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bedlamsbardTitle: Once More for the Ages
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bedlamsbard
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia movieverse
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Peter turns toward him suddenly. “I have a favor to ask.” Peter/Caspian.
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia and its characters, setting, situations, etc. belong to C.S. Lewis. Some characters, settings, situations, etc. belong to Walden Media. Title and cut-tag from The New Pornographers' "Go Places."
Author's Notes: Thanks tocupiscent for the beta!
Caspian isn’t looking for Peter, not precisely, but he finds him anyways, leaning against the parapets of the castle’s tallest tower and watching the sun set. He has an almost full wineskin in his left hand, but he’s not drinking. He’s not doing anything except standing there.
Caspian starts to back away, hoping the High King hasn’t noticed his entry, but Peter says quietly, “There’s wine, if you want it,” and holds out the skin, never once looking back.
“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Caspian says.
“You didn’t.” The High King’s voice is oddly heavy; Caspian has never heard him this solemn before. “Come here.”
It’s not an order, or at least it’s not meant to be, but Caspian is more conscious now of his place in the scheme of things. As a crowned king of Narnia, he is subordinate to the High King in all things. Besides, he’s curious.
“What are you looking at?” he asks Peter as he steps up beside him.
“Narnia,” the High King says. “The view isn’t quite as good as from Cair Paravel – on a clear day, you could see from one end of the country to the other – but this will have to do.”
Caspian blinks. “This is from one end of the country to the other,” he says. “Mostly.”
Peter shakes his head. “Not in our day. In our day, Narnia stretched from Harfang in the North to Archenland in the South, from the Great Eastern Ocean and most of its islands to the Western Wild. We had heard of Telmar, you know,” he adds, grinning suddenly. “A little backwater country crowded onto our western border along with Belgarion, Shoushan, Natare, and Lasci, which wasn’t a civilized country so much as it was a country filled entirely with brigands. Telmar tested our borders a few times, mostly after the White Witch fell, but they were easily repelled. I don’t suppose any of those countries are here now.”
“Not in living memory,” Caspian says. “Shoushan I have heard of, and Telmar, of course, but these others…no. And I had the best tutors in Narnia.”
Peter sighs. “Likely collapsed into chaos, then, or conquered by some greater power. I’ve been so caught up in Narnia, I hadn’t thought about anyone else till now. Who is on Narnia’s western border, then?”
“No one. The Western Wild.” At the look Peter gives him, Caspian submits and adds, “I’ll find out.”
“Find someone who likes finding things out and set them to it,” Peter suggests. “You won’t be able to do it yourself; you won’t have time. Ruling a country takes far too much of that, I’m afraid, and I wasn’t even Narnia’s sole ruler.”
“I won’t be either, though,” Caspian points out. “Will I?”
Peter just smiles, a little sadly. “And which throne, exactly, do you suggest I take?” he asks, tone gently chiding. “No one is seated above the High King, and I’ve seen your throne room. It would make the dais a little crowded, wouldn’t it?”
“Aren’t you staying?” Caspian asks. “Are you leaving Narnia this time too?”
The High King flinches as if he’s been slapped. “If we do,” is all he says, “I’d best leave you prepared. This time.” He drinks deeply from the wineskin and then offers it to Caspian, who takes it. “Show me Narnia’s borders.”
Caspian sips from the wineskin, then passes it back to Peter. “My ancestor, King Caspian I, claimed everything from the Western Waste to the Eastern Sea,” Caspian says, “and as far north as the River Shribble and as southerly as the mountains of Archenland, though we would be hard-pressed to hold it all if forced, and moreover no Telmarine would go south of the Great River or farther east than Beruna.”
“Narnian land,” Peter says, “and settled by Narnians. Yours, now, and you had better be able to hold it against threat, since it is likely other lands have a stake in Narnia as well; this is a rich country. You had best look to the North as well; those moors have always been occupied by giants, and giants do not have long memories: I doubt they will remember they owe allegiance to Narnia and bend the knee at Cair Paravel. And the West has always been home to bandits and brigands of all species.”
“And the East?” Caspian asks.
“Galma, Terebinthia, the Seven Isles, and the Lone Islands. If you want them, you’ll probably have to take them, as I doubt they remember they’re Narnian after so long. You said your people aren’t seafarers.”
“The Telmarines hate and fear the sea,” Caspian says, grimacing a little as Peter cuts his eyes at him for the phrasing.
But all the High King says, continuing, is, “You will want to develop sea-power if you can, to guard against pirates, although without any towns on the coast that may not be as much of a problem as it was in my time.” He swallows down some more wine, staring away meditatively, and Caspian shifts from foot to foot awkwardly.
Peter turns toward him suddenly. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything,” Caspian says immediately. “You don’t have to ask.”
“You shouldn’t tell people that, they’ll take advantage of you,” Peter says absently, then shakes his head. “This I do.”
“All right,” Caspian says, curious now.
The High King hesitates briefly – no, that’s not right. Peter hesitates briefly, and then he leans in towards Caspian and says, “You know I sleep with men.”
Caspian almost jumps out of his skin. Peter moves backwards quickly, awkward and gangly like the teenager he appears to be, nowhere near as graceful as he is in battle. “I…used to be better at this,” he admits.
“I don’t remember that from the history books,” Caspian says; it’s the first thing that comes to mind. But the High King’s words wake something that’s been simmering beneath the surface of his skin, the upper level of his mind, for a long time now, and he seems to see Peter in a new light: the way the setting sun lingers in his hair, the line of his neck, the muscle beneath his clothes. It has never struck him before that he could have this; he’s never wanted another man like this. He hadn’t thought that the High King of Narnia would look twice at him; most of the time he doesn’t think that the High King even likes him.
Peter blushes scarlet. If Caspian looks carefully, he can see the High King beneath the soft features of the boy, but he can’t imagine the High King of Narnia, the King of Summer, the king of myth and legend and history ever being this young and this awkward.
Peter moves back farther and says – it’s the boy speaking this time, not the king, and wonders that he can turn it on and off like that – his voice stiff, “I shouldn’t have presumed, Caspian.”
“What presumption?” Caspian says, unable to stop his voice from trembling slightly. The High King of Narnia, if he wants it – and he does. “You are the High King.”
“I’m not asking as the High King,” Peter says. “I – do like you, Caspian. Most of the time. Some of the time.” He shrugs. “Edmund and Susan say I’m bad at lying.”
“That would, perhaps, be one way to put it,” Caspian says. He takes a step forward and watches Peter tilt his face up, his head back, and wonders briefly what the High King Peter of legend looked like, if he was forever young and golden or if he grew up and grew old.
They are almost of a height, the two of them, though Caspian has an inch or so on Peter, a distinction that the High King seems all too aware of just now. “Have you ever done this before?” he asks as Caspian’s hands hover briefly over his shoulders before coming to rest on his hips (the shoulders seem like it would only accentuate Caspian’s few inches; he does not want to give the High King the impression that he is greater at all).
“No,” Caspian admits.
“If it’s any help,” Peter says dryly, “I have. Just…not for a while.”
One year or a thousand? Caspian wonders briefly. He’s heard them speak amongst themselves, but he still has little idea of what has passed in the years since they vanished from Narnia. (Murdered, say Telmarine myths; bespelled or abandoned, say Narnian legends.)
For a moment, looking at Peter, he sees both the man and the boy, warring within the High King’s tanned face for supremacy. He can’t tell, quite, which one wins out, because Peter slides his hands into his hair and kisses him, fast and messy and desperate. Caspian kisses him back, pushing Peter into the stone of the parapet. The High King’s body is smooth and strong against him, startlingly flat; this is nothing at all like kissing a girl.
And then it strikes him that he’s kissing the High King of Narnia and he nearly chokes on Peter’s tongue, which makes Peter pull away and stare at him suspiciously.
“I don’t want this to be because I’m the High King,” Peter says.
His lips are red and swollen; Caspian can’t take his eyes off them. “It’s not,” he says, mouth dry. He licks his lips and tries again. “It’s not…Peter.”
When the High King smiles, his whole face lights up.
-
-
Peter is still asleep when Caspian gets up the next morning. After he’s used the water closet, he dresses slowly, enjoying the feel of sunlight on his face from the open window. When he turns around, it’s to find Peter sitting up in Caspian’s old bed (hastily replaced since Glozelle’s men filled the old one with crossbow bolts; he doesn’t feel right taking Miraz’s quarters, especially since his aunt Prunaprisma is still here, and the High King technically has the unused-for-years king’s suite). The turn lets the sunlight spill past Caspian and onto the bed, striking gold from Peter’s hair and creating an illusion of the crown he hasn’t worn since Caspian met him. The sight makes him catch his breath, because in this instant, what he sees isn’t the legendary warrior or the boy king or the man he took to bed last night, but Peter the Magnificent, the High King of Narnia, the golden emperor who killed a witch and won a dozen wars and forged an empire that has never since been rivaled. This is why the Narnians call Peter the High King the King of Summer.
The moment doesn’t break when Peter gets up and walks to the window, unselfconsciously naked and seemingly unaware. The moment only changes. Caspian doesn’t dare break it by speaking.
“I love Narnia,” Peter whispers, staring out a land that still reveres him a thousand years after he reigned. “I’m so sorry,” he adds after a long minute where he doesn’t move and by extension, neither does Caspian. “I’m so, so sorry,” and he puts the side of his head against the wall, still watching his country, always his country no matter how long Caspian and his people have borrowed it. It takes Caspian a moment to realize there are tears pouring silently down his face.
He turns to Caspian a few moments later, wiping his cheeks dry with the back of his hand. “Thank you,” he says, tilting his chin up to look Caspian in the eyes. “I needed that. I won’t be able to do it back in England, or at least not easily.”
“You’re not leaving Narnia?” Caspian asks, finally able to breathe easy again. It seems inconceivable that the High King would leave his country to Caspian; before the battle at Aslan’s How, Caspian would have sworn that Peter didn’t trust him to take out the trash, let alone Narnia. He’s still not sure Peter trusts him that far.
“I don’t know if I have a choice.” Peter glances around for his clothes and starts to dress, quick and efficient. His attention is not on Caspian.
“But…you’re the High King of Narnia. You can’t leave us.”
“You may want to take that up with the Narnians who remember the Dying Times,” Peter says quietly; he’d spent yesterday closeted with Professor Cornelius in the castle library, reading through everything that remains of what Caspian now knows are called the Dying Times and the Great Autumn, the years between the Golden Age and his own coronation. Afterwards, Caspian had walked in on Peter being violently sick and Edmund holding his shoulders, trying to calm him down. He’d turned to glare at Caspian so fiercely that Caspian had walked out immediately, nearly walking into the door that was already swinging closed behind him.
“You had no choice then,” Caspian says carefully. “Don’t you have one now?”
“Not if Aslan doesn’t give me one,” Peter says, his face cast downward and into shadow. “And Aslan doesn’t give choices.”
“But you’re the High King,” Caspian says again. “What does Aslan have to do with anything?”
Peter jerks his head up and gives him a shocked look; Caspian realizes that he’s blundered into one of those inexplicable Narnian things that the Telmarines have never understood. When Caspian had heard of Aslan at all – a few whispers among those new-come to the castle, the country lords who found themselves defending their lands against the brigands of Old Narnia – it was as a demon of the forests, of the sea, another shadow of the past, like the High King himself, and he still doesn’t understand how he’s wrong.
“Aslan is everything,” Peter says at last.
“I don’t understand,” Caspian says.
“Then I suppose you’ll either learn or die,” Peter says matter-of-factly. “In which case I pray that I’ll be here to see it.”
His face is completely straight; Caspian has no idea which of the two he’s referring to or even if he’s serious. “If you leave,” he says uncertainly, “and if I blow your sister’s horn, will you come back?”
Peter smiles to himself and then meets Caspian’s eyes. His gaze is open and honest. “I will always answer when Narnia calls,” he says, “but things never happen the same way twice.” He turns toward Caspian straight-on and puts his hands on his chest, fingers quick and light on the laces of his shirt. “You’re not done dressing.”
On a whim, Caspian leans forward to kiss him. Peter lets him, but he doesn’t kiss him back. “Fall for my sister instead,” he says. “I’ve been told I’m high-maintenance.” He steps away, back towards the windows, and puts his hands on the sill. “I love this country,” he says again, to himself more than to Caspian. “By all that’s holy, I love this country.” He clenches his fists and looks down at his hands as he opens them again, and Caspian wonders what he’s seeing. Scars that no longer exist? Calluses from holding sword and shield? The hands that birthed a nation?
