The White Stag

Fifth in the Enchantment Series

Title: The White Stag
Author:  ExcentrykeMuse
Fandom: Harry Potter/Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing: Harry/Peter Pevensie
Summary: When the White Stag is spotted in Narnia, Lucy wishes for cordial, Edmund for Turkish Delight, Susan for a brave husband.  Peter’s greatest desire remains unspoken—for a boy who will love him and not see the crown on his head.

For ‘Kaoru,’ my evil twin.  Happy Birthday!

Warnings: Underage relationship (Harry is almost 16), Lemonade, Amnesia.

Peter had heard whispers of the White Stag ever since he first became High King of Narnia. It was a legendary creature, beautiful and ethereal, granting three wishes to any who might capture it.  When his brother and sisters discussed excitedly over the years what they might wish for, Peter found himself hoarding his secret desire in the deepest chambers of his heart, unspoken except in the dead of night when Peter found himself clutching his pillows in frustration.

Susan the Gentle spoke of a brave husband, beauty that would never fade, and the wisdom to rule fairly.

Edmund the Just wished to remember Spare Oom in the glittering land of Ward Robe where the legends whispered they were born.  He desired justice for all Narnians and, he would add with a half-smile, an unending supply of a sweet he once had a dream about called ‘Turkish Delight,’ even though he wasn’t certain quite what ‘Turkish’ meant.

Lucy the Valiant said that she would want more cordial that Father Christmas had given her all those years ago.  It was so precious, she admitted, and she dreaded the day when her vial would run dry.  Unlike Susan the Gentle she didn’t wish for a brave husband, but instead hoped that capturing the White Stag would grant her time to decide which Prince who asked for her hand in matrimony she should marry, and that her dear friend Mr. Tumnus would not grow old as quickly as every other faun they knew did.

Peter, however, desired none of these things, and when the others spoke of their wishes, he would only smile sadly to himself and never reveal his own.

His back arched, sweat trickling down his face to settle in his golden beard, and he moaned as his heart wept.

Two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve to sit on the thrones at Cair Paravel.  Brothers and sisters, the only humans within the lands of Narnia.

Kings sent their daughters to the court of the High King, hoping for an alliance, but Peter would always turn away from them, his eyes instead lingering on the forms of their male escorts or on the kings and princes that came to court his two sisters.  There were whispers among his court when he did not take a princess to wife, when he did not beget an heir.  Years passed, and he found that the lingering gazes he gave were never returned. 

He knew those beneath the title of lord would do anything he would suggest for a hint of power, but he could not abide the thought of impersonal touches and false words in the night.  No, he wished for someone who would love and want him in return, uncorrupted by Narnian politics, and blind to the power he held and the gold crown that graced his brow.

When word came that the White Stag had been spotted in the Western Wood, he quickly turned to his brother and sisters with a questioning look in his eyes.

“Well, brother?  What dost thou think of this wonder?” he questioned, his eyes not betraying his quiet and unending longing for the one wish in his heart to be granted.

King Edmund the Just lifted his head so that the sun reflected off of his silver crown and smiled.  “I think it is just what we need.”

Within a few hours the horses were saddled and the four monarchs of Narnia rode toward the Western Wood and the Lantern Waste where their scouts told them the White Stag had been seen.  The queens of Narnia and their youngest brother laughed among themselves, but Peter could not bring a smile to his face, his mind lingering on the small chance that soon he would no longer be alone and that someone specifically created for him might soon be in his arms.

Peter rarely felt so free as he did when riding on his horse, the wind whipping through his hair, nature paying homage to his dreams as the trees whispered about them.

“Edmund!” he heard Susan the Gentle call and the sounds of her horse’s hooves faded from him, but he continued to canter through the forest after the glimpse of white that he was chasing.

“Peter!” Lucy shouted, but still he rode on, leaning against the neck of his stallion, his eyes alert to each bend and turn of the forest.  Every few minutes, he would catch glances of a beautiful white stag, ethereal and made almost out of mist and air instead of flesh, running before him, leading him onward into the Western Wood, past a strange tree made of metal that called gently to him though he paid it no heed. 

“Come on,” he murmured to his horse and with one final squeeze of his knees, they broke out into a clearing with a natural fountain, the stag trotting in front of the king before melting away on the summer breeze, revealing the form of a boy in the water.

The Son of Adam did not see Peter and instead continued to wash himself in the cold water, his black hair flung back and catching the sunlight.  His eyes were a piercing green and, to the High King, he looked both innocent and beautiful.

Alighting from his horse, Peter let go of the reins and allowed his steed to wander, knowing the horse wouldn’t go far.  Carefully, he approached the Son of Adam, mesmerized, until he was less than a stone’s throw away. 

The legends, the myths, were all true.  He had caught up to the white stag and now his heart’s greatest desire was laid out before him.

His eyes hungrily trailed the smooth muscles of the Son of Adam’s back, the rivulets of water gently kissing the pale flesh that was laid before him.  King Peter wished to reach out and stroke the gift that Narnia had so graciously bestowed upon him, but he hesitated, not wishing to frighten this newly created boy who was a stranger to their land and its ways.

“Greetings, Son of Adam,” he whispered.  “We are glad to meet thee.”

The boy looked up, his eyes widening when he saw the High King.

“Thank Merlin,” he whispered, a slight smile tugging on his lips.  “I’ve been here for days just waiting for someone to find me.”  His green eyes wandered over Peter’s hunting gear, a question in his eyes.  “You do work for the Ministry, don’t you?”

The question startled Peter and he wondered briefly at the strange accent the boy’s words took, but he soon found his gaze lingering on the soft lips that had uttered them.  The Son of Adam was so beautiful to him, just on the cusp of manhood and awareness of the pleasures flesh could bring him, yet with an air of uncorrupted innocence showing that he was unknowing and had never been touched. 

“Yes, in a way,” Peter finally answered him, his eyes sweeping over the moist chest before him, wondering if the Son of Adam was a warrior or at least trained in the arts of combat, giving him his lean and muscled physique.  “We are High King, Son of Adam.  Wilt thou not tell us thy name?”

“High King?” the Son of Adam said, his voice becoming higher in his obvious confusion. His bright green eyes rested on Peter’s form before widening in wonder. “I—you don’t recognize me?”

“Thou art a Son of Adam, art thou not?”  At the questioning look on the boy’s face, Peter elaborated.  “A boy?”

“Well—yes,” he admitted.  “I’m not a goblin or a Veela.”

Peter looked at him steadily, not certain what a Veela was, but let it pass.  Despite the twelve years he had ruled Narnia, he knew that it might take his entire lifetime to unlock all of her secrets, these Veela clearly being one of them.  “There are few Sons of Adam or Daughters of Eve that come into our realm,” he whispered, “yet we have also wished for one such as thee to enter it.”

The boy swallowed, and Peter tracked the movement with interest, his body stirring in desire and longing.  “What?  Why?”

Reaching out and caressing the Son of Adam’s cheek, Peter smiled down at him.  “Why, it was our wish, of course.  We have gone on the hunt for the purpose to capture the White Stag and have our greatest desire granted, Son of Adam.  Wilt thou not tell us thy name?”

The boy blinked several times at him and then glanced away, taking in the trees of the Lantern Waste about him.  “Harry,” he finally admitted.  “My name is Harry.”

“We are pleased to meet thee.  Thou art a gift from Aslan himself.”  Peter gazed down at the beautiful boy and felt his heart leap. All of his darkest and most secret wishes were wrapped up in this beautiful creature, come from out of the Lantern Waste, to care for him and be loved by him in return.  “A gift—someone to fully love.”

The Son of Adam glanced at him in confusion, his eyes widening again, and he brushed away his fringe nervously to display a scar on his forehead.  Gently, Peter reached forward, and traced it with his thumb.

Harry made to shy away, but at the look in Peter’s eyes he hesitated and sighed out briefly in contentment.  “No one’s touched that before,” he admitted.

“We are sorry that thou art hurt,” Peter murmured before drawing closer to the Son of Adam and tentatively kissing his soft lips.

Green eyes stared steadily at him, the boy unmoving as he watched each one of Peter’s movements, not yet trusting him.  Peter smiled against his mouth before pulling away. 

“Forgive us, but thy beauty moves us and we have waited for so long for our wish to be granted, Harry.”

Harry nodded a bit, and never removed his eyes from Peter.  “You followed my Patronus—the white stag—here?”

“Yes, we did.”

Harry sighed out as if he’d been holding his breath.  “I sent it for help.  I—I’ve been here for days, your highness.”  He stumbled over his words and Peter smiled at his youth and obvious innocence.

“Peter.  We are High King Peter the Magnificent of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, and Lord of Cair Paravel”

“Peter,” Harry amended, looking nervously at him.  “You came to help?”

“We came to capture the White Stag.”

“I—“ Harry bit his lip and gently Peter traced it with his thumb, wondering at its plumpness and desperately wishing to kiss it again.  “I don’t understand.”

“Thou art new to Narnia,” Peter sighed out before resting his head gently against Harry’s forehead.  “In Narnia there is a legend, a prophecy if you will, that if one were to capture the White Stag alive, it would grant one three wishes.  We and our brother and sisters heard of the legendary White Stag and came to hunt it.  We wished for thee for so long in the deepest desire of our heart, Son of Adam.  Thou sayest the stag is thine?”

Harry smiled tremulously.  “Yes—I—I’m lost.”

“Then we have come to find thee and to take thee back to Cair Paravel, and love thee to the end of our days, Harry.”

Peter reached out, and drew the small boy into his arms, and gently caressed his cheek.  When Harry neither leaned into the touch nor pulled away, indecision covering his features, Peter kissed him again, brushing his lips tenderly against Harry’s.

“Let us love thee, Harry,” he whispered.  “Dost thou not wish us to, Son of Adam?”

He squirmed slightly and Peter drew back, looking intently down at the Son of Adam who without a single glance had captured his heart forever.

“No—I—I’ve never been loved,” he hesitantly admitted.  “I just—where am I?  I was in the Department of Mysteries.  I walked through a door and then was in this—wood.”

Startled, Peter drew back and gazed at Harry in wonder. 

“There are legends that such things are possible.  There are doorways between Narnia and the world of men.  It is the will of Aslan, the son of the Emperor over the Sea, Harry.  Thou art safe here, and loved.  Let us,” he took a deep breath, “let me love thee.”

Hesitantly, Harry reached out and touched Peter’s cheek.  “You’re real,” he murmured in wonder.  “You’re not a dream.  What of the others?  There was a battle there.”

Peter sighed and gently nuzzled the crook of Harry’s neck, breathing in his scent.  “Naught can come but those Aslan wishes.  They cannot enter from the world of men, nor can Sons of Adam return to there once they are come.”

Harry nodded against Peter’s head, accepting the explanation, and his body relaxed within Peter’s embrace.

Peter gently lifted Harry from the fountain and lay him down on the soft green grass and gazed into his haunting green eyes, asking a silent question. 

Nodding, Harry reached up and tangled his hand it Peter’s hair, dislodging his crown.  “You’ll love me—forever?”

“Forever,” Peter agreed, “until Cair Paravel lies in ruins, and even beyond that.”

Harry breathed out, his form trembling in the light breeze, and arched up as Peter kissed him again.

Claiming the soft lips, Peter moaned at the feeling of Harry, his wish, his dream, and quietly traced his fingers against his naked form.  He delighted in each gasp he could pull from Harry’s sweet mouth, every brush of tentative fingers against him as he undressed in the Lantern Waste, the soft cry when he carefully joined with the Son of Adam he had only dreamed he would one day be given.

As they lay beneath the Western sun, limbs tangled within the grass, Peter withdrew the signet ring of Narnia from his finger and carefully placed it on Harry’s own small hand, whispering promises of the future that would unfold before them when they reached Cair Paravel. 

“I’ll be safe there?” Harry murmured and Peter held him closer.

“Thou shalt be safe, my love,” Peter whispered against his unruly hair.  “Nothing and no one can harm thee there.  The White Witch has been long dead and her minions captured.”

“The White Witch?” Harry gasped, his eyes holding fear.

“Yes.  She ruled Narnia for a hundred years, making it always Winter and never Christmas, until Aslan came again and the Prophecy was fulfilled.”

Harry shuddered at his words, but Peter just held his Son of Adam, his beloved, close to him.  “Nothing can harm thee here,” he repeated.  “It is peaceful.”

“What of—others from where I came from?  Are you sure they won’t come to find me?”

“They cannot enter here,” Peter assured.  “Once a portal is used, it closes again and shall not reopen,” he murmured, a half-forgotten dream of a wardrobe and winter lingering in his mind.  “They cannot enter here.”

Harry sighed in relief, running his hand over the lines of Peter’s face. 

“I love thee,” Peter reassured him, answering the unasked question in Harry’s eyes.  “Thou wert brought to Narnia for me to love, and I shall never stop.”

When night fell across the Western Waste, Peter gently helped Harry to his feet and, redressing, led him through the woods until they came to a lamp post. “How strange,” Peter murmured.  “We think we have a memory of such a strange tree.”

Harry said nothing, but clung to Peter in the darkness, muttering about Lumos and fumbling with his sleeve where he had earlier placed a strange stick, though the High King did not know what that meant. 

“We think we have a memory of this place from long ago,” he told his love and, whistling, he called his steed who trotted up to them.  “Hast thou seen our brother and our sisters?” he inquired.

The horse shook his head.  “Yes, sire,” he answered.  “When they lost sight of you, their highnesses decided to wait for you back at Cair Paravel on the Eastern Sea.  It has been many hours since we first came upon the clearing.”

Peter nodded and quickly mounted, holding his hand out to Harry who was dressed in his strange torn robes.

“Come, thy new home awaits thee,” he murmured and briskly he lifted Harry up so that he sat in front of him.  “It is a three day ride, but it shall pass quickly enough,” he comforted.

When hours later Harry fell asleep within his embrace, Peter smiled against his unruly black hair, marveling at how perfect his beloved was.

Cair Paravel rejoiced when he returned a day later than his brother and sisters, but the court was astonished by the Son of Adam he held within his arms.

“Who is that?” Lucy the Valiant enquired, her voice soft as she peered at Harry questioningly. 

“Our greatest wish,” is all the High King replied before leading Harry off to their private chambers and laying him on the bed.

Harry looked up at him shyly and Peter leaned down, caressing his cheek carefully and kissing his soft lips. 

“Who were all those people?” Harry asked a few days later as he lay in Peter’s arms.  “Why is court so full if you say there are no other humans in Narnia except for you and your brother and sisters?”

Peter nuzzled the side of his neck affectionately, gently biting it when Harry squirmed against him.  “They are princes and princesses from other lands, sent to woo the monarchs of Narnia.”

“All of you?” Harry questioned quietly, a tremor of uncertainty in his voice.

Peter kissed his lips deeply, delighting in the moan he pulled from Harry’s throat.

“They do not matter to us, we wished for thee to love and there shall be no other,” he soothed, glad when his simple assurances smoothed the worried lines of Harry’s face.

Within a week and despite his advisor’s misgivings, Peter the Magnificent had crowned Harry a prince of Narnia and declared him his consort in front of the entire court.  That night he danced with Harry in his arms, teaching him the steps to traditional Narnian dances that the dryads had taught him, smiling happily into the face of the Son of Adam he cherished so much.

His sister Lucy the Valiant smiled happily at them and, although Edmund the Just and Susan the Gentle looked on at them confused, Peter did not care.  All that mattered was the boy in his arms.  He would never let him go, not since Harry sent the stag that called Peter to his side.  Harry would remain his forever.

“There was a war in the world I was from,” Harry confided several years later, a far-away look on his face.  “I cannot remember it now, but it was important, I think.”

Peter looked at him from across the Royal breakfast table and held out his hand, delighting when Harry easily took it.  “We have dreams of a war from before the battle with the White Witch,” he admitted quietly.

Edmund the Just’s head snapped up, staring at his brother in question.

“Perhaps it was the same,” Harry murmured and Peter quietly agreed.

When scouts came to the court at Cair Paravel and told of sightings of the White Stag, Peter glanced at his prince and smiled.  “We have no reason to go,” he admitted softly.  “We have everything our heart desires.”

“Well, King Peter,” Lucy the Valiant teased, “not all of us caught the White Stag last time.”

Harry glanced over at her, confused, a small frown on his face.  “How can the White Stag be there again?  I have not sent it to thee,” he whispered to the other four, though only Peter understood him.

“We think our royal siblings should depart if they wish,” Peter proclaimed loudly, his hand grasping Harry’s and squeezing it gently in comfort.  “We would not deny them the hunt.”

The king and queens laughed with each other and quickly left the throne room, talking among themselves as they made plans to leave immediately.  Harry glanced at Peter and gave him a tremulous smile. 

“Thou does not think the stag has come to call me back?” he whispered in worry, and despite the onlookers, Peter kissed his prince gently.

“Nay, Harry.  We would not let the stag take thee even if it were so.”

It was Harry who held Peter as several weeks passed and no word was heard of his royal brother and sisters.  Some nights Harry would cry against Peter’s shoulder, and Peter would gently make love to him, whispering soothing words that it was not his fault that Susan, Edmund, and Lucy had not returned from the Lantern Waste.

He sent out scouts and spies into Western Narnia, hoping for some trace of his siblings, but they only returned with their three mounts, who told stories of a strange metal tree and talk of Spare Oom before they disappeared in the woods.

“It’s my fault,” Harry whispered.  “All my fault,” but Peter wouldn’t hear of it and kissed his words away. 

Weeks turned into months and soon years had passed.  Peter the Magnificent continued to rule Narnia with Harry by his side, and soon they began to forget why there were three empty thrones at Cair Paravel by the Eastern Sea.

An old prophecy was sometimes told in the dead of winter about the four thrones being filled when Aslan came again, and Peter wondered when that would be, knowing that the prophecy would never be fulfilled until both he and Harry had left the world for the land beyond the seas.  He and Harry could never have children, each loving the other completely, and Peter knew that he would never succumb to his advisors who begged him to take a bride and secure the line.

“It is a prophecy for the future once we are gone,” he whispered softly against Harry’s lips one night when they were both old and gray, their love making slow and gentle as hands stroked wrinkled skin and held firmly at white hair.  “For our successors.”

Harry smiled at him in the candlelight before kissing him again, murmuring how much he loved his king.

When Peter the Magnificent took his last breath, all of Narnia mourned and Harry, weeping, held his body to him, refusing to let him go.  He kissed Peter’s smooth brow, whispering words of love, and briefly he reached for the strange piece of wood that had always been amongst his belongings, resting safely under the pillow.  He felt that it should work some miracle, but when he held it, words did not come to his mind, and he released it again in favor of kissing lips that would no longer kiss him back.  When the servants came to take his beloved away, Harry gently told them to leave and lay down next to his beloved on the bed they had shared for nearly a century.  Kissing Peter’s lips one last time, he closed his eyes, knowing that he would refuse all food given to him and praying that his journey would be swift to the land beyond where Aslan, the great Aslan that Peter had told him so much about, would welcome him.

The End.