*laughing* That was well written and hilarious, Hobbit! 😀

Thank you! That one took me shortest to write, something like an hour and a half. I had to force myself to stop or it would have been waaaaay longer than it is and would have eventually gotten really boring.
I'm currently working on a fanfic one of my brothers suggested: the sequel to "Wedding Belles", but this time the main character is Lucy instead of Edmund. This is going to be interesting and lots of fun. 😛

Forgot to say that this was hilarious!

Here's the sequel to "Wedding Belles" It's called "Unlucky In Love", for lack of a better title.

Lucy had been dreading the day, for she knew it would come sooner or later. She knew as soon as she reached the age she’d been in the Prince Caspian movie there would be Gary Stu’s arriving looking for her. As soon as Edmund started getting Mary Sues she braced herself, because she knew her Stu’s wouldn’t be far behind. Ugh! And now the morning had come, the day was here, and there was no escape. But she had one hope…! She ran her fingers through the waves of golden hair that rippled over her shoulders and chuckled at the thought of the surprise that awaited the Stu who was in the courtyard. Get down there, shock him with the very un-Georgie Henley hair, then he would leave, and she’d be done. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as hard as she’d feared. The more she thought about it, the more confident she felt. She skipped out of her room only to be checked by Susan who stood nearby.

“Lu, I wouldn’t wear that dress if I were you,” she said quietly.

“Why ever not?”

“Well, it’s red!”

“And?”

Susan sighed. “And all Lucy ever wears in the movies is red! Wear something else. Some color you don’t wear in the movies.”

“I wore green once,” Lucy said, “and I wore white once, and I wore blue for a lot of the first movie.”

“Get in there and pick something that looks very un-movie-Lucy-like,” Susan said, shoving her sister back into her room and shutting the door. “Just trust me on these things, please. I’ve gone through it a lot before.”

“How about hot pink?” Lucy asked.

“No! You’d stand out like a centaur in a crowd of fauns. Besides, you know what Peter would do if he saw you wearing anything of that color.”

“Probably kill me,” Lucy giggled. “He hates hot pink. Maybe I should wear grey or black,” she added mischievously.

“Actually, you could. Although the Narnians might think somebody died if you did, so maybe not.”

“All right. How about a nice deep purple?”

“That will do. Go with the one I got you last Christmas, the one with the gold embroidery along the edges.”

“This one?” The door opened a crack and Lucy poked the sleeve of a lovely dark violet dress through it.

“Yes, that one.” In a minute the door opened and Lucy pranced out, twirling. “Perfect!” Susan exclaimed. “Looks like nothing you ever wear in the movies, so you should be good.”

Lucy peeked out of the window before opening the door to the courtyard. The Stu appeared to be no older than herself, or less than a year older, at least, and quite short as well. He was pacing slowly back and forth across the courtyard, and he seemed to be quite the dreamy type. In Susan’s Stu’s and in Peter and Edmund’s Sues this had always been a good sign: the sign of a movie-verse admirer. Good. Movie-versers were lots easier to get rid of, sometimes even amusing to watch. Besides, it would be fun to be able to tell the others at the dinner table that evening that she had lost her first-ever Stu in just five minutes. Lucy opened the door confidently.

The moment Lucy set foot in the courtyard things started to go awry. The Gary Stu spun around at the sound of the opening door. In a moment their eyes met—the amused blue eyes of the Narnian queen and the love-struck green eyes of the Stu—and there were three and a half eternal seconds of deathly silence in which Lucy believed she had won, but in one dreadful and unexpected instant the Stu had crossed the courtyard in a bound and flung himself down at her feet, kissing her hand rapturously.

“Oh, my lady,” he murmured in ecstasy, “thou art more beautiful than the sun on the day it first rose!”

“Excuse me, sir!” Lucy gasped in horror, jerking her hand away from him.

“My queen and my life and my heart and my eyes and my—”

“Sir!”

The Stu looked up at her with a blissful expression on his dreamy face. “My lady and the one dream and one future of my life,” he breathed, “I am the man who truly loves thee most in this world and in any world, from the beginning of time and space.”

Lucy would have laughed at this 13-year-old calling himself a “man” if she had not been in dismayed shock at the appalling turn of events things had taken.

“Thy eyes, my love, are blue as the sky on a clear spring day,” he continued, “and thy hair golden as a waterfall of sunbeams, more beautiful and perfect than I could have expected. Thy hands,” here he again grasped her hand in both of his, “are lovely and flawless as a butterfly’s wing. Thy face—”

Here Lucy thought it prudent to interrupt him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, “but I must ask you to stop now. Dinner will begin soon and I must go get ready for it. You’ll excuse me, please.”

“Oh, no, please, my lady, thou hast no need for preparation. Thou art already more perfect than perfection itself!” But Lucy had already fled into the castle and was stumbling up the stairs in a rare but very genuine rage.

“So how did it go?” Susan started to ask, but stopped suddenly at the sight of Lucy’s furious face. “Oh…I’m so sorry. Is he that hard to shake off?”

“I am wearing a black dress to dinner tonight,” Lucy told her angrily. “I don’t care if people think somebody’s died, all I know is I am going to die if I can’t shake off that…that…ugh!” Lucy stormed into her room and slammed the door.

Susan was worried. This was astonishingly unlike Lucy’s eternally cheerful personality. But what could she, Susan, do about it? She remembered that Peter had helped Edmund with Edmund’s first Mary-Sue; perhaps he might have some ideas. She thoughtfully turned and went down the stairs.

* * * * *

Ten minutes had passed, and Lucy had recovered somewhat from the embarrassment of the first meeting with her Gary-Stu, when a knock sounded on the door of her room. “Lu?” a soft voice said. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, I guess,” Lucy said. Edmund slipped into the room and closed the door softly behind him. He sat down beside Lucy on her bed. The memory of his first Mary-Sue was still fresh in his memory, so he felt a certain sympathy for the sister who sat by him, twisting a lock of her blonde hair around her finger.

“You need me to help you?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t need anybody’s help,” she mumbled.

“Yes,” he replied, “you do.”

“Please just go away,” she said. “I’m feeling absolutely miserable and I don’t want to blow up at you.”

“What if I gave you some hints?” he asked.

“Please, Edmund, I really don’t want you to be the one I lose my temper at.”

“Okay,” he said, standing up.

Lucy flung herself down on her bed and hid her face in the pillows. She heard the door close as Edmund went out. He was right. She needed help. But no way was she going to ask for it. The bit of stubborn she possessed was rising up in her. She’d show them she could figure it out on her own, even if she was the youngest. She was Queen Lucy the Valiant, for crying out loud! She could handle her own Gary-Stu! At least, she was pretty sure she could…

* * * * *

Edmund thoughtfully paced his favorite hall in the castle. He liked it because it was long, dimly lit, and hardly anyone ever went there. The ceilings were vaulted and supported by marble pillars along the walls, and the windows were small but numerous, and all of them faced west. The floors were polished wood, and great for sliding, but he only did that late at night when he could be sure no one was watching. During the day this was the place he came to read, or to think, or to just escape from other people’s noise. He did a lot of pacing here, and he knew that it took exactly 87 steps to get from one end of it to the other, but only 85 to come back. He was sure there had to be some logical explanation for this, but as he always had other things he was thinking of as he paced, he’d never figured it out.

The current problem on his mind was, of course, what to do with Lucy’s Gary-Stu. He’d met the fellow at the dinner table, and had learned much about him and deduced even more, the points of importance being that the boy’s name was Romeo (heard), he was a movie-verse Stu (deduced) who didn’t care what color Lucy’s hair was but that she was gorgeous no matter what (heard), and that his writer was far too fluent in elegant speech for a lad of his years (deduced). Edmund had also figured out most of the story Romeo was in, deducted from bits of the fellow’s rambling and ecstatic eulogies of Lucy. But in this case the story was of no use to anyone; the boy was so madly in love with Lucy that he would pay no heed to what he was supposed to be doing.

Lucy had been sure to sit on the far end of the table from Romeo. She had been dressed in the ugliest black dress in her closet, which, regrettably, wasn’t hideous enough, for Romeo had admired her in a quite open fashion and had even praised the dress (probably only because Lucy was wearing it, for it was rather a monstrous dress). Peter, who had had to sit next to Romeo, was quite fed up with the fellow by the end of the meal, and Susan kept shooting quick, sympathetic glances at Lucy during Romeo’s long, flowery speeches praising Lucy.

Poor Lu. She had quite a challenge ahead of her, and it seemed she wished to take it on alone. Edmund, nonetheless, meant to help her in any way he could. But how? How to stop a fellow who was so passionately in love that nothing could disappoint or surprise him? How to make him dislike a girl he was so distractedly in love with that he could be distracted by nothing else? The only way to discourage such a fellow would be if the girl he was in love with was married to somebody else. In fact, an idea not much different from that was how Peter had chased away Edmund’s Belle just a few months previous. Edmund rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. It had worked once; might it work again? The suggestion certainly held promise. And thus a plan began formulating in the ingenious and unpredictable mind of the Just King of Narnia.

* * * * *

“Oh, no, Peter,” Susan said in a low voice, touching the arm of her brother.

“Hmm?”

“Look.” She gestured to the window. Peter looked.

“Oh, poor Lucy can’t even get rid of her first Stu before here comes another one,” he moaned. “Edmund told us not to worry about it and he’d take care of everything, but I think he’s probably in over his head this time.”

It certainly looked that way. Lucy, who was in the garden trying to ignore the entreaties and promises of Romeo, looked around when she heard a horse and rider gallop into the courtyard on the other side of the garden wall. She could tell from the jingling of the bridle and stirrups that the horse had stopped short, champing the bit and snorting. Lucy wished with all her might that it would be only be a messenger or something. But look! the door to the garden was opening…a figure was coming in…Lucy wished the light had been better; the sun, close to setting and coming across from her right, was getting in her eyes and giving her an unclear view of the rider. As he approached them, her heart sank. He was too short to be anyone but another Gary-Stu. She felt like crying. The new boy had a feathered cap which he removed as he drew near her, revealing blonde, wavy hair. He gave her a sweeping bow, cast a superior yet inquisitive glance at Romeo, then knelt before Lucy and kissed her hand quickly.

“My lady,” he said politely, then, taking her arm, attempted to lead her down a different path of the garden. Lucy tried to free her arm from his, but his grip, though gentle, was steady and she was unable to pull loose.

“Excuse me,” said Romeo hotly, grasping the shoulder of the newcomer (he had to stand on his toes to do this effectively). “Who exactly dost thou think thou art?”

“Why,” replied the fellow with an easy laugh, “I am the lover of the Queen of Narnia, and I have been courting her this last twelvemonth.”

Romeo looked, bewildered from the stranger to Lucy, then back to the stranger again. Lucy opened her mouth to protest.

“And we are recently engaged,” the stranger added proudly before she had a chance to speak. Romeo bristled like an angry young cock. Lucy’s face turned red, white, and blue at the same time, which would have been very patriotic if they had been in America, but since they were in Narnia, it only evidenced her anger.

“We are not!” she gasped. “I don’t even know who you are!”

“Of course you do!” the newcomer replied, releasing her arm only to take her hands in his and look earnestly into her eyes. “You know me!”

“I most assuredly do not!”

“My love, don’t play games! Of course you do!” And with this he gave her a smacking kiss on her cheek. Lucy had only a moment before he drew away to hear the quickly whispered “Lu, don’t be a fool!” in a rather different voice from the one he had been using so far.

“E—” she began, but stopped at a glance from those now-familiar brown eyes. “Oh, but of course I know you!” she cried. “What a fool I am!” A sudden idea came into her head and she threw her arms around Edmund. Edmund hated being hugged.

“And who is this?” he asked, turning to Romeo.

“Oh, just a guest,” she replied carelessly.

“Who doth be leaving this very night,” Romeo added hotly.

“Oh, but it is soon getting dark,” Edmund protested. “Don’t you wish to stay ’til the morning so you might have more daylight in which to travel?”

“Actually, methinks it better to take my leave this eve,” Romeo replied stiffly. “Farewell.” He gave a reserved and disgruntled bow, then strode angrily out of the garden.

As soon as the gate closed behind the retreating figure, Lucy burst into laughter. “I’m going to kill you for this!” she giggled.

Edmund chuckled ruefully as he ran his fingers through his blonde hair. “Yeah, unless I kill myself first for dyeing my hair. I hope this goes away soon.”

“No, but really, thank you,” Lucy said. “I really did need help, and I’m sorry for saying I didn’t.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, my lady,” he said, with an exaggerated bow. Then, taking her arm, they walked together towards the castle in the light of the setting sun.

That is perfectly funny!

I like how you made up Pittencream's grandiose tale and having Rynelf catch him.
And I knew it was Ed before he even walked through the garden door. 🙂

My sister told me I should have dragged out the garden scene more, but I didn't want the story to run away with me for pages and pages and pages, which is what it would have done if I had given it its head. 😛
This fanfiction is my most serious one (and also the only finished one that I haven't already posted). It has the least action in it of all my fanfictions, since it was sort of a practice exercise at getting inside people's heads. It's called "Who Am I" inspired by the song by Casting Crowns. (I listened to that song on loop for at least 2 hours while I was writing it!)

I never really adjusted to the sudden change between being just any ordinary boy who’d happened to get into a magical land, and being a king of said land, and I still haven’t, even though I’m no longer there. I remember that each day I was just as awed to be putting on my crown as I had been the first morning after our coronation. I also remember how daunting the task of being a king appeared to be; what’s more, being called “The Just”. There was one day in particular that I remember well. It happened four years after we came to Narnia.

I was the only Pevensie at the Cair that day, and it was the first time that had happened since we’d gotten into Narnia. Up until this point, one of the others had always been there to take the responsibility for everything, and I had been perfectly willing to let them have it, so that by this time, even 12-year-old Lucy was more experienced than I was at this whole ruling-a-kingdom-with-thousands-of-people-depending-on-you thing. But now, Lucy had left for the Western Woods to settle a property line dispute between a hedgehog and two rabbits, and Peter and Susan were in the Seven Isles. So for the time, for a week maybe, depending on how long it took Lucy to get back, the sole protector of peace and tranquility in Narnia that was readily available was a scared fourteen-year-old who had no idea what he was doing or was going to do: King Edmund the Just, who wasn’t at the moment feeling very “king” or feeling very “just”.

If only Aslan would show up! He had come to Cair Paravel before, but then he normally spoke to Peter to give him advice about something-or-other that was going on in Narnia at the time, and had serious talks to Susan about things that sounded grown-up and important, and talked to Lucy for a long time and Lucy would throw her arms as far around his neck as they could reach. In the past I’d always felt a little left out whenever Aslan came, because to me, there seemed nothing we could talk about, and besides, I was a little shy of him. The only real talk we had ever had was shortly after we first got to Narnia. When he came to the Cair I often stood on the east balcony and looked out over the sea. But sometimes I would turn around and see him looking at me with his great, shining golden eyes. Somehow, whenever he did that, I always had to quickly look back away to hide the tears that wouldn’t be stopped. I felt that there must be another side to Aslan that I wasn’t seeing, not the royal King that advised Peter, or the kind Father that spoke to Susan, or even the warm-hearted Friend that Lucy adored, but a quiet, powerful Being who could understand me though no one else did. Someone else who would be like me. For some reason, I felt alone in Narnia. Even after four years of being there, I’d made very few close friends who I could really talk to. No one else was much like I was, except maybe the centaurs, but they’d always seemed a bit distant. Distant, and silent. Like me. And unlike Lucy, Peter, and Susan. Lucy especially had such an open, free, energetic personality and such sparkling blue eyes that everyone loved her. And Peter was so strong and untamed and brave, the Narnians had no problem with putting all their trust in the tall, blue-eyed, seventeen-year-old warrior. And Susan was graceful and had a beautiful face with delicate features and blue eyes, and the Narnians adored her, and some called her the pride of Narnia. I wondered just how many of the Narnians forgot that there was another king: a shy, awkward king with troubled, serious, dark-brown eyes, who hadn’t the least idea about how to do any of what the others were so capable of. And now, as I watched Lucy’s horse trotting down the western road, I wondered how the Narnians felt about having that inexperienced king being their only leader for a while. Afraid, probably, like I was, and for about the same reason that I was. I wished now that I’d had a little more practice being responsible, because the most frightening thing in the world for me is suddenly being called to do something I don’t know how to do…such as being completely in charge of Narnia. I realized that I would need Someone greater to help me if I wanted to make it until the others came back.

With slow steps I entered the Great Hall. It was early enough in the morning that no one else had come in yet. Four thrones sat at the far end, and all four of them were empty. It looked very lonely. I walked up to mine and sat down. I looked to my left. Nearest to me was Peter’s throne. It was empty. Beside Peter’s was Susan’s. Hers was also empty. On the far end was Lucy’s. Empty. Three empty thrones in an almost-empty room that had nothing in it but a boy with an empty, aching heart. I’d never felt so alone in my life. Alone, and unsure, and incompetent. Who was I to be ruling Narnia?
It hit me suddenly that the Narnians didn’t know that I wasn’t ready. They had no idea that I’d rarely done or said anything of importance since I’d become a king; that I’d had nothing to do with how Narnia had run for the past four years. That was the one drawback of being inconspicuous; no one notices when you do anything, and no one notices when you don’t. And because of that, they all probably thought I would do just as good a job as Peter; they probably expected me to.

I reached up and took my crown off. As I held it and looked at it, it seemed to me that it represented everything I wasn’t. Noble…responsible…majestic…just. My finger traced the design in the silver. Up, down, around the little loopy-thingy, down again, up to one of the pointys, down. Why was it mine? I’d done nothing to earn it. And I certainly didn’t expect to any time soon, not alone, anyway. I was unquestionably going to need help if I was hoping to do anything right. Oh, how I wished Aslan would come! He’d made Peter become confident when we’d first come; maybe he could help me.

I stood up and walked out onto the eastern balcony. Aslan had always left to the east. Looking down at the beach far below, I saw a trail of glittering prints on the sand near the water. As I watched, the water in them evaporated, but they seemed still to shine.

“Edmund.”

I spun around. There, standing behind me, larger than when he had come in the past, stood Aslan. His mane ruffled a bit in the breeze that was coming off the sea. His paws were wet and had a sprinkling of sand caught in the fur. But I hardly noticed any of this, for his eyes were so golden and bright that I couldn’t take my own off them.

“Aslan,” I gasped, taking a hesitant step toward him. A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. I ran to him and flung my arms up around his neck. It was so large that my fingers couldn’t touch in the back. I didn’t care that tears were running down my cheeks. All I cared about was that Aslan was here. His golden mane brushed against my face. I could feel a small gap in the thick, long fur just behind his left shoulder and I held him tighter. He lifted one paw and wrapped it around me gently and whispered in his deep voice, “My son.”

How long we stood there I don’t know, but I know that I finally managed to choke out, “Aslan, why me? Who am I to be here? What did I do that you chose me? Why did you make me a king?”

He paused before replying quietly, “Because I know more than you do.”

“But I don’t think I’m ready.”

“But I think you are.” I didn’t reply; I couldn’t. “Edmund, I chose you on purpose. I was leading you when you followed Lucy into the wardrobe. I watched you when you were in the Witch’s castle, and ensured that your brother and sisters forgave you when you were rescued from her. And I saw you today as you sat in the Great Hall and doubted yourself.”

Another tear slipped down my cheek and I bit my lip, clenching my fists and tightening my hold on Aslan.

“You ask who you are,” continued Aslan softly. “But that is the wrong question. Who you are is beside the point. It is not who you are, but what I have done for you. You ask what you have done. It is not what you have done, but who I am. Who are you? It makes no difference when you are mine.”

* * * * *

Lucy skipped through the castle. She’d left something behind that she was going to need, and had come back to get it. As she passed the arched doorway to the east balcony, a flash of golden fur caught her eye. She scampered eagerly to the doorway, but stopped suddenly.

Edmund, with his face buried Aslan’s mane and his arms wrapped around Aslan’s neck, was crying softly. The damp black locks of his hair were mixed with Aslan’s shining gold ones. Aslan glanced back at Lucy and his eyes smiled at her. Lucy smiled back understandingly and tiptoed away. She was so happy that she hardly could contain herself. It had always seemed to her that, even after becoming a king, Edmund had been a little bit distant from the Lion. But at last, Edmund had found Aslan.

That was wonderful, Hobbit!

This is my first Narnia poem that's worth anything...it's called "Brandy".

It wasn’t my fault, it really was not.
I was only a victim of fate.
But now I am stranded and fuddled and caught,
Boxed up in a twining-branch crate.

And I can’t get out.
Oh…brandy.

It was my godmother! She’s fully to blame!
I’d have never got in but for her.
She’s ruined the Ketterlys (a very old name)
And now I’ll be labeled for sure.

A very old Dorsetshire family…
Oh…brandy.

I’m stuck in this world filled with bloodthirsty beasts,
And the others have left me alone.
I’ve run faster than I have for decades at least,
As my personal records have shown.

My good suit…
Oh…brandy.

I was never meant for this sort of work.
This was the guinea pigs’ job to do.
But now I am stuck with a queen that’s a jerk
In a world with a wild lion, too.

No one cares about me…
Oh…brandy.

That nephew of mine (what a wicked boy, he!)
Took off with my way to get back.
If I had a gun and a hunter with me,
Then glibly my knuckles I’d crack.

But…I don’t.
Oh…brandy.
Brandy.

*facepalm* Oh, Uncle Andrew.

It was originally going to be a "Who Am I?" riddle but it turned our being funnier with the "Oh...brandy"s in there and wow, that would have been a hard riddle, wouldn't it? And besides, this way also allowed me to put in more direct quotes. Three cheers for direct quotes!
I have had a lot of sugar in the past half hour. Can you tell? 😛

I was supposed to write the sequel to Wedding Belles, but I was so lazy... I guess I'll have to write the prequel instead... *evil laugh*

Hobbit, first off, I have to say... I teared up a little (didn't cry! just teared up 😆 ) in the Who Am I one when Edmund ran to Aslan. I don't know if the song I was listening to in the background had anything to do with it (33Miles' "I Loved You Then" ("I loved you then, I love you now, I will love you tomorrow. When this world breaks you down, I will give you strength to stand. Look to Me. Take My hand and just believe. Before this day ever began, I loved you then.")), but either way, that's a very rare thing for me.

As for Brandy... 😆

@Ariel Haha 😆 ! The song probably had something to do with it!

Hobbit, You are a skilled writer and I just sat here for about twenty to thirty minutes reading all your stories. I love them all and I especially love the one with Aslan and Edmund. It has encouraged me a great deal and I actually got teary eyed! 😮 So that is another skill. You can almost make me cry with your stories! Very well done! I will probably reread them which I don't do normally do with short stories! I love all the Mary-sue, Gary-stu stories. They show great sibling relationship! And I will say it again You are very skilled! 😀

Thank you so much for all the encouragement, guys! I'm glad you like my stories. 🙂