AN: This is just a light, ongoing humour series that I came up with while experiencing some Writer's Block on my other stories. This will be my Block -Buster, I think. Whenever I hit a rut with my other stories, I'll use this to set my mind working again. Not to be taken too seriously, it is unashamedly and deliberately OOC in several parts. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Well, Sir Roberta is mine, but I'm not sure C.S. Lewis would even want to own him.

It was all the Edmund's fault, really, pondered King Peter. Edmund's and the hag's. If Edmund hadn't let that deceitful old woman into the castle to sell her wares, poor Susan wouldn't be in such a predicament.

Peter stared glumly at his sister, asleep in her glass coffin (and I'm not even going to address how they came by said coffin. Let's just say that if you ever see seven angry dwarfs, tell them that Peter has moved castle ... and kingdom), before turning the stink eye on his brother. Edmund cringed, gulped, and averted his face.

"How was I supposed to know that she had it in for Su 'cause she was jealous?" he asked, in a pained tone. "She seemed so nice."

"You, my gullible and deceived brother, should learn not to trust people on their appearance," said Peter loftily, with his nose in the air. "Now our dear sister will lie there, forever under the effects of the foul hag's poisoned apple!"

"Um, Peter," piped up Lucy, "it wasn't an apple – it was pear. And she won't be under it's effects forever, either. The hag said, right before you very foolishly ran her through, that only love's true kiss, or a fair imitation of it, will break the spell."

"Wow, Lucy," said Edmund in awe. "You deciphered all that from her incoherent mumbling? I'm impressed."

Lucy beamed up at her brother while Peter, falling to his knees, tore his hair both figuratively and literally... if that is even possible.

"Oh no," he moaned, "where in Narnia will we find Susan's true love?" he paused, before continuing in a serious tone, "Or, at least, some poor dope ready to play the part?"

Edmund looked serious for a moment, his forefinger pressed to his forehead, before crying, in a voice of thunder:

"We will have a... tournament!"

"Genius, Edmund!" cheered Lucy enthusiastically.

"What rot," muttered Peter under his breath, before turning on the charm in the form of an approving smile.

"Good, very good, my brother," he said, with a kingly smile, "with your ingenious plan and my wonderful charm, Susan will awaken before many days have passed!"

"Peter," said Lucy, looking up at her brother inquisitively, "I understand how Ed's plan may work, but what has your charm got to do with it?"

"Lucy, dear sister," said Peter, in a rather patronising tone which made the little queen want to slap him ... hard, "my wonderful charm will draw the fair damsels from various kingdoms hither, and their suitors and brothers, wanting to see what all the -er- fuss is about, will come hither also. It is then, my dear queen, that we will trap them like mice and they will be forced to fight for our dear sister's hand!" He ended with a very sinister and un-Peterlike laugh.

"Oh, no," commented Edmund, waggling his finger with one hand, and closing Lucy's jaw (which had dropped open halfway through Peter's speech) with the other, "You're not vain at all. Not vain at all."

Peter drew himself to his full height, looking very noble and manly, and said:

"Quite right. I'm so glad you agree."

Edmund's jaw dropped also.

"Pe-ter," he said, regaining his composure and closing Lucy's mouth for the second time, "why are you acting so strange?"

"Strange?" Peter quirked an eyebrow. "Does not the older brother always act in such a noble and devoted manner? Would you prefer the depressed older brother?" he sniffed dramatically and a single tear dropped from his left eye. "Or how about the sullen, vengeful brother? A look of fearsome anger settled upon his face like a mask. "Or how about, and this is a personal favourite, the chipper, cheerful older brother who doesn't give a hoot?" A look of glee came into his eyes as he skipped cheerfully around the room.

Lucy shuddered, while Edmund covered his eyes. It was all too - strange.

"Pe-ter," Edmund ventured, after a merry Peter had returned to his first ... personality, "have you been reading Susan's romance, gothic, and adventure novels ... again?"

"Yes, my dear brother," quoth Peter, "I have. Remarkable books."

Leaning towards Lucy, Edmund whispered, between coughs: "Burn the books when you get a chance." Lucy nodded in a show of understanding.