Peter turns abruptly back towards Caspian. There is no trace of the boy on his face now; there is only the High King of Narnia, and the High King in raw form – he realizes now that the High King has always been tempered with the boy Peter – is something Caspian has never seen before. He wants to step back, but holds his ground through sheer force of will.
“If you destroy my country,” the High King of Narnia says, “Aslan or not, I will come back and kill you.”
Caspian jerks in surprise, but Peter has already gone, slipping out the door into the hall. Shaken, he glances out the window, trying to see whatever it was that Peter saw, but all he can see is the same view he has seen every day for the past twenty years. The High King’s Narnia is invisible to him and the realization sends shivers racing across Caspian’s skin. He cannot see what the High King sees.
He leaves his room after a few minutes, and when he makes it to the dining hall Peter is already there and changed into new clothes, laughing at some private joke with his brother Edmund. He has taken the head of the high table; the seat at his left hand is empty, waiting for Caspian. The hall is filled with Narnians and no Telmarines, and they do not rise for Caspian when he enters. Peter does not look at him, though Caspian can see the shadow of a bruise on his neck.
“Would it surprise you to learn he’s always like this?” Susan says from his left.
“Yes,” Caspian says, pouring his own drink.
“Don’t be surprised,” she continues, smiling around her goblet. “You’re hardly the first to be taken in by him.”
The memory of the High King’s voice, utterly cold and yet not devoid of emotion – instead, full of promise, and he knows now how Peter conquered from the mountains of Archenland to the mountains of the North – sends shivers down his spine. He cannot see that stranger in the laughing boy to his right. “To tell you the truth, my lady,” Caspian says, “I don’t think you know the half of it.”
Susan glances at her brother, who turns his gaze away from Edmund to raise his eyebrows at her before turning back. “I don’t think you do either,” she says.
Author:
bedlamsbardFandom: Chronicles of Narnia movieverse
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Peter turns toward him suddenly. “I have a favor to ask.” Peter/Caspian.
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia and its characters, setting, situations, etc. belong to C.S. Lewis. Some characters, settings, situations, etc. belong to Walden Media. Title and cut-tag from The New Pornographers' "Go Places."
Author's Notes: Thanks to
cupiscent for the beta!Caspian isn’t looking for Peter, not precisely, but he finds him anyways, leaning against the parapets of the castle’s tallest tower and watching the sun set. He has an almost full wineskin in his left hand, but he’s not drinking. He’s not doing anything except standing there.
Caspian starts to back away, hoping the High King hasn’t noticed his entry, but Peter says quietly, “There’s wine, if you want it,” and holds out the skin, never once looking back.
“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Caspian says.
“You didn’t.” The High King’s voice is oddly heavy; Caspian has never heard him this solemn before. “Come here.”
It’s not an order, or at least it’s not meant to be, but Caspian is more conscious now of his place in the scheme of things. As a crowned king of Narnia, he is subordinate to the High King in all things. Besides, he’s curious.
“What are you looking at?” he asks Peter as he steps up beside him.
“Narnia,” the High King says. “The view isn’t quite as good as from Cair Paravel – on a clear day, you could see from one end of the country to the other – but this will have to do.”
Caspian blinks. “This is from one end of the country to the other,” he says. “Mostly.”
Peter shakes his head. “Not in our day. In our day, Narnia stretched from Harfang in the North to Archenland in the South, from the Great Eastern Ocean and most of its islands to the Western Wild. We had heard of Telmar, you know,” he adds, grinning suddenly. “A little backwater country crowded onto our western border along with Belgarion, Shoushan, Natare, and Lasci, which wasn’t a civilized country so much as it was a country filled entirely with brigands. Telmar tested our borders a few times, mostly after the White Witch fell, but they were easily repelled. I don’t suppose any of those countries are here now.”
“Not in living memory,” Caspian says. “Shoushan I have heard of, and Telmar, of course, but these others…no. And I had the best tutors in Narnia.”
Peter sighs. “Likely collapsed into chaos, then, or conquered by some greater power. I’ve been so caught up in Narnia, I hadn’t thought about anyone else till now. Who is on Narnia’s western border, then?”
“No one. The Western Wild.” At the look Peter gives him, Caspian submits and adds, “I’ll find out.”
“Find someone who likes finding things out and set them to it,” Peter suggests. “You won’t be able to do it yourself; you won’t have time. Ruling a country takes far too much of that, I’m afraid, and I wasn’t even Narnia’s sole ruler.”
“I won’t be either, though,” Caspian points out. “Will I?”
Peter just smiles, a little sadly. “And which throne, exactly, do you suggest I take?” he asks, tone gently chiding. “No one is seated above the High King, and I’ve seen your throne room. It would make the dais a little crowded, wouldn’t it?”
“Aren’t you staying?” Caspian asks. “Are you leaving Narnia this time too?”
The High King flinches as if he’s been slapped. “If we do,” is all he says, “I’d best leave you prepared. This time.” He drinks deeply from the wineskin and then offers it to Caspian, who takes it. “Show me Narnia’s borders.”
Caspian sips from the wineskin, then passes it back to Peter. “My ancestor, King Caspian I, claimed everything from the Western Waste to the Eastern Sea,” Caspian says, “and as far north as the River Shribble and as southerly as the mountains of Archenland, though we would be hard-pressed to hold it all if forced, and moreover no Telmarine would go south of the Great River or farther east than Beruna.”
“Narnian land,” Peter says, “and settled by Narnians. Yours, now, and you had better be able to hold it against threat, since it is likely other lands have a stake in Narnia as well; this is a rich country. You had best look to the North as well; those moors have always been occupied by giants, and giants do not have long memories: I doubt they will remember they owe allegiance to Narnia and bend the knee at Cair Paravel. And the West has always been home to bandits and brigands of all species.”
“And the East?” Caspian asks.
“Galma, Terebinthia, the Seven Isles, and the Lone Islands. If you want them, you’ll probably have to take them, as I doubt they remember they’re Narnian after so long. You said your people aren’t seafarers.”
“The Telmarines hate and fear the sea,” Caspian says, grimacing a little as Peter cuts his eyes at him for the phrasing.
But all the High King says, continuing, is, “You will want to develop sea-power if you can, to guard against pirates, although without any towns on the coast that may not be as much of a problem as it was in my time.” He swallows down some more wine, staring away meditatively, and Caspian shifts from foot to foot awkwardly.
Peter turns toward him suddenly. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything,” Caspian says immediately. “You don’t have to ask.”
“You shouldn’t tell people that, they’ll take advantage of you,” Peter says absently, then shakes his head. “This I do.”
“All right,” Caspian says, curious now.
The High King hesitates briefly – no, that’s not right. Peter hesitates briefly, and then he leans in towards Caspian and says, “You know I sleep with men.”
Caspian almost jumps out of his skin. Peter moves backwards quickly, awkward and gangly like the teenager he appears to be, nowhere near as graceful as he is in battle. “I…used to be better at this,” he admits.
“I don’t remember that from the history books,” Caspian says; it’s the first thing that comes to mind. But the High King’s words wake something that’s been simmering beneath the surface of his skin, the upper level of his mind, for a long time now, and he seems to see Peter in a new light: the way the setting sun lingers in his hair, the line of his neck, the muscle beneath his clothes. It has never struck him before that he could have this; he’s never wanted another man like this. He hadn’t thought that the High King of Narnia would look twice at him; most of the time he doesn’t think that the High King even likes him.
Peter blushes scarlet. If Caspian looks carefully, he can see the High King beneath the soft features of the boy, but he can’t imagine the High King of Narnia, the King of Summer, the king of myth and legend and history ever being this young and this awkward.
Peter moves back farther and says – it’s the boy speaking this time, not the king, and wonders that he can turn it on and off like that – his voice stiff, “I shouldn’t have presumed, Caspian.”
“What presumption?” Caspian says, unable to stop his voice from trembling slightly. The High King of Narnia, if he wants it – and he does. “You are the High King.”
“I’m not asking as the High King,” Peter says. “I – do like you, Caspian. Most of the time. Some of the time.” He shrugs. “Edmund and Susan say I’m bad at lying.”
“That would, perhaps, be one way to put it,” Caspian says. He takes a step forward and watches Peter tilt his face up, his head back, and wonders briefly what the High King Peter of legend looked like, if he was forever young and golden or if he grew up and grew old.
They are almost of a height, the two of them, though Caspian has an inch or so on Peter, a distinction that the High King seems all too aware of just now. “Have you ever done this before?” he asks as Caspian’s hands hover briefly over his shoulders before coming to rest on his hips (the shoulders seem like it would only accentuate Caspian’s few inches; he does not want to give the High King the impression that he is greater at all).
“No,” Caspian admits.
“If it’s any help,” Peter says dryly, “I have. Just…not for a while.”
One year or a thousand? Caspian wonders briefly. He’s heard them speak amongst themselves, but he still has little idea of what has passed in the years since they vanished from Narnia. (Murdered, say Telmarine myths; bespelled or abandoned, say Narnian legends.)
For a moment, looking at Peter, he sees both the man and the boy, warring within the High King’s tanned face for supremacy. He can’t tell, quite, which one wins out, because Peter slides his hands into his hair and kisses him, fast and messy and desperate. Caspian kisses him back, pushing Peter into the stone of the parapet. The High King’s body is smooth and strong against him, startlingly flat; this is nothing at all like kissing a girl.
And then it strikes him that he’s kissing the High King of Narnia and he nearly chokes on Peter’s tongue, which makes Peter pull away and stare at him suspiciously.
“I don’t want this to be because I’m the High King,” Peter says.
His lips are red and swollen; Caspian can’t take his eyes off them. “It’s not,” he says, mouth dry. He licks his lips and tries again. “It’s not…Peter.”
When the High King smiles, his whole face lights up.
-
-
Peter is still asleep when Caspian gets up the next morning. After he’s used the water closet, he dresses slowly, enjoying the feel of sunlight on his face from the open window. When he turns around, it’s to find Peter sitting up in Caspian’s old bed (hastily replaced since Glozelle’s men filled the old one with crossbow bolts; he doesn’t feel right taking Miraz’s quarters, especially since his aunt Prunaprisma is still here, and the High King technically has the unused-for-years king’s suite). The turn lets the sunlight spill past Caspian and onto the bed, striking gold from Peter’s hair and creating an illusion of the crown he hasn’t worn since Caspian met him. The sight makes him catch his breath, because in this instant, what he sees isn’t the legendary warrior or the boy king or the man he took to bed last night, but Peter the Magnificent, the High King of Narnia, the golden emperor who killed a witch and won a dozen wars and forged an empire that has never since been rivaled. This is why the Narnians call Peter the High King the King of Summer.
The moment doesn’t break when Peter gets up and walks to the window, unselfconsciously naked and seemingly unaware. The moment only changes. Caspian doesn’t dare break it by speaking.
“I love Narnia,” Peter whispers, staring out a land that still reveres him a thousand years after he reigned. “I’m so sorry,” he adds after a long minute where he doesn’t move and by extension, neither does Caspian. “I’m so, so sorry,” and he puts the side of his head against the wall, still watching his country, always his country no matter how long Caspian and his people have borrowed it. It takes Caspian a moment to realize there are tears pouring silently down his face.
He turns to Caspian a few moments later, wiping his cheeks dry with the back of his hand. “Thank you,” he says, tilting his chin up to look Caspian in the eyes. “I needed that. I won’t be able to do it back in England, or at least not easily.”
“You’re not leaving Narnia?” Caspian asks, finally able to breathe easy again. It seems inconceivable that the High King would leave his country to Caspian; before the battle at Aslan’s How, Caspian would have sworn that Peter didn’t trust him to take out the trash, let alone Narnia. He’s still not sure Peter trusts him that far.
“I don’t know if I have a choice.” Peter glances around for his clothes and starts to dress, quick and efficient. His attention is not on Caspian.
“But…you’re the High King of Narnia. You can’t leave us.”
“You may want to take that up with the Narnians who remember the Dying Times,” Peter says quietly; he’d spent yesterday closeted with Professor Cornelius in the castle library, reading through everