The golden-haired queen was the epitome of freedom and youth. Wherever her light footsteps pattered laughter spread like mist. Her long, wild locks often were filled with forgotten twigs and leaves, but none would ever have thought her less lovely for them. She thought naught of growing up, only of goodness, love, and dancing. She thought naught of politics, only of bare feet, adventures, and warmth. None could ever rival the sunshine that she brought to a room, except, perhaps, Aslan himself.
Lucy found diplomatic meetings a bore, and really a rather silly joke. They were so formal, no one called each other by their first names and it was all “Lord,” this and “High King,” that, and “My esteemed brother,” and Lucy couldn’t stand it. That’s not to say that she did not often address her siblings by their titles, for she did. But she did it in familiarity, not because of formality. No one ever said what they really meant in these discussions, and where in Aslan’s name was the fun in that? Anyone who had known Lucy for any period of time would know that she always said what she meant and meant what she said. She had not yet learned that as we grow up, we must learn to guard our tongues. For our thoughts are not so good as those of a child, and many of them, we find, should not be spoken at all.
The emissaries who encountered her were usually quickly persuaded to her view of matters, if only for a moment. How could they not be, with her dazzling smiles, cartwheels, and skipping away? Lucy did not often realize the captivating effect she had on people, because she was always so utterly devoted to being herself and not caring what others had to say about it. On occasion, the siblings had found it to be detrimental to have her about when representatives were also. She had, once or twice, been so thoroughly Lucy upon acquaintance with a foreign diplomat, that the visitor would forget his purpose entirely. It would fly from his head as he was sucked into the whirlwind that was the youngest royal.
The remainder of such visits usually involved the constant need to pry their guest’s eyes away from the enigmatic, golden haired child, and reminding them that there was business to attend to. It would not be amiss to say that as the years continued to pass, this particular issue seemed only to grow more severe, but I’ll get to that later.
Initially, it was simply a matter of fact that all four monarchs would be present at any negotiations or peace talks, unless occupied by other significant duties. But after the very first ambassadorial conference of the Pevensies’ rule, Lucy was never required to attend another. The siblings were apt to ensure that she was otherwise occupied, to her great amusement and delight. It would be unfair to say the first meeting was a disaster, but the original intention of the gathering was never fulfilled.
It was not that Lucy did not care for peace, for she cared a great deal. But the littlest queen usually had her mind made up about a character before even hearing them speak. Some even said that she had the intuition of the Great Lion in her. She had a quaint habit of looking at a chap and saying, “He has a kind face,”
“If only he would smile more often, I’d like him rather more!”
“He brings good news.”
“I expect the centaurs have frightened him out of his wits!”
And, in the rare instance, “He will be nothing but trouble.”
And from these observations she often (correctly) deduced the outcome of any negotiations. She had a knack for picking out sincerity in one’s tone, expression, and manner. Lucy had no patience for artificiality. Unfortunately, as guest diplomats tended, on the whole, to be roundabout, unimaginative fellows, she was not often overly interested in debating with them. She sought out more entertaining ways to spend her time.
Lucy was not present when their first guest initially arrived, so the family of sovereigns (minus one) greeted the ambassador at the gates. Trusting that the youngest was already present in the throne room, which had been collectively decided was also to be used for meetings, the group set out towards it. Upon entrance to the throne room with the envoy, however, all were stopped short. There they beheld Lucy, humming and stamping and twirling around the room with the hem of her dress caked in fresh mud. Her small feet were shoeless, and made little slapping noises as she leaped about the polished, and previously spotless stone floor.
The infamous muddy hems that were likely to one day send Susan to an early grave from embarrassment came from Lucy’s nearly daily adventures chatting with the Naiads. And her shoes—well, somehow no matter how many pairs of satin slippers or sturdy boots were supplied to her, she managed to lose them. Edmund suspected that she hid them, but would never reveal that suspicion to Susan. Lucy wouldn’t say a word if she was found out, she would just look at him with those wide, mournful, reproachful eyes and turn him to mush.
Said eyes brightened when she became conscious of them standing there, and she ran to meet them without delay. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she did a little twirl in front of the speechless group as if presenting herself. With closed eyes and a charming little sway, she held out her hands in front of her. Her cornflowers shot open and decided on a target, by merit of who was standing directly in front of her. Grasping the company by both his hands with no explanation, she pulled the startled Archenlander away from the group and spun him for a good minute, before abandoning him to his dizziness.
Her next victims were Susan and Peter, who protested quite violently. But no one has ever been able to resist Lucy and her antics for long, and her giggles drowned them out. Her eldest two siblings frequently would endeavor to tame her, and look on in fond frustration when they inevitably failed. Edmund would never dare to think himself capable of such a task, and instead left her to her whims, and allowed her light heart to temper his solemnity.
After several vigorous twirls, she left the Golden Crowns leaning against the wall, attempting to reorient themselves. The eyes of the Just King were already twinkling when it came to be his turn. They clasped hands, with an understanding gleam of wickedness passing between the two, before they proceeded to gallop across the entire length of the room with much gusto. They whooped and hollered at the top of their lungs, and soon half the castle stood at the ornate doors of the throne room (for in the royals’ astonishment they had neglected to close them). The people marveled and cheered at the spectacle of the Silver Crowns dancing carelessly with bright smiles and a tornado of energy.
For if there is one thing you should know about the Cair, it is that all of its inhabitants were generally on Lucy’s side, and had an especial fondness for the girl. She was easy to talk to (when there was any talking at all), and even if one had the greatest intention of being grumpy all day, it would vanish soon after encountering Queen Lucy. Many have attempted to withstand her magnetism and very few have succeeded. Lucy would later learn to use this skill to her advantage, but for now she could no more control or harness it than she could control her hopelessly knotted curls.
When the younger two siblings finally collapsed to the ground panting, applause came from the wide open doors of the room. Lucy propped herself up on her elbows, stared at the crowd for a moment and then laughed.
“How did we do?” She shouted.
A scattering of, “Very well,” “Never seen better,” “Even the Fauns would be impressed,” was heard and then the onlookers began to disperse.
Edmund piped up from his spread eagle position on the floor, “Best romp I’ve had this week, Lu, well done!”
Lucy declared, “We should have a reward!” she paused, thinking, “I dare say we ought to have ourselves some tea.”
Edmund snorted from the ground beside her, “You say the oddest things, Lu.”
She turned to look at him, “Well, it is an excellent idea, isn’t it?”
Edmund laughed, “You know me, I’m starved. Tea always sounds excellent.”
They laughed together for moment before Lucy propped herself up and glanced at Edmund with curiosity, “Why, Ed, when does that Archenland fellow get here?”
He sputtered “ Really , Lu!” and gestured helplessly to a slightly green Peter and Susan, and their now befuddled guest, who—if you had asked Lucy—was gaping quite shamelessly at her.
She followed his motion, and her eyes widened in delight at the bedraggled visitor. “Oh, well I’ve rather ruined things, haven’t I?” She asked cheerfully.
“Perhaps we might still salvage our dignity as mighty rulers,” came Edmund’s dry comment.
“No, we’ve lost all chance of pretending to be stuffy and proper, whatever shall we do?” Here she pursed her lips and distinctly turned her nose up towards the ceiling in a snobbish manner.
Peter groaned loudly, and Susan’s gentle reproach followed, “Lucy!”
“What?” she retorted, “It’s probably the first fun thing he’s done all day!” Here she turned to look at the man himself, “Isn’t it?”
Susan moved towards their guest, eager to smooth the first impression, “I do apologize on behalf of my dear sister, she isn’t always like this—”
Here, Peter cut in, “Now, Su! Don’t give him false hope!”
Lucy nodded along gravely, “It’s true. My royal siblings truly cannot be blamed. For you see, I’m quite unmanageable. I’m still not certain why they allow me indoors.”
Edmund piped up, “Because otherwise we would all perish from a deadly combination of boredom and the High King’s terrible jokes.”
"A lot we could do!" said Edmund, "when we haven't even got anything to eat!"
"How Edmund hoped she was going to say something about breakfast!"
"And they entered into friendship and alliance with countries beyond the sea and paid them visits of state and received visits of state from them."
"But as for Lucy, she was always gay and golden-haired..."
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe