AN: Okay, so going by the poll I had up on my profile, most of you wanted another AU fairytale-based Narnia story. You asked for it, and you got it! I hope you like this new story; I'm a little unsure of it (much as I am loving writing it) so please remember to review and tell me what you think so far, okay? Alright, anywho, this fic is based off of a lesser-known Grimm Brothers Fairytale called, "Snow White and Rose Red" (And it has NOTHING to do with "Snow White and the seven dwarfs"! That's a totally DIFFERENT fairytale! Sorry, pet peeve of mine...people getting the two stories mixed up and all that, LOL). As for pairings, it is going to be: Peter/Susan and Edmund/Lucy (Don't like the pairings, don't read. No flames, please).

Once upon a time in the magical land known as Narnia, there lived a widow who was called by the locals, and by the travelers who had known her kindly hospitality, Widow Pevensie.

Widow Pevensie lived in small cottage at the edge of a forest in the western part of the world-The Lantern Waste-with two gorgeous roses trees, each planted on either side of the front door. The one that was a few inches taller than the other, with ashen and ebony leaves, grew only white roses; while the latter, smaller with richer-coloured leaves, grew only red ones.

And, odd as it might seem, the widow's two daughters who lived with her were just like the two trees. The eldest, paler complexioned with a stunning mantle of long brown hair so dark that it appeared ebony-black in some lightings, was called Susan White. The younger, more rosy-faced, with brown hair of a much lighter, fairer sort than that of her elder sister, was called Rose Lucy. However more often than not, part of the girls' names were dropped to the point where they were almost always simply referred to as, Susan and Lucy-occasionally graced with the surname most often reserved for their mother.

Susan was quieter and more cautious than her sister; her curiosity having great limits which kept her quite contently at their mother's side helping with the mending, baking, and house-work. She liked routines and sameness and had little sense of adventure-save for the rare romps she submitted herself to when her little sister did not wish to go off alone and sought out her companionship.

Whereas, Lucy, loved to explore and climb trees and chase butterflies and do a million things at once. Though she willingly helped around the house (indeed, thanks to both girls, the little cottage was always very neat and tidy), one could always see her wandering, excited, wonder-filled eyes drifting slowly towards the window, longing to see what ever might be seen. She adored traveling story-tellers simply because they knew about so many things that she herself could not yet travel to see with her short little legs and her sister and mother that kept her home-bound.

"Mum, I'm going to the forest for a little while." Lucy told Widow Pevensie, grabbing a small tightly-woven straw basket by the doorway in case she came across any berries for her mother to bake into a tart later (although she had always had the bad habit of eating most of them on the way home, the basket ending up almost half-empty by the time it reached the cottage).

Widow Pevensie had been mending a small embroidered white smock that Lucy had accidentally torn from one of her dresses three days earlier, trying to swing from a branch ("Just like a little monkey." Susan had teased when she'd seen Lucy wobbling just a few inches above the ground, her arms stretched up and fingers tightly curled around the thick russet bark). She stuck the needle into the fabric just deep enough so that she wouldn't lose it or else risk stabbing her own lap with it when she got up.

"You know I don't like you going into the forest alone, Lucy." She reminded her younger daughter, sighing deeply as she shook her head sympathetically unsure of exactly where Lucy's love of exploring came from-she certainly hadn't inherited it from her.

"I wont be alone." said Lucy, her eyes widening innocently the way they often did when others saw dangers her youthful eyes could not detect and her harmless mind could not understand. "Susan's coming with me."

Indeed, Susan was just finishing making up the bed she and Lucy shared and getting ready to go with her. The cottage itself, though large enough for the three of them to be reasonably comfortable, had only one large room with a dark brown cloth hung in a tapestry sort of fashion to separate the little corner where the girls' bed was. Widow Pevensie herself slept in a small, movable cot by the hearth. After she finished, Susan smoothed out the front of her dress and slid the curtain aside, noticing a small tear she would need to patch up later when she got back home.

"Susan, do keep an eye on her." Widow Pevensie smiled at her elder daughter knowing well that the warning was very nearly unnecessary; Susan always took good care of her little sister.

As they were lifting the creaky black metal door-latch to leave the cottage together, Lucy slipped her hand into Susan's.

"We will not leave each other." said Susan, squeezing her little sister's hand just a little tighter.

This was their usual exchange and Lucy had known her part since she was two. She squeezed back. "Never so long as we live in this world-until the day we pass on into Aslan's country."

"What one has..." Widow Pevensie started, picking up her needle to reassume her mending, her eyes twinkling in a way that only a loving mother's can.

"...she must share with the other." Susan laughed merrily, finishing the sentence for her. "We know, Mum."

"Goodbye, my dears." She watched them leave; Susan walking in a graceful almost-slow manner, as was her way, and Lucy skip-trotting jollily by her side, as was hers.

The hot sun rarely ever seemed to upset the cool, lush, green canopy of the dense forest; some braches even intertwining closer than the two sisters hearts as they giggled and talked and teased and searched for red berries and small animals together.