The task at hand being remembered, Edmund went to Susan's coffin and looked down at her tranquil face. A sudden thought flashed through Edmund's mind.

If she stays like this, she'll never yell at me again!

Pushing the thought aside, Edmund groaned heavily. As tempting as that sounded, he just couldn't do that to his sister. No matter how much he wanted to. It just wouldn't be Just. Picking up a rose that some devoted subject had placed upon the coffin, he picked at it idly.

"How many days had she been like this?" he finally asked, placing the plucked flower in its original spot.

"Well, dear brother, it has been approximately –" began Peter in a pompous tone.

"I was asking Lucy!"

"It has been four days, Ed," smiled Lucy, with a nod of her head.

"Then we had better call the tournament soon. We don't want her to starve, after all."

With another nod, Lucy disappeared from the room in search of quill, paper and scribe; leaving a very disgruntled Edmund in the company of a noble and devoted Peter.

"Peter," said Edmund after a pause. "How many of those books did you read?"

"One hundred and four," was the casual response.

"No wonder you're acting so strange!" cried Edmund. "You need fresh air!"

Without another word, Edmund dragged his brother onto Susan's balcony (as they were in Susan's room), and made him sniff the fresh air. Perhaps Edmund was a little too exuberant in his attempts, for in pushing the back of his brother's noble head, he almost succeeded in making said brother lose his balance and tumble not too gracefully to the ground, several meters below.

"Edmund!" shouted Peter, sounding more like himself - and a very angry self, at that. "Let go of me!"

As tempting as that sounded at the present moment, Edmund grasped his brother's tunic even tighter. He knew that if he let go, Peter would have an untimely passing. Dragging him further into the balcony, so that his footing was, once more, even; Edmund turned his brother around and glared at him angrily.

"Now," he asked, slowly and carefully, as though Peter was a child, "what kind of a brother are you?"

"A very angry one," was the sullen response.

"Good."

"Good!" shouted Peter, his fingers twitching as though he wanted to strangle his brother. "Good! You question me without cause, drag me onto a balcony, bang my nose against the railing, almost make me fall and you say it's good!"

"Peter, I – "

"I suppose it's all fine, all dandy, all a great way to show your love ... if you've got a killing intent!"

"Peter –"

"Who's next, Ed? Susan? Oh, no, you already got to her. Lucy, then? You never really know a person until they make an attempt on your life. So that prank you played last Christmas was, in fact, more sinister than it appeared. I always knew –"

"PETER!"

"What?"

"If I ever find you within two feet of Susan's books, ever again; I will, personally, throw you and the books off the highest turret in Cair Paravel!"

"Woah, Ed," said Peter defensively, "no need to get testy."

Edmund let out a groan of frustration and collapsed by the side of Susan's coffin. Obviously, Peter hadn't consumed enough fresh air. He wondered what personality he was playing out now. The monologuing Peter, perhaps?

"Where the Dicken's has our little Lucy got to," spoke up Peter, in a very refined English accent.

Edmund's palm made contact with his forehead.

"Why in Narnia did Lucy leave me with him?" he moaned, as Peter started talking about "a very interesting story with a jolly good plot."

"With who, Ed?" asked Lucy, catching the words.

"With King Peter, the Magnificently Annoying One," was the sour response. Peter cringed.

"That was – harsh – Ed," he complained, sitting down on his ankles.

Edmund turned to his brother in unconcealed glee.

"Peter!" he cried. "You're back!!

"I actually never left," Peter pointed out.

"Yes, yes, you did," began Edmund excitedly, before he was cut off by Lucy saying:

"Peter, Edmund, I think that you've forgotten about the matter at hand. Now, I dictated a decree that states that whosoever shall awaken Susan the Gentle from her enchanted slumber shall receive the good will of Narnia, the goodwill of Susan, and whatever treasure they take a fancy to in the Royal Treasury, within reason, of course; barring nothing but the crowns on our heads and the weapons by our side." Lucy finished with a deep breath, before turning to her brothers for their approval. She then added, "Oh, and there's also a little footnote at the bottom of the page, stating that you, Peter, will have a five-minute audience with the ladies providing they bring one eligible male to try and wake Susan."

"That sounds fine, Lu," shrugged Peter.

"Yeah, just as boring as all our other decrees," remarked Edmund. "Yours was actually more interesting than mine usually are though, Lucy, maybe it's because your subject matter is more unusual."

"Let's turn our attention back to Susan," said Lucy sternly, rather annoyed that she was the only serious one. "What's the fastest form of transportation?"

"Edmund," said Peter, with a smug smile, "when he hears that it's supper time."

"Peter," snapped Edmund, "when he has had too much sugar."

"Edmund, Peter," said Lucy wearily, "if you two don't quit fooling around and get back to the matter at hand, Susan will never wake up!

"Okay, okay," sighed Edmund, holding up his hands to represent surrender.

"I'll send for Orieus," said Peter, in a much more kingly tone then he had used so far. "He'll know which animals are the fastest. Perhaps he'll even choose a Centaur."

"Gryphons are fast," said Edmund in a thoughtful voice. "But they can be such feather-brains sometimes."

"Ed!" said Peter and Lucy at the same time, knowing full well what the Gryphons' reactions were the last time Edmund said something similar. It involved Edmund being stuck on the highest part of Cair Paravel by his tights. He had a horrid wedgie afterwards, although he'd die rather then admit it. Kings have their dignity too, you know.

"Anyway," said Edmund, successful drawing his siblings' attention away from himself, "I'll send for Orieus, give him the decree, and you two can go get the tournament prepared."

With a nodding of heads, the three Pevensie siblings darted from the room, leaving sleeping Su White in her glass coffin.

A week later, Narnia was invaded by a couple of hundred noble damsels, clamouring loudly to see the King.

Edmund stepped out from the castle, his hands in the air, a pleased look on his face.

"Greetings, fair ladies!" he cried.

Silence. The sound of a cricket chirping could be heard.

Edmund visibly deflated and stalked back into the castle with slumped shoulders.

Peter poked his nose outside the door. As if on cue, the visiting noblewoman lifted their hands in the air and began praising him. Peter poked his nose back inside and shot his brother a smug grin.

"Hey," said Edmund, "I'm just as good looking as you are!"

"Yeah, but I'm older, I'm High King, and I have –" he paused to place a look of indescribable pride on his face – "chest-hair!"

Edmund and Lucy exchanged a look of disgust.

"That's great, Peter," said Edmund, secretly glad that he didn't have a host of crazed women after him just because of some bodily hair.

"Yes, yes it is," sniffed Peter, amusing himself by sticking his nose outside the door again. Edmund and Lucy exchanged another look before sneaking away.

The day of the Tournament finally arrived, and it was with great dignity that the three wakeful monarchs ascended the dais and took their seats. Peter, in the middle, was surrounded by a group of adoring women; while Edmund and Lucy, on the left and right, were happily breathing the fresh air. They pitied poor Peter who was, unfortunately, being slowly suffocated by the amount of perfume his admirers were wearing.

"The price of chest-hair, dear brother," chortled Edmund.

"Shut up!" came the muffled reply.

Susan's glass coffin was nearby, and in it Susan reposed looking peaceful. She hadn't looked this peaceful, Peter remarked, since before Edmund's birth. This earned him a series of frowns from his little brother.

"The first knight is approaching the lists!" A Centaur bellowed, having been chosen for the job since he possessed a remarkably deep voice. "His name is Sir Roberta Phillip."

"Poor fellow," said sympathetic Lucy, "having to go through life with a girl's name."

"Hush," whispered Edmund, standing up so he could see Lucy over the sea of hair that surrounded his brother, "he'll hear you. Besides, maybe it's different in Narnia."

"I still feel sorry for him," said Lucy, with a shrug.

The young knight galloped to the front on his rather sickly looking mare. He saluted the kings, kissed his hand to the valiant queen, and clutched his breast as he looked at Susan. It was supposed to be a gesture of devotion, I assume, but it came off looking as though he was suffering from an acute case of heart burn. Peter nodded glumly in his direction, his main focus at the moment being to breathe; he couldn't afford to waste important energy on such trivial things as speaking.

