Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the few OCs which are obvious to spot, but even so, what they are and the world they live in as well as everything else belongs to C.S. Lewis.

Summary: What is there in the making for one who is called 'High King' and 'the Magnificent?' A story of how Peter grew into his position and title with an eventual Peter/OC.

AN: Hey there, everyone! This is my first attempt at a fanfiction, though I've browsed around since early 2004 - yes, seven years later, I decided that now might be a good time to get my feet wet and attempt my own fanfiction.

Again, this is a bookverse-based fic so those that have read them might recognize a few of the lines from there. The only other influence that I can say would not be the 2005 Narnia movies, oh no. The only movie influences are the ones that I grew up with. That is the BBC production of the Chronicles of Narnia.

The story starts out just after the Beavers have brought Peter, Susan and Lucy to the Stone Table to meet with Aslan.

And now! Onto the story!

Chapter One: Sir Peter Wolfsbane

"Come, Son of Adam and I will show you far off sight of the castle where you will be made King." Aslan had spoken to him, breaking him from his revere. He nodded to the Great Lion and the two of them made their way to the eastern edge of the hill which overlooked much of the rest of the wood. From a distance one could make out the Great Sea and just next to it, a majestic castle rested on the cliffs of a peninsula that jutted out into the ocean.

"There, oh man is Cair Paravel of the four thrones in one of which you must sit as King."

Peter began to feel a lump form in his throat and his limbs quivered slightly. A thirteen year old boy a King? He let out a slow breath as a wave of perspiration formed on his brow. He already had known that it was something according to Narnian legend that he and his siblings were supposed to be destined for. Before, he'd merely brushed the notion off, but in hearing it from Aslan Himself, it was as though he now stared the prospect dead in the eyes.

Aslan continued, His voice a low rumble. "I show it to you, because you are the first born and will be High King over all the rest."

Peter turned to at last say something to Aslan. His confidence in himself had all but diminished. He was a thirteen year old kid and now was not only expected just be a King of Narnia, but the High King of Narnia. At that moment though, a sound echoed across the hilltop, like a bugle only richer.

"It is your sister's horn." Aslan purred, if it is not disrespectful to say that a Lion can purr.

Peter blinked and his previous thoughts and emotions vanished and were replaced by an expedient sense of urgency. He and Aslan raced back towards the Stone Table and found the whole encampment in disarray. The serving girls amongst the Naiads and Dryads scattered everywhere while Fauns and Centaurs and those Naiads and Dryads that could fight scrambled for their weapons and the Talking Beasts hissed, growled and roared. Lucy came running over to Peter as fast as her short legs would carry her, her eyes wide in terror as she pointed, her mouth open in an unvoiced scream. Peter turned toward where she pointed just in time to see Susan scramble up a tree followed by the most enormous wolf Peter had ever laid eyes on. Chill bumps ran up and down his skin as he looked on.

Oh why hadn't Susan climbed higher to the second branch? Her foot dangled off the branch she now clung to and was dangerously close to the wolf's snapping jaws. Then he saw it in her paling face. She was about to faint and if she fainted…

Peter did not feel particularly brave. In fact, he felt more like he was going to be sick, but Susan couldn't hold on forever. He took a breath and rush off towards the beast with his sword drawn. He didn't even notice that none of the Narnian warriors had followed him at the bidding of Aslan's voice "Back! Let the Prince win his spurs!"

He ran forward and opened his mouth to make a challenging war cry, but the lump in his throat only allowed him to make a muffled yelp. The wolf had either heard him or spotted him as it turned and leapt out of the way of Peter's sword stroke and Peter felt sure he would have been finished if the thing had not let out a gruesome howl with its fur spiking out on its back and tail.

Slowly, the wolf began padding over to the Peter's left and only then did it register in Peter's mind that he ought to make use of his shield. He raised it just in time as the wolf lunged at him. His sword dangled all but useless in his right hand as his left heaved up his shield to block. The wolf bounced off his shield, in turn putting Peter off balance as it righted itself and let out another howl.

Regaining his footing, Peter pursed his lips and clenched his jaw, attempting to swallow the lump in his throat. The wolf lunged again but this time, Peter was ready. He raised his shield and swung his sword. The blow missed as the wolf rebounded off the shield and howled again.

Peter reminded himself to breathe as he reassumed his stance. His right hand on tightened to a death grip on his sword as he held his shield close to him. The wolf seemed to have learned the error of going for his shield side and instead made its way off to the right. Peter gritted his teeth together as something overcame him, pushing away his fear. It had started like an ember in a fire, small at first, but now it burst forth into a roaring flame that consumed him. Though he kept his eyes straight into the wolf's, out of his peripheral vision, he saw the subtle misstep in the wolf's otherwise flawless prow. It hopped off to the left, then used its back legs to push itself back to the right as it came at Peter once again, snarling like a hungry demon. Peter opened his mouth as his face twisted and let out a bellowing war cry now unrestrained by the lump in his throat that was no longer there and charged forward.

As the wolf leapt at him again, instead of merely blocking with his shield, he punched out with it, attempting to knock it back, but instead ended up losing his balance and toppling over backwards. He squeezed his eyes shut as sweat stung into them and he thrust out blindly with his sword.

He hit the ground with a thud, but it wasn't enough to jar his head as he rolled right and pushed himself up. As he stood, he stared open mouthed as the wolf, which had apparently twisted in its jump to land facing him.

Then it stumbled, let out a whine and collapsed.

Peter breathed hard and fast and for a moment he stared at the felled wolf, then at his sword – over half the blade was now stained in blood. The only sound he heard as the thud-thud-thud of his pulse beating in his ears and he blinked, realizing what he'd done and let out a breath, an uneasy smile reaching his lips as he looked around. Then entire Narnian encampment had erupted in cheers. Lucy rushed over to hug her brother as Susan climbed down from her tree and embraced him as well.

The cheers hushed at once as a second wolf darted out from the woods surrounding the hilltop.

"After him!" Aslan bellowed. "He will go to his mistress, the White Witch! Now is the chance to rescue the second Son of Adam! GO!" At Aslan's words, several Centaurs and as well as Griffons and a Pegasus sped off in pursuit.

Mr. Beaver hurried over to Peter with a proud grin on his face and quickly led him over to Aslan. Peter could feel the eyes of the entire encampment upon him. As he stood before Aslan, the same uneasy smile played across his lips.

"Son of Adam," Aslan said in a gentle, but at the same time, reproachful tone. "You have forgotten to clean your sword."

Peter blinked and looked down at the blade of his sword which was still red from the wolf's blood. He gave an embarrassed blush and bent down to wipe his sword clean on the grass.

"Come, kneel." Aslan said, this time in a gentle and solemn way.

There was an audible gasp and murmur throughout the encampment as Peter knelt with his sword in front of him and his shield at his side. Peter lowered his head respectfully before the Great Lion and a hushed somberness fell over the encampment as Aslan placed His nuzzle over Peter's left shoulder, then lifted it again and place it over his right. Peter could smell the Lion's mane and breath as Aslan moved over his head and a peace and calm felt over him, yet at the same time, something stirred in him, almost like a sense of longing, but something so enrapturing that Peter could only later give it the name "joy."

He looked up to Aslan questioningly before Aslan said again. "Rise up – Sir Peter Wolfsbane."

Peter's jaw fell and he nearly forgot to stand up when Aslan bid him to do so. Had he just been knighted? Him, Peter, a boy of thirteen had been made a Knight? It couldn't be! Such a thing only happened in the children's stories that his mother had read to him when he was only a boy – and yet Aslan had just pronounced him as Sir Peter Wolfsbane.

"And whatever happens…" Aslan continued and Peter could almost see a subtle grin on the Lion's face. "…Never forget to wipe your sword."

At that, Peter flushed and grinned back at Aslan, letting out a small laugh.

The Narnian encampment again broke out into cheers. Peter was probably the first Knight of Narnia in over a hundred years, how could they not be joyous? Susan, Lucy and the two Beavers came to Peter and embraced him in celebration, beaming smiles on their faces as bright as the radiant sun as a few tears of pride spilt over their eyelids onto their cheeks.

"Well done.. Sir Peter." Said Mr. Beaver, his proud smile still plastered onto his face. "That does have quite the nice ring to it."

"If you say so, Mr. Beaver." Peter laughed, though was he still in a bit too much of a shock to really say much.

"Faiana." Aslan called and a Naiad approached and gave a low curtsey to the Lion. "Tend to the Son of Adam and ensure that he is given well rest, for today has been a trying day for him."