"I say, look!" Susan exclaimed, pointing over at something speckled and fluffy with her free hand as it hopped fearlessly towards them. "A rabbit."

"I don't suppose it's a talking rabbit?" Lucy wondered aloud, bending down to get a better look at the little fellow.

"I don't think so, Lucy." Susan noted, realizing that though there was a faint sparkle of intelligence in the small creatures eyes, it wasn't enough to give him speech.

"Oh, but he is friendly!" Lucy had to say, bending down close to rabbit, who, sensing no danger from the sweet fair-haired girl or her gentle sister, merely twitched his little velvety nose and took a hop closer so that they were pretty much face-to-face.

"Here," Susan took a small piece of lettuce out of her smock pocket and offered it to her sister (she always kept some small bit of pastry, vegetable, or fruit handy because Lucy was for ever trying-and very often succeeding-to make friends with whatever animals they came across during their little forest-romps).

Lucy took the lettuce bit and offered it to the rabbit. It, liking the little lassie even more now that she-in addition to not being a threat-was offering food, ate it right from her hand; its little lips rubbing across the skin on her palm. She giggle-squealed and pulled her hand away when it had finished.

Although the rabbit continued to hop after its new friends down a few shady paths along the bush-lined trails, he soon realized that they weren't going to offer anything more in the way of treats, lost interest, and got distracted by a very colourful butterfly it simply had to follow.

"Lucy, you goose!" laughed Susan as she picked a few extra berries, noticing a small red stain around her little sister's lips. "Save some to bring home, will you?"

"You know I can't help it." Lucy winked at her, wiping her hands quickly into the folds of her smock as soon as Susan's head was turned.

"They are good though, aren't they?" Susan had to admit, popping a single red berry delicately into her mouth, managing to savor it perfectly without getting a single drop of its juice on herself.

Suddenly, Lucy reached over and gripped her sister's arm very tightly, urging her to look over to the left where, just a little ways off, stood a very magnificent creature. A white stag; no, the white stag, Lucy was certain of it. He stood tall and majestic on his four ashen-coloured hooves, his white-gold antlers glittering in the afternoon sun, his snow-white flanks fairly glowing like a little candle from a bay window, suggesting cheerful flames within.

"He's lovely." Susan said breathlessly. If she was a little less excited than Lucy, her awe was certainly not diminished.

"Su, look, he's coming this way!" Lucy gasped, feeling suddenly light-headed. "Make a wish, quick! You know the white stag grants wishes."

"I thought that was only if you caught him."

"Close enough! We caught sight of him, didn't we?" Lucy's cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled so brightly that Susan couldn't refuse her altogether.

"I doubt we'll get it granted but just for fun, I suppose we could wish for some nonsense, no one's here to jest at us for it anyway."

"Well, wish for something!" She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.

"Why don't you do it?" Susan didn't know what to wish for. If she'd truly believed they were going to get anything from the flimsy magical creature (and she wasn't even sure he really was the one from the fairy-stories Widow Pevensie sometimes told them before bed) she might have wished for something sensible that they needed, like more mending thread or good wheat to make into bread for the winter. Sad to say, although Susan was a very gentle, sweet, thoughtful young lady, imagination had never been her strong point; it wasn't even extenvie enough to make her wish for some pratical magical object like a basket of bread that never gets empty or a cloth that never tears.

"Because I think you should, you're the eldest." Lucy explained, peering over at her so hopefully that she simply had to give in.

"Fine." Susan looked up at the stag who was just a little nearer to them now and said, "I wish..." What to wish for? Nothing important, it didn't matter. "...I wish that my sister and I will, one day, both marry king's sons. There!"

Lucy burst out laughing, cracking up so hard that she had to hold onto her own ribs just to steady herself. "Oh, Su, is that the best you could come up with?"

"I thought you believed in the white stag's wishes." Susan teased, arching an eyebrow playfully.

"I do, but honestly!" Lucy grinned at her and shook her head. "That is just like something you would come up with." She elbowed her pretend-sharply. "Getting us stuck with two dull courtly king's sons!"

Susan jabbed back. "Yes, can't you see it? Us, Susan White and Rose Lucy Pevensie, members of the court."

"You'd be the queen, your husband would have to be the eldest one or else it would seem awkward."

"Oh, yes, I see! And what would they call me?" She tossed her head back in a rather silly imitation of what she thought a queen would act like (she had never actually met one so she didn't know). "What are my virtues?"

"Well..." Thought Lucy, speaking her mind aloud. "...you are very gentle. Everyone says so."

"Queen Susan The Gentle!" Susan gasped for breath in-between bouts of laughter as if it was the most absurd thing she had ever heard of in her life.

"And what would they call me?"

"Well, you're brave." Susan mused.

"Lucy The Brave?" somehow it didn't quite sound just right to her.

"Nope, better!" she snapped her fingers, getting it now. "Lucy The Valiant."

"I like it." Lucy decided, sneaking another berry into her mouth.

"Well it doesn't matter." Susan said practically. "No king's sons for us."