"The second Knight is –" the Centaur paused – "unnamed. Your Majesties, this Knight wishes to remain anonymous."

"Very well," said Edmund, with a kingly wave of his hand. Peter nodded again – even more glumly.

"Duke of West Galma, Sir Johan," the Centaur blared, reading the names off quickly.

"Sir Ritcharde."

"Baron Lockwest."

And so on and so forth.

The jousts went by quickly. No serious accidents occurred, unless a mace being buried in your skull could be considered serious. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that no fatalities occurred, as Lucy was nearby with her cordial. Many a brave nobleman was dragged from the threshold of death that fine day, and Lucy had never received so many offers of marriage.

At the end of the day, only two knights remained to fight for the fair hand of Queen Susan. The young Knight with the feminine name, and the mystery Knight. Peter managed to struggle from the clutches of his triumphant admirers just long enough to squawk - very quickly:

"The final battle will be hand-to-hand combat. The first person to disarm the other will win the Tournament!"

He was then dragged back down into the vice-like grasp of the surprisingly strong damsels.

The two knights circled each other like beasts circling their prey. Sir Feminine – I mean – Roberta, made the first lunge, successfully nicking Sir Mystery in the arm. Thrust and parry, parry and thrust. To a casual onlooker it seemed almost as though they were dancing. To a sword enthusiast like Edmund, however, the moves were a deadly show of mastery and symmetry. The climax, however, was anticlimactic, to say the least. Sir Roberta, after overcompensating to save his skin, made a wide arc with his sword. Sir Mystery pressed the advantage. Sir Roberta, feeling cornered, stumbled backwards, tripped over a rut in the ground, and fell heavily on his rump. His sword sailed through the air and landed at the feet of Sir Mystery.

"The winner!" cried Edmund, leaping to his feet.

La-looo!

The trumpets ran out, as Queen Lucy and King Edmund led the Mystery Knight to the coffin of their sister. Opening the lid, they gestured for the knight to remove his helmet.

A tense silence followed. The helmet was slowly removed. A mop of dark hair, a glimpse of shining dark eyes, a flash of bright, shining teeth. It was –

And no, before you get your hopes up, it isn't Caspian. He doesn't even exist in the Golden Age!

It was – drumroll – RABADASH!

Lucy gaped, Edmund groaned, Peter bolted from his seat, sending the women flying as he jumped. They all knew of the Prince's spoilt nature, views on Narnia, and violent temper.

Please let it be a fair imitation of love, thought Peter fervently, almost wishing that Sir What's-his-face had won.

Rabadash leant down, his clammy mouth ready to latch onto Susan's lips. Peter stood tensely by, all ready to accidentally nudge Rabadash's mouth a little to the side. It was unnecessary, however, as a few millimeters from the fatal kiss, Susan's blue eyes fluttered open.

"Ewww," she cried, pushing Rabadash aside and sitting up abruptly. "Your breath really, really stinks!" She gagged and dry-retched, but, as her stomach was empty, nothing came up.

Her three siblings' mouths dropped open simultaneously.

"B-but," stuttered Edmund, "he didn't even kiss her!"

"Apparently the smell did the trick," shrugged Peter, hiding a smirk as Susan buried her nose in a bouquet of flowers.

Rabadash stormed off, vowing that the next time he competed in a Tournament, he would win the fair, beautiful, rude, barbarian queen's affection. In the meanwhile, however, he decided that a daily dose of perfume swished in his mouth wouldn't do any harm – providing that he didn't swallow it.

And they lived happily ever after ...

All except for Peter, who was forced to give out all his chest-hair as a souvenir to his most persistent admirers. Yes, all five hairs met the similar fate of being kept in a glass jar.

~The End~

AN: Ha, guess you didn't expect Rabadash! Well, we all know that he did, in fact, succeed in wooing her the second time around; but in my deluded mind, this was their first meeting. Ah, first impressions are so important, aren't they? And why did Rabadash want to remain anonymous? Who knows, perhaps he is more romantic then originally thought!

Please review!