For Tradition and Such.
They had gone three years with peace, their kingdom thriving and growing. The crops grew faster than they could harvest, the market was always busy, and the streets were always bustling with smiling faces. The people weren’t sure what to do with the peace, at first, having lived under such a tyrannical ruler for so many years. They would walk with caution, their eyes darting around, as if they were afraid of someone attacking them. Many didn’t know what peace felt like, and almost none of them remembered a time when they were safe.
Then, on a day when Queen Lucy was taking a stroll through the markets, searching for a gift for her dear friend, a young faun fell in front of her, the bucket of water he had been carrying drenching the Valiant from head to toe. The entire street stilled, all fearful of what would happen. The faun himself was visibly shaking with fear, and he started apologizing profusely. “M-my Que-queen I-I-I-” The young woman cut him off then, but not with cold words or a harsh slap, but with a loud, playful laugh, causing the faun to go still as stone. “Please, do call me Lucy! It’s alright, I assure you. I was feeling rather hot, and you helped cool me off, so thank you for that.” She gave him a smile, the kindest smile he had ever seen someone give him, and he gave her a tentative one in return. “Are you all right? That was quite a nasty fall you had. I feel as if I should be the one to apologize!” The faun nodded, his smile growing less afraid and more friendly. “I’m alright.”
“I am overjoyed to hear so. Might I inquire your name?”
“Silas, your majesty.”
“It is my pleasure to meet you, Silas. And please, I’d much rather you call me Lucy. If all my friends started calling me Queen Lucy and Your Majesty, so much time would be waisted!” She gave him such a lovely grin, talking briefly longer before venturing back to the castle, and it was then that the people started to feel that they could have peace.
And then, three years later, that all came crashing down, all with a simple pair of scissors.
“Lucy, Peter wants to talk to you about something. He’s in his chambers.” Edmund’s dark eyes held a hint of despair in them, something the youngest Pevensie hadn’t seen in her brother’s eyes in years. Despite her questions, she nodded, slowly making her way through the warm castle, down long corridors. The magnificent’s door was open just barely when she approached it, making her cautious. A tentative hand pushed its way into the room, the rest of the body following. Inside, light flooded in through the open balcony, a gentle breeze calming her panicked nerves. “Peter? Are you in here?”
“I’m out here, Lu.” His voice floated in on the wind, but there was a heaviness to it, as if he was carrying the world alone on his shoulders. (In a way, he was.) His back was to Lucy as he looked out over her ocean, the smell of the sea filling the room. He gripped something tightly in his hands, something that glinted in the sun and caught Lucy’s curious eye. “Edmund said you wanted to see me? What’s that you’re holding?” He glanced up to look at her, his sister. She had grown so much in three years; not only growing more mature, but physically as well, for she was only now half a head shorter than Susan now, where she had been at least three heads shorter when they first entered Narnia. Her golden hair reached just above her hips, and she was so proud of how long it had gotten. They had all grown their hair long, his own locks stopping just barely below his shoulders. Peter frowned at the thought of what he was about to do. “I’m afraid I did. I need you to do something for me.” Slowly, his hand around the object opened, one finger after another at an agonizingly slow pace, until his palm lay flat, revealing a simple pair of scissors. Lucy’s eyebrows knotted together, perplexed. “What is this?” It was then the young queen noticed the Magnificent’s solemn expression, her eyes darting to the scissors, and then they slowly made their way back up to his hair. “Peter…” Her voice breaks, beginning to understand their situation, “What is this?”
“We knew there was an uprising stirring, of the remaining followers of the Witch. They’ve been burning outlying villages, stealing… killing, and we can let this stand no longer. This started with war, and war seems to be the only way to end it.” His heart breaks at the sight of tears forming in his beloved sisters eyes, his own eyes feeling wet. Her head drops to her chest, her hands covering her face. “We had kept the peace for so long. Everyone here felt safe. We were happy.”
“I know, my darling sister. But perhaps once we accomplish this, we will be peaceful again. Now, if it is something you wish not to do, I’m sure Edmund would be willing, but…” He holds out the scissors, and Lucy’s hands lower from her face, her eyes widening at what he’s asking of her. “Edmund wished to cut his own hair in private, but I cannot bring myself to do it, knowing what it means for us, for Narnia…” The young blonde’s hand shot out, wrapping her fingers around the cold metal, finding them heavier that she expected. “You need not carry this burden alone, brother. For as long as I am you sister, I will help you carry it.”
“When did you become so wise?” She smiles, moving to stand behind her beloved brother. “It comes with the title, I suppose. Are you ready?”
“I don’t think I ever will be, but you should do it before my mind changes.” She nods, and silently, makes the first cut. The strands of hair fall slowly to the ground, sounding louder than they should.
Lucy makes quick work of it, not wishing to draw out something that must be miserable for her brother to endure. It can’t take more than twenty minutes, but to the two Pevensie’s, it feels like an entire lifetime. Once the final cut is made, Lucy sets the scissors on the balcony rail, turning to Peter. His eyes have glazed over, staring down at the hair encircling him. Lucy’s heart breaks for her brother, her king, knowing what has to happen next. Peter weakly utters, “We had three years…” and in that moment, the Valiant Queen knows what she must do. Her hand shoots out, wrenching the scissors for their place, bringing them up to her hair around chin length, and cuts. She continues cutting, (more like violently chopping), until all her hair is roughly the same shortness, and only when the scissors in her hand clatter on the cold stone, she realizes her breathing has grown rather ragged. She’s still for a moment, taking in what she had done, and then she looks to Peter. His mouth gapes open, his gaze shooting between his sister and her golden locks now covering his. He opens his mouth, his voice rough and confused. “Lucy, why…?”
“How many times must I remind you that you are not Atlas? You needn’t carry the world alone. Don’t forget we’re a family, Peter. You wage war against one, you wage it against us all.” He can’t stop himself from staring at the girl in front of him; this girl who was put in a position of power and took the challenge head on, the girl who was more like a young woman due to her knowledge and wisdom and ferocity. Before he was aware it was happening, he was standing, and Lucy was pulled into his embrace, his strong arms wrapping securely around her shoulders. Her own arms wrapped around his waist, the two simply standing, letting the embrace calm them both. They stood there, neither speaking, but knowing that, as long as they had each other, had their family, everything would be alright.
Many years later, they had formed a tradition, of sorts. Whenever there was to be war, and hair was to be cut, all four monarchs would travel to the stone table to do it. It took Susan some time to agree to the idea, ever the hater of war, but Lucy convinced her, in the end. It was Lucy’s idea, after all, that they go to the stone table for the occasion. “He had his hair cut there for us. Seems only right we cut ours there for him.” It was in those silent moments, when hair fell on broken stone, that they felt the most somber, but also, they knew that it was being cut for a purpose, and the peace that became after war was more than worth the small sacrifice.
OOC: As a bit of a note for any who are a bit confused, some backstory. This post was based off of one (I can’t remember who wrote it) but it’s basically a post stating that many nobles, during a time of war, would cut off their hair to signify the end of peace and the start of war. @oh-dont-worry-honey was wonderful and brainstormed headcanons with me, and came up with EXTREMELY good ideas for it, and I’m rather glad with how it came out. I do hope you enjoy it. :)