"If you don't want one, you shouldn't have wished for it."

Susan sighed and tenderly moved a little lock of stray hair over her little sister's shoulder. "You'll understand when you're older...not everything is really magical."

"No," Lucy whispered to herself, very low so that Susan couldn't over-hear. "but some things are."

Much later, when the twilight hours were coming to their end, Widow Pevensie stood outside the cottage breathing in the cool nearly-nighttime air and waiting to see if her daughters would be returning. She didn't worry about them very much as long as they were together. Apart, she feared all sorts of trouble little Lucy might get into or some danger that might frighten sensible Susan out of her wits; but together, the girls were quite safe. No one meant them any harm and they made an excellent team.

This wasn't the first time they had gone off into the forest and had not come back at night, and Widow Pevensie knew they couldn't have strayed too far-they would return to her soon enough. In the meantime, she would wait a while longer, light a lantern at the front door in case they arrived when it was still dark, and then go to bed herself. There was nothing else for it; she couldn't go wandering looking for them in the dark, getting herself lost for all of her pains, and sitting around biting her nails didn't benefit anyone. Calling out a search party (even if she had thought it necessary) would have been a great deal more trouble than it was worth as the nearest neighbors were a good many miles away from their secluded little cottage and rose trees.

Back in the forest, when they realized they'd gone further than they'd intended and gotten themselves just a little lost, Susan and Lucy wandered about a bit longer looking for a comfortable spot to lie down and sleep.

"It's getting much too dark to keep on like this." Susan said, dropping onto the ground, not caring where she sat so long as it didn't hurt her bottom, it was too dark to see anything and she felt she could not keep walking for even another half-second.

Lucy yawned and sat down beside her. "Can you see anything? Anything at all?"

"No, everything is black now." Susan sighed, stretching and letting out a small yawn of her own. "Do let's get some sleep. We'll go home to mother in the morning."

"Mmm." was Lucy's sleepy reply as she dozed off, laid out on the ground which was surprisingly warm and not nearly as hard as she'd though it might be.

Dawn broke over the trees; slowly, but surely, filling the forest with its familiar green light for yet another day and Lucy's eyes snapped open. She perceived a strange boy standing just a few feet away from her and Susan watching them closely. He was dressed in a tunic of a whitish hue and his short hair was very dark, at least as dark as Susan's. The boy kept his hand on the hilt of what looked to be a very fine sword in a silver scabbard dangling from his side. It seemed that he had not noticed Lucy awakening just yet because he turned away for a few moments, whistled to himself, sat down on a nearby rock, then stood up again a few seconds later, paying her no mind at all.

He turned to look at the two girls again and smiled kindly at Susan's sleeping figure. Turning to look at Lucy's and smile at her, too, he saw her eyes were open wide and her mouth hung open slightly, gawking at him in surprise and amazement.

"Hullo." said Lucy.

The boy did smile at her-a very nice smile, she liked it-but he didn't say anything, rather, looking up and seeing that there was enough light to see them home now, he turned to leave. Susan awoke just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of the boy's back as he was leaving.

"Who was that?" Susan whispered to her sister.

"I don't know." Lucy answered softly, looking at the place where he'd seemed, not only to walk off but also to sort of vanish into the increasing light (if she wasn't only imagining it, her mind muddled from the long night in the forest).

Without warning, Susan let out a yelp of horrified surprise and pulled her sister's arm back towards the nearest, solidly-rooted tree as speedily as she could manage it.

"Ow!" Lucy protested, feeling Susan's nails dig into her a bit too sharply. "What-"

Susan didn't speak or try to defend herself, rather, her eyes stayed in one place and Lucy followed them to the source of all the bother and tugging. They had been sleeping just a few paces away from the edge of a deep gorge below which, dozens of jagged rocks and a thin, quick-moving river flowed, making a deep rushing sound they had somehow missed the night before.

"He was making sure we didn't fall." Lucy realized, looking over at Susan and poking the side of her arm lightly to get her attention. "The boy, I mean."

Still a little shaken, Susan took Lucy's hand again and stood up. "Come, we should start for home now."

Not without looking over her shoulder just in case the boy should come back and she might catch another glimpse of him, Lucy allowed herself to be led away.

When they arrived back at the cottage, they found their mother dozing in her mending chair. She awoke, very pleased to see her girls back home and well just as she'd believed they would be and listened to their tale of the strange boy in the white tunic at the gorge.

"It must have been the fairy that watches over good children." Widow Pevensie said softly, giving little Lucy a loving pat on the cheek and Susan a warm smile as she lifted herself up from her chair to start the day and perhaps do something about getting some breakfast for them all.

Susan snorted at her mother's words just slightly, she had always been scornful of such things (recall the incident with the white stag) and was already starting to think-and even believe-that they hadn't really seen the boy at all and had just made him up as a story for fun.

But Lucy, who couldn't bring herself to stop thinking about what had happened back in the forest, went on believing that he really might have been a fairy-boy and was always on the watch for him all that spring and summer.

AN: Please review!