chronicles or narnia

I feel in a mood to share some useless Eggsy Unwin headcanons about this soft precious son

  • big old fantasy nerd. Read Harry Potter growing up, along with Lord of the Rings and Chronicles of Narnia. As for now, you can catch him reading Patrick Rothfuss, Ursula K. LeGuin, Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett. Carries a book with him every where, most of them well loved and well read, with creased bindings but never dog-eared pages. 
    • has a collection of quirky bookmarks. A lot of pug ones, specifically.
    • one of those kids who were devastated not to get an acceptance letter to Hogwarts (shared with @your-eggcellency)
    • most definitely spends a good portion of his first paycheque from Kingsman outfitting his own home library and buying up a vast majority of the children’s section at the bookstore for Daisy
  • off that, he loves RPG video games. He’s not very good at it but things like Elder Scrolls, Dragon Age and Mass Effect give him a chance for escapism; he spends some really late nights slogging through missions, gets emotionally invested in the characters, explores every square inch of the open world platforms (shared with @hellahartwin)
  • watching documentaries. Specifically, nature/science/space. I can see him leaning towards things like BBC Earth, docs about the universe (binge watches The Universe and Cosmos every few months). 
    • when he finds a good one, he comes in to HQ and proceeds to talk Merlin’s ear off about it because Merlin’s obviously seen it and has his own ideas and theories which Eggsy loves to hear
    • he does get to meet David Attenborough; he maintains it was the best moment of his life
  • BAKING!!! I can see him having a sweet tooth but never got the chance to do it in the estates because a) Dean is garbage and b) no time/space/money (shared with @firthermore)
    • when he goes to get his own place, his first priority is a well-outfitted kitchen with good light and lots of counter space; he stocks it full of appliances and mixing bowls and multiple sets of measuring cups and spoons (you really can’t have too many) and the best ingredients
    • makes all sorts of pastries and deserts: jam and lemon tarts with homemade lemon curd, gorgeous layered cakes with rich buttercream and beautifully displayed, sugar cookies decorated in royal icing; buttery shortbread and triple chocolate chip cookies and scones with endless variations
    • he probably keeps a notebook with recipe ideas or different ingredients to incorporate in his next try that he jots down, avoiding paper work or the long commute back to Savile Row or not being able to sleep on the jet

‘The electric street-lamp may indeed be ignored, simply because it is so insignificant and transient. Fairy-stories, at any rate, have many more permanent and fundamental things to talk about.‘ (J.R.R. Tolkien in On Fairy-Stories)

‘In about ten minutes she reached it and found it was a lamp-post. As she stood looking at it, wondering why there was a lamp-post in the middle of a wood and wondering what to do next…’ (C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe)

aka 'am I petty enough to write a lamp-post into my story just because my friend said it’s a 'no-no’ in fantasy? Why yes, yes I am.’


“Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia. May your wisdom grace us until the stars rain down from the heavens.” ― C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

Ok but I’ve been binge watching the Narnia movies again, after not having seen them for a long ass time, and now, being a little older and (hopefully) a little more mature than I was when I first saw them, I always feel physically sick when I see the Pevensies being children after The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe because they just aren’t anymore and I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like, to grow up as kings and queens, respected and important, and full of duty, only to go back to being 8 years old (in Lucy’s case).

They didn’t remember England, or the wardrobe, or their old lives, they were Narnians and they were pushed back, not only into a world that was bound to make them miserable, but also into bodies that couldn’t reflect what they’d been through.

Just imagine Peter, waking up in the morning, not remembering that he isn’t the Magnificent anymore, imagine him subconsciously reaching for something to trim his beard, only to remember that it isn’t there anymore, to expect old battle wounds to hurt until he realises that they can’t because he doesn’t have them.

Or Edmund, who left England a stubborn selfish little boy who only wanted his mummy back, and came back the Just, the redeemed traitor, the diplomat, the man, having to resort to being ten years old and probably not even allowed to peek at a newspaper because he’s just a child after all. He plays chess, incredibly well, he doesn’t mock his siblings anymore and all the friends he knew when he was still a boy are either irritated at his behaviour or too childish, too selfish for somebody who knows very well just what selfishness can do, who has a part of the White Witch in him, always.

Susan forgets, we all know that. She must’ve lain awake at night, remembering just what it felt like to cover pain and viciousness and gore with a smile and a blush, remembering being the Gentle, but never in war. She must’ve cried for all the lost years, for all that she learnt and that she can never forget, for all that she has accomplished, that will bring her nothing in this world that doesn’t feel like hers. So she sits down in front of a mirror, talks herself out of believing, telling herself that it wasn’t real, that it was just a dream, that this Narnia her siblings talk about is nothing but a game.
The truth is too terrifying, to devastating to face.

Lucy, little Lucy, who grew up under Mr Tumnus’ smiles and Aslan’s approving gaze, who was loved by all, who did learn how to rule, how to negotiate but who never forgot just what it means to be a queen of Narnia, this girl who matured into a woman, who had a woman’s mind and body and a queen’s grace, she who they called the Valiant, the lion’s daughter, she shrank into herself, into a child, younger than even her siblings. She remembers, clearest of them all, she is the only one who still knows Mr Tumnus’ face, still knows Aslan, but she is just a girl, a pretty little thing who will never be the queen she was, who will never be the woman she was because queenship forms a person in ways no schools can.

They must’ve been devastated when they tumbled to the floor, short and small, and there’s a war they have no control over and Lucy is small, Edmund is skinny, so skinny and Peter and Susan have lost their glow and they’ve changed, they’ve changed so much. (The first time, somebody calls them by just their names, they feel invalidated and small. And offended. They’re kings and queens, they’ve earned their titles and now they have to sit in a dim room filled with children and listen to teachers, have to allow themselves to be insignificant and nothing more than what they were when Lucy first stepped into Narnia - frightened children in the middle of a war they wish was never there in the first place)


the chronicles of narnia by c.s lewis

“I wrote this story for you, but when I began it I had not realized that girls grow quicker than books. As a result you are already too old for fairy tales, and by the time it is printed and bound you will be older still. But some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. You can then take it down from some upper shelf, dust it, and tell me what you think of it. I shall probably be too deaf to hear, and too old to understand a word you say, but I shall still be. ― your affectionate Godfather, C. S. Lewis.”