The Naiad smiled and gave another curtsey. "Yes, Sire. I shall." The Naiad, Faiana turned and smiled pleasantly to Peter. "Your Highness, if you will come with me, I shall see that you're fed and that all provisions have been made for you."

Peter stared at the Naiad and his mouth fell open slightly.

Her pale skin shone like sunlight would in a gentle clear water's surface and her hair was a dark, almost black color, but had a slight hue of blue to it that flowed in waves and curls down to her waist that looked only half-dried.

The dress she wore was a light aquatic of green-blue that was sleeveless and fell to the middle of her shins, long enough for decency, but short enough for her to run in if she so wished. A belt with a slightly darker color was strapped about her waist that held a pearl pommeled dagger in its sheath. Around her neck hung a necklace with finely craved pearls, alabasters, quartz, amethysts, turquoise, sapphires and many other precious stones adorned to it.

But it was her eyes were the most distinguishable feature about her. So dark, but not black all the way through. The edge of her irises were a deep hue of royal blue that darkened the closer it got to her pupils. They shone with kindness and a certain degree of child-like innocence, yet held wisdom beyond a thousand years.

"Your Highness?" She asked and Peter shook himself and blushed considerably. Dolt! It's very rude to stare! He thought to himself. Then nodded to the Naiad and followed her as she led him to one of the many colorful pavilions and ducked inside behind the flap.

Inside the pavilion was a tub made of brass and a finely sheeted bed as well as a table laid out in fine decoration. Above him was an unlit chandelier that he knew would light the pavilion well during the night.

As he looked around, he noticed Faiana making small motions and gestures with her hands. Out of nowhere, water materialized and flowed into the tub, filling it nearly to the brim.

Peter blinked and stared. "…How?"

Faiana giggled. "I am a Naiad, your Highness. A daughter of the River God."

A River Nymph. Peter thought to himself with a nod and a smile.

She smiled back and opened a small chest that lay next to the tub and removed a towel and soap, laying them on the bed. She turned to Peter and smiled again. He found himself blushing at her.

"I would imagine that after your ordeal you would desire a bath and some rest. The water should be to your liking, I hope." She glanced over at the tub and then back to Peter. "Would you desire any food to be brought to you, Highness?"

Peter laughed. He did not feel quite right being addressed as 'Highness.' It was already odd enough being addressed as 'Son of Adam.' Then again, he knew that customs would deem it so. "I am not a King yet. Please, just call me Peter."

Faiana grinned and let out a gentle laugh. To Peter, it sounded sweeter than the running waters of a rippling brook. "It would not do well a servant to address Narnia's soon-to-be High King by his common name, Highness."

Peter closed his eyes and bit his lip as he blushed harder. "Please, all the attention is enough. The idea of having… servants it not something I do not find taste in."

She tilted her head in a questioning way. "Your Highness merely needs to get used to it. I imagine it is a new thing for your Highness to have servants and attendants if the rumors of your Highnesses being from a different world is true."

Peter smiled at her elegant way of speaking. It wasn't exactly a new thing for Peter to be attended by servants. After all, he had lived at Professor Kirke's house for a while before coming to Narnia and Ivy, Betty and Margaret had been there to cook meals and provide upkeep for the house. But the three of them, along with Mrs. Macready had been more like housekeepers than servants.

"I'd rather have friends than servants." Said Peter, then to emphasis his point, he added: "Faiana."

At this she let out a truly genuine laugh and shook her head in mirth. "You have conquered me, then Peter." She said his name with emphasis. "But I shall only address you by your common name when no others are present." Her laughter settled into a few subsided giggles. "But would you have some food brought to you? I'd also imagine a change of clothes would be in order?"

Peter thought for a moment, then nodded. He'd not eaten since early that morning when Father Christmas had given them their presents and his clothes were sweat-drenched and stained with grass and dirt. "If you please?"

Faiana stared at him incredulously and laughed again. "No, if you please, Peter. Your word is law. I shall have the Dryads alter a few clothes to fit you and send one of my brother's to deliver them to you."

"Thank you, Faiana."

She smiled again. "Of course." She dropped into a low curtsey and made her exit.

Peter smiled and shook his head as she left then set his shield and sword down and stripped himself of his clothes and stepped into the tub, reaching for the soap that Faiana had left for him. The water was just cool of lukewarm, but to Peter who had worked up a sweat and was still quite weary from traveling and sleeping on the ground the night before, it was a paradise. As he washed the sweat and grime off himself, he allowed his thoughts to drift. This was really the first time he'd truly been able to relax since coming to Narnia. Granted, the dinner he'd had at the Beaver's dam the day before had been a pleasant one, but the anxiety he'd felt over finding a way to somehow rescue Mr. Tumnus had eat away at his mind. His thoughts first settled on Faiana. She was the most beautiful woman he'd laid eyes upon and in his mind was the embodiment of the maidens of 'unearthly beauty' that was so often described in the stories his mother had read to him and his siblings when they were younger.

Peter had never experienced love, such a thing was either unheard of or considered childish for boys his age. He had had of course a few crushes before and he was certain that in the brief five minutes that he'd spent with Faiana, he'd developed one for her as well. That had been a sore spot between him and Edmund, his crushes, in those first few years. Edmund had, of course jeered and teased him endlessly about it (and it those days, it was considered extremely rude, immature and childish to tease someone about such things). He was considered a few years too young to be 'dating' girls. None of the ones he had had crushes on were of course obviously not from his school since he attended an all-boys school. His mother would have none of that riff-raff of sending her children to one of those experimental co-educational boy and girl schools like Peter's Aunt Alberta had done with his cousin Eustace, and Peter felt it showed, as Eustace was turning out to be as bad as Edmund.

Edmund…

Peter sighed, still feeling very guilty about him being angry with his brother. Though Mr. Beaver had told him that Edmund had been spelled by the White Witch when he'd eaten her food, he still felt that his admonishing Edmund had sealed away any chance of him not siding with the Witch. But he reminded himself that Aslan had sent out a party to rescue Edmund and Peter felt that he could put good faith in those brave men and especially Aslan. The Great Lion had been everything that the Beavers had described Him as and more. So much more.

As he finished bathing himself, someone addressed him just outside the tent. "Your Highness?" It belonged to a man.

"Come in." Said Peter, figuring it was one of Faiana's brothers delivering him his change of clothes.

Sure enough, a man of features similar to Faiana entered the pavilion and set down a pair of clothes by his bedside. There was some differences between this Naiad and his sister. For one, his hair was a stark white instead of dark and his eyes had the same difference. He wore a pair of trousers of a dark green color, like that of seaweed and an open vest that was the same.

"Your Highness." The Naiad addressed him with a bow and Peter groaned inwardly. "My sister had the Dryads alter these clothes for you. Shall I have your old ones set to wash?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, please." He said as he reached for the towel and stood to dry himself.

The Naiad bowed again and gathered Peter's clothes and made his exit.

Peter stepped out of the tub and dried himself and set about clothing himself in the Narnian garb that was laid out for him. They truly were magnificent, more like works of art as opposed to garments that were meant to be worn. Most were crimson as their color base with elegant embroideries patterns of

gold threaded intricately into them. Next to them, he noticed a pair of black leather boots with silver buckles attached to them… as well as a set of golden spurs attached to the heel.

Let the Prince win his spurs!

What had Aslan meant by that? Then he remembered how the Knights of old on Earth wore spurs upon their boots to distinguish themselves.

He chose some of the relatively simple garments to wear. A pair of off white trousers that had a row of buttons and a draw-string instead of a single button and zipper; and a crimson and gold pullover tunic. There was a white belt laid out as well, a baldric he found it to be, with the perfect fit for the scabbard of his sword to slide into. He dressed himself and donned the baldric around his waist and slipped his sheathed sword into the attachment, then laid on the bed to slip his socks and boots on.

When he stood up again, he immediately noticed the difference between his old clothes from England and those of Narnia. While his English clothes were stiff and coarse and often times itchy, his Narnian clothes were soft and flowing and rested comfortable on his form. His boots were heavier than his old shoes, especially because of the spurs on the back, but Peter found that he liked them.

In a bit of childish play, Peter drew his sword and held it aloft above his head and closed his eyes. It was a dream come true for boys like him who grew up on stories of honorable, chivalric Knights and noble Kings of valor… and now he felt like he was truly growing into the part. He grinned and gave his sword a twirl in his hand – only to have it cut a line on the elegant comforter of the bed. He gasped and cringed as he looked at it and then remembered the words of Father Christmas.

