AN: The little plot bunny bit again and wouldn't let go until I wrote this. His name is Morris. Blame him. I think I want to add another chapter to this. Let me know if I should. In the same sort of style as Peter, Magnificent One, and Edmund the Dazed this could probably be its twin.

Disclaimer: Lewis owns the Chronicles.

Susan was sick; Lucy was bored; and Peter and Edmund were currently watching the latter with a look of wary cation on their faces.

"Don't move a muscle," Peter whispered to his brother through clenched teeth. "Don't you remember what happened the last time Lucy was bored and Susan wasn't there?"

"That was worse for me, you know," Edmund snapped back, remembering a time and place, not so long ago by Spare 'Oom years, which still haunted his nightmares just as frequently as the White Witch did.

(Flashback)

"Peter! Peter! I'm boooored."

Peter Pevensie, now High King of Narnia and ever obliging older brother, laid his quill down without so much as a grimace. He looked at his younger sister with a fatherly smile.

"I'd really like to help you, Lu," he said, with an apologetic tilt of his head, "but this paperwork is snowing me under. Why don't you go ask Susan to do something with you?"

Lucy's smile slowly dropped, as she looked at her brother with an air of quiet submission. "Susan's gone to visit the Dryads," she muttered. Peter could have sworn he saw her nether lip quiver. "And Mr. Tumnus has a head cold."

"What about Ed?" Peter asked, his voice now taking on a tone of wariness.

"Well," said Lucy, moving so that she was standing on one leg. "I was sort of hoping that I could do something with both you and Ed today. Edmund's in a grumpy mood, and you know when he's like that only brute force or a kind tongue really works."

Peter leaned back in his chair with a submissive sigh. "And you want me to be the brute force," he said.

"Yes please, Peter."

Peter, rising slowly from his chair, stretched his stiff muscles experimentally. "Couldn't you just use a bucket of cold water?" he asked, trying his best to keep the whine out of his tone.

"That would just make him mad. I want you to use your "Play with Lucy or else" line. That usually works."

Peter stopped in his tracks. "Oh, you want the threat approach?" he asked, looking slightly relived that he wouldn't have to crack his brother's head open.

"Of course," smiled Lucy. "What did you think I meant?"

Peter mumbled something about cracked skulls (earning him a puzzled look from his sister) and led the way to Edmund's chamber.

Knock. Knock.

"Open up, Ed. Lucy and I want to talk to you," Peter hollered, beating on his brother's door with his fists.

The door opened and a dishevelled and cranky looking Edmund made his appearance.

"Whatdoyouwant," he slurred, rubbing his dark hair until it looked like a bush.

"I beg your pardon?" Peter said questioningly, before exchanging a slightly amused glance with Lucy. "Ed, what were you doing?"

"Slurping," Edmund said, looking up at his brother with groggy eyes.

"Slurping?"

"No, no," Edmund waved his hands around in a dazed manner. "Sleeping. Very nice. Woke me up, you did. What do you want?"

Peter, glad that his brother was becoming slightly more intelligible, smiled charmingly, took a deep breath, and said:

"Lucywantsyoutoplaywithher." He then dodged his brother's flaying fist.

"No," Edmund said, leaning against the door post and closing his eyes. "Too tired. Must sleep. You play with her."

"Edmund," said Peter, shaking his brother by the shoulders. "Why are you so tired in the middle of the day?

"I had a sword-fighting competition with a centaur," the youngest male Pevensie explained. He opened one eye cautiously. "Look, I tink I've got twelve bruises." Rolling up his sleeve he gestured to ten purple spots on his forearm.

"You tink? Peter laughed, raising an eyebrow.

"Shuddup, Peter," Edmund said, in what he meant to be a menacing tone. It came out as rather more of a whine. "Let me sleep." He slumped to the base of the door. A soft snore reached Peter's ears.

"Oh, no," he mumbled, grasping his brother's shoulders and hoisting him to his feet. "Lucy wants you to play with her. She wants both of us, in fact. Wake up!"

Edmund, being subjected to a rather vigourous shaking, opened his eyes wide and kicked Peter's shin. "I don't want to!" he exclaimed. Turning to his sister, he shot her a death glare. "Find your own darn amusement!"

Lucy gasped. Peter inwardly smirked, but managed to hide it behind a fierce exterior. "Hold your tongue," he barked, surprised at how angry his voice sounded. He dropped the youngest boy onto his feet and glared him down. "You're going to play with Lucy, Edmund."

Edmund, rather subdued by Peter's expression, turned to his sister and asked, between gritted teeth: "What do you want to do, Lucy?"

For a moment, Lucy's smile faltered. Twisting her hands into the fabric of her skirt and biting her lip, she looked up into the blue and brown eyes of her brothers.

"You may not like it," she said, recovering her smile.

"What is it?" asked Edmund, a look of curiosity on his face.

"Well," said Lucy, taking a deep breath, and giving her most winsome look, "I was painting a picture of Susan and I want to finish it today. But, since Susan isn't here, I need a model." she paused, letting the full effect of her words sink in. "I need a model," she repeated.

Edmund gasped. Peter snickered.

"You would make a very nice Susan, Ed," he guffawed, holding his sides.

Edmund, switching rapidly from pained to a very pained expression, blushed deeply. He always assured his siblings that it was a blush of anger, not of embarrassment. His siblings begged to differ.

"No," he said flatly.

Lucy looked up at Peter and mouthed, "Brute force." Peter snickered again. Edmund, seeing the exchange and becoming increasingly suspicious, backed himself into a corner of the room and proceeded to barricade himself behind his writing desk.

"You'll never take me alive!" he yelled, as Peter lurched forward.

The scuffle, for scuffle it was, lasted only a few minutes. Taking Edmund by his scrawny arms and hoisting him over his desk, Peter sat on the unfortunate lad, and proceeded to discuss with Lucy which dress would best suit his complexion. Edmund struggled even harder hearing this.

Lucy, running down the hall into Susan's room, returned with a delightful red gown. Edmund looked at it with loathing.

"No," he said, starting again on the one-syllable word which had become his mantra. "No, no, no, no, no … NO!"

Peter, getting up off his brother, slipped the dainty red garment over said brother's ears. The sound of no, now muffled, could still be heard. Holding Edmund's hands above his head, and ignoring the frantic kicking, Peter motioned for Lucy to tie the laces.

"No, no, no, no," Edmund continued, when his mouth was free.

"You'd make such a pretty girl," Lucy teased. Edmund honoured her with a look of extreme anger and discomfort.

"You'll both pay for this," he snarled. Peter and Lucy exchanged a look of trepidation. Edmund was more than capable of dealing out some revenge.

"Oh well," thought Peter, with a smirk, "Anything he does will be more then be worth this." He hoisted his now screaming brother over his shoulder (not that he didn't struggle under the weight) and motioned for Lucy to lead on. "And hurry," he gasped, trying to balance the kicking mass.

The palace servants were startled, to say the least, to see their Magnificent King carrying Queen Susan through the halls of Cair Paravel.

Wasn't she supposed to be visiting the Dryads? And since when had her hair been so short?

"Edmund sit down on that chair. Peter, tie his legs so he can't move." Lucy directed.

Peter placed Edmund on a rigid-backed chair and proceeded to tie his ankles.

"What about his hands?" he asked, as Edmund almost succeeded in pulling out a good handful of his golden hairs.

"He needs his hands," Lucy smiled. "To hold this!" A bowl of fruit was tossed into Edmund's unwilling arms.

"Very artistic," he scoffed. "Now all I need is a harp."

"Good idea, Ed," exclaimed Lucy brightly, her round face appearing over the edge of the canvas. "Peter," she added, turning to her brother, "I think that Susan keeps a harp on the hook above her mirror. Decoration and all that. Be a dear, won't you, and fetch it." Peter leapt up gaily and departed from the room.

"No, no, no," began Edmund again, trying to loosen the ropes around his feet. The bowl of fruit tipped precariously in his lap before tumbling to the ground.

Smash.

Edmund hid his satisfied grin, before hazarding a sly look at his fuming sister.

"Edmund," she said, "be a good little Mona Lisa and hold still."

Mona Lisa. MONA LISA! That was the last straw.

Edmund, somehow, managed to loosen the bonds on his feet. He made a dash for the canvas, seized it from the easel, and threw it to the ground. The image, half Susan's face, half his own, was grotesque.

"Yuck," he exclaimed, looking at Lucy's masterpiece. Lucy, rather angry, seized her paintbrush and swiped it across her brother's face. Edmund, in retaliation, grasped a tube of paint (Faun's Fire Red - patent pending) and squeezed it hard. The war had begun.

Creak.

The door opened several minutes later, and a sheepish Peter entered the room. Unfortunately, he was not alone. Noble visitors from Archenland and Calormen, who had insisted upon seeing the witty King Edmund and charming Queen Lucy, stood behind him, gazing in unconcealed shock at the scene which met their eyes.

"Muhaha," cried Edmund, unaware that they were being watched. He was standing on a low table, resplendent in a paint-spotted crimson gown, with his hand raised, pelting Lucy with sponges and other artistic tools. Lucy, grinning broadly, was cowering behind a mirror, which she held before her as a kind of shield.

"Seven years bad luck," she sniggered, waving the glass.

"You coward!" Exclaimed Edmund, ceasing his barrage. He leapt from the table and tried to wrench the mirror from her grasp.

"Ahem," Peter coughed apologetically into his hand, alerting his siblings to his presence.

Lucy turned swiftly, mouth agape. Her face changed from it's usual pale pink to the Faun's Fire Red mentioned earlier. Edmund beat her though, in terms of colour, as his face turned an interesting shade of purple and white.

"P - Pe - PETER!" he gasped, his dark eyes taking in first his brother's embarrassed expression and then the people behind his brother. Their expressions were ranging from slight shock to cheerful amusement.

A plump, pretty damsel from Archenland pushed her way through the other nobles and gave poor Edmund a tight hug.

"Queen Susan!" she gushed. "It is an honour to meet you!"

If Edmund had not been so deprived of oxygen he would have; first, had a tantrum about being mistaken for Susan; second, smacked Peter's face mercilessly for laughing silently in the background; and lastly, he would have torn the dress he wore into a thousand shreds, warning everyone as he did so that if they dared laugh, it would be their last moment.

Being deprived of oxygen, however, Edmund could only endure the damsel's impulsive hug and hope that it wouldn't kill him. When she finally released him, he slumped to the ground and looked up at her with watering eyes.

"I'm a BOY!" he screamed.

The gathered ground looked at him with disbelieving eyes.

"Curse my pretty face," was all he could mutter, half-jokingly to himself, as he shot Lucy the death glare for the second time that day. Oh, if only looks could kill!

(End Flashback)

It hadn't ended so badly, Edmund reflected. They nobles had, eventually, believed him when he appeared before them in his proper attire. He had had his revenge, too, by making Peter walk around in Lucy's dress for a whole day. With the dress above his knees and the bodice bursting at the seams, it was a slightly more then sufficient revenge. Especially as that was the day that Peter received his first suitor. The look on the poor girl's face was priceless.

"Peter!"

Oh, no. Lucy had that pleading look on her face again.

"Yes, Lucy," Peter answered sweetly. Hadn't he learnt anything from that experience?

"I'm booored."

Edmund's palm made contact with his forehead.

"What would you like to do?" Asked Peter. Edmund gritted his teeth at the gullibility of his brother.

"Can you and Ed show me how to dance?"

Edmund fell off his chair.

"Of course," said kind Peter, shooting his brother an amused glance. Edmund interpreted it as malicious.

"No, no, no, no, no, no," sounded from the floor.

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