blub

(A/N: Hey guys! So, I'll explain the 'test' thing that I did: Whenever I make outfit preferences, you may have noticed that I do have a sort of persona for each of the outfits. Usually Caspian's girl, for lack of a better phrase, is more girly and has more pink, Peter's girl is more refined and professional and Edmund's girl is more dark and casual. I noticed that the one that gets the most comments is almost always the Edmund ones. I thought that happened because the outfits were usually darker, so I did one where every outfit was black, just to see if you guys would pick differently because every outfit had your seemingly favorite color or if you would stick to Edmund for whatever reason. Don't get me wrong, I love Ed, but I was curious as to why almost everyone chooses him. Upon further research, I came to the conclusion that most of you pick Edmund's because it's more casual, a stereotypical but true preference among fangirls. I would like to know what you guys think of my test. Did you guess what it was before I told you? Remember to eat something, drink some water and take your meds! Love you!)

Oneshot: Peter's wife is being told off for not being like a 'lady'

State dinner. Not really your favorite event of the week, you must admit.

No one even knew about it until two days prior. For whatever reason, the other kings had, behind Peter's back nonetheless, decided that they weren't open on any other date. The messages their riders had carried had sent the castle into a frenzy. You in particular were going to be closely monitored.

While you were High King Peter's wife, you were not his queen. Before the wedding, everyone had urged you to take the crown, saying that your life would be easier and that you should follow tradition. You didn't listen. Screw tradition.

You were not Peter's queen but you were his wife, a decorated warrior of Narnia. You had trained harder than anyone in your regiment to get to your position. You were not taught discipline and you were certainly not taught grace, two things that the noblewoman teaching you etiquette was sure you would never possess.

You had shown regress at the thought of acting prim and perfect on a regular day when not under the scrutiny of high-powered people with influence. No one was sure how you were going appear in front of the newcomers.

Things started out alright. The castle had been prepped, made up to befit the finest in the land and their mothers. The staff put on smiles, the Kings and Queens their crowns, and you were talked out of wearing your sword around your hip on top of your dress.

Everyone gathered outside to greet the visitors. Peter's siblings stood to his left in order of age and you stood to his right. Peter's arm was gently resting around your waist. You clasped your hands in front of yourself, hoping that it would deter the men from trying to kiss them.

Your efforts were, unfortunately, in vain. When the kings and noblemen approached you, they did not wait for you to extended your hand; they forcefully grabbed it from in front of you and kissed it slowly, keeping full eye contact with you. The rough callouses on your hands registered for some of them. You could see it in their eyes when they grabbed your hands; they could tell these were not the hands of a lady, but a warrior.

As if the patronizing hand kissing was not enough, you had been informed that many of the men were sure to ask you to dance in the ballroom after dinner. You grimaced at the idea. It wasn't that you could not dance, but the fact that these men who could be better described as pigs would have every chance to touch you. You had seen the likes of it before: A young lady looking for a husband is asked to dance by a man of status or money. Flattered that a more likely than not older man would fancy her, she accepts the offer. It could be simply observed that many of these girls had not been seen smiling since.

You planned on sticking next to Peter or Edmund the entire night in hopes that the rather stoic kings would be a bit too intimidating for the otherwise cowardly nobles to approach. Your regular seat at the table was next to Peter, and you prayed to Aslan that things had not been changed too much.

Peter lead the group of men to the dining room. While many people had been invited to this gathering, only the highest in the lands would be dining with the Kings and Queens. The table would be bursting at the seams with egotistical nutcases, but you figured everyone would fit right in.

Peter lead you to your usual seat, going to pull your chair out for your like a gentleman when a dull voice from the other end of the table called out, "Could the lady Y/N sit down here, perhaps?"

You shared a look with Peter, pleading in your gaze and confliction in his. His hand brush comfortingly down your back once before he turned to the man at the end of the table. "It's Lady Y/N's decision, I'm afraid. Not mine."

The man, who you could now identify from sketches and paintings as Lord Maudrel of Archland, quirked his eyebrow. "Her decision?" he asked curtly. "You're her husband and her king, aren't you? You should at least be able to control where she sits."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "I'm not exactly sure how things are run in Archland, Lord Maudrel, but at Cair Paravel, we treat our wives with the utmost respect. The very, very least that I can do," he said," is let her sit where she wants."

You placed a hand on Peter's, which was clenching the top of the chair. His hand on your back was still gentle, dragging up and down your back in small touches.

You gave Edmund, who sat opposite you at the table, a look. He nodded grimly. You hadn't even opened the wine and an argument had started.

"It's alright," you said, plastering on a fake smile and straightening your poster further, if that was even possible. "I can sit down there." You made your way down the table, sitting in the seat next to Lord Maudrel. "Excuse me," you said to one of the waiters standing in the shadows of the room. "Can we get the first course?"

The dinner proceed rather quietly. The only sounds were the clanging of silverware on the plates and bowls.

"King Peter," Lord Colin said. You knew his name but couldn't remember where he was from. "Where is your commanding general? I assumed he would be dining with us."

"You have already met her," Edmund muttered under his breath.

"What my brother means to say," Peter said, sending a glare in Edmund's direction, "is that you have already had the pleasure of meeting our commanding general, Lady Y/N."

All heads whipped around to face you, making you suddenly want to curl up into a small ball. Some of the looks were unreadable, but other's were clear; they didn't exactly like the idea of a woman leading on of the most powerful armies in Narnia.

"The lady is in charge of your military?" Someone else said.

"The lady is right here," you spoke up. "And she doesn't appreciate your tones."

"She's rather talkative," you heard someone whisper.

"Women, shut up. This conversation is about you, not directed at you. Sit there and listen."

An audible gasp was heard from around the room, mostly from yourself, the Kings and Queens and your faithful and kind staff. They looked appalled that their lady was being treated like this.

Evidently, Lord Maudrel wasn't done. "It is not proper for a lady to talk to a nobleman with such audacity. I think you King would agree with me on the fact that you should apologize," he said.

"'Apologize'?" you asked inquisitively. "Are you really that daft?"

"Excuse me?" said Maudrel.

"You really expect me to apologize for standing up for myself?"

Maudrel scoffed. "And herein lies the reason that women don't take up our military positions."

"Lord Maudrel, I do hope you aren't implying what I think you are," Susan interrupted. "Unless you claim that it is the wine talking, I'm afraid that we may have a problem."

"I would never question your abilities, you majesty," Maudrel said. "However, you are, how shall I say it, in the first percentile." He gave you a cold look. "This one is less than desirable in almost everyway possible. She's argumentative, nowhere near ladylike and generally rough around the edges." Maudrel turned to Peter. "I'm genuinely surprised in your choices, you majesty."

You stood up, tears in your eyes, your hand immediately going to your hip where your sword would usually be. "Excuse me." You quickly exited the dining room, the door swinging closed with a loud bang.

"I will be talking to you later, Lord Maudrel," Peter warned, leaving the table and racing to find you. As much as you prided yourself on being considerably collected when emotional in front of other people, Peter knew that you could and had the potential and skills to be destructive when not in a stable mindset.

"Y/N!" He said when he finally found you in the train grounds. You had stripped of most of your dress and where now only in a slip, which was quite flowy at the bottom. You had taken up someone else's sword, not really caring that it was too long and unbalanced for you, and were hacking away at a dummy set up by the wall.

"Ladylike," he heard you grumble. "I think he knows where he can shove his opinion." You threw the sword at the ground making it stick up straight in the dirt.

"Hey," Peter said, walking towards you with caution. "What he said was totally out of line-"

"Was it though?" you said, turning to face him. "He kept repeating the fact that women should shut up, women should this, women should that. I've had enough! I've had enough of people telling me to be a lady, to be perfect and prim and proper all of the time. I've had enough of being told to be quiet, that the conversation is for men only. I've had enough of having to accept certain things because I'm a woman, like the fact that I'll never be respected in my position." You huffed, your eyes bugging with frustration.

Peter didn't really know what to say. (A/N: This is the part when I run out of story plot.) He had never experienced the oppression that women deal with and even now he didn't know how to help. He felt kind of useless.

"I'm sorry," he offered weakly. "I don't know how you are feeling right now, and while I guess I'm fortunate in that sense, I wish I knew who to help you. Seeing, however, that I don't, I'll say this." He stepped toward you, pulling you closer to him and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You rested yours on his chest, leaning into him. "You are the best general we have ever had. Narnia is lucky to have you. We will continue to defend you in your opinions and free will to speak as you'd like. You don't need to change for anyone, least of all for the benefit of people who dare to insult you like that."