They are tools, not toys…

Peter sighed and bit his lip. While he hoped no one would be upset by there being a tear in the bed, he knew he ought to tell someone. He sheathed his sword and turned toward the flap of the pavilion as he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching.

"Your Highness?" It was Faiana.

"Come in." Peter answered her.

"You are decent, Highness?"

Peter stammered and blushed hard. What an awkward situation it would be if…

"I-I am. Come in, Faiana."

With that, the Naiad entered, carrying a golden tray with several dishes atop it. "Trickle tart?" She asked with a smile.

Peter grinned. "Yes, please."

Faiana nodded and set two dishes of trickle tart for him on the table, then turned and smiled brightly at him. "Now you look everything like we Narnians imagined you would be, Peter."

Peter felt as if he was going to melt on the spot. Never before had a woman made him feel such a way and he'd known her for only about half an hour. His face flushed scarlet and he gave a nervous laugh. "Well, I'm starting to feel that way now. I guess the clothes helped with that a little."

Faiana dropped her smile and nodded to him. Her face took on a tone of sincerity as she held the tray at her waist. "You ought to, Peter. It is no small feat vanquishing the foe that you did."

Peter blinked and frowned. "It was just a wolf."

Faiana shook her head. "That was no mere wolf that you slew. Several of the Dryads and Fauns confirmed that it was Fenris Ulf – Maugrim, the Captain of the Witch's Secret Police."

Peter blinked again and his eyes went wide. Maugrim… Well, at least he had avenged Mr. Tumnus, or rather, had brought his captor to justice.

"You may not think it, Peter, but you're a far greater person than you know. We all saw it when you slew Maugrim. And the fact that you and your sisters were able to make it into Narnia and get to the Stone Table all the way from the Beaver's dam while being pursued by the White Witch is not a feat to laugh at."

Peter gave a small sigh. "We'd have never made it had it not been for the Beavers… and Edmund fell in with the White Witch."

Faiana bowed her head and closed her eyes. "Sir Peter." She emphasized his title. "Your humility has its place, but to everything there is its own season and a time for every purpose under Aslan's Country, but today is a day for you and everyone to celebrate. The Captain of the Witch's Secret Police, one of Narnia's most feared enemies, is slain by your hand and though your brother is a prisoner of the Witch, Aslan has sent His soldiers to rescue him." She raised her head up and opened her eyes. "Now come, it would not do to have your food sit here to spoil. Your sisters and everyone await you, as well."

Peter nodded and then smiled. "Thank you, Faiana."

The Naiad nodded to him, then dropped into another low curtsey and hastily left the pavilion.

Peter sat down to the table that had been prepared for him. Trickle tart was normally a dessert for the end of a meal, but it was a real treat to have it for an afternoon snack. He bit into the crust and into the deliciously sweet filling. Two of the tarts would do, as he did not want to spoil himself for the feast tonight that Aslan had ordered to be prepared earlier. Doubts still nagged the back of his mind, though. Even though the issue had been settled about whether or not anything could be done about what was past, he still thought that it wasn't right in him having these doubts. How could he be expected to be a good Knight – a good King if all these doubts plagued his mind? It was something very new to him. Normally and in normally he meant back in England, he had an unwavering sense of confidence brought on by being the oldest of his siblings, the leader.

He wiped his mouth and sighed. What was the matter with him? He recalled his earlier talk with Faiana and the thing that he remembered her saying again and again was for him to trust in Aslan. She made it sound so easy. Yet, he felt an apprehension in his heart. Perhaps… maybe if he spoke to Aslan Himself on the matter? Peter settled to do that. After all, was Aslan not the True King of Narnia?

Peter decided that would be the best. For what greater guide, teacher, mentor, and friend could there be for Narnia's future High King than Narnia's True King Himself?

AN: Well, there we have it. First chapter up. Reviews and constructive criticism would be most appreciated. I worry a bit that, even though the length of this chapter chronologically takes only about an hour, that I am moving a bit too fast in most areas while attempting to slow the story down by going far too slow at some places.

Oh well, the reviews and criticism will tell! I've already begun work on later chapters, but I shall wait until the reviews come in before posting more.

Until then, may the Lion guide your paths.