brow furrowed as her brothers play chess. She comments and predicts, and makes suggestions that they take. She reads, curled into Edmund's side as his high voice lulls her to sleep with tales of Arthurian legends. She swims, her form wild and graceful as she vanishes into the water. They can't figure out how she does it - a girl so small holding her breath for so long. She cries into her sister, weeping at the loss of her friends, her too-small hands too clumsy for her will.

"I don't know our children anymore," Helen writes to her husband, overcome by grief as she realizes her children haven't grown up but away into a place she cannot follow.

“to the glistening eastern sea, i give you queen lucy the valiant”

“to the great western woods, king edmund the just”

“to the radiant southern sun, queen susan the gentle”

“and to the clear northern skies, i give you king peter the magnificent”

"My dear Lucy, I wrote this story for you, but when I began it I had not realized that girls grow quicker than books. As a result you are already too old for fairy tales, and by the time it is printed and bound you will be older still. But some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. You can then take it down from some upper shelf, dust it, and tell me what you think of it. I shall probably be too deaf to hear, and too old to understand a word you say, but I shall still be your affectionate Godfather, C.S. Lewis." ― C.S. Lewis (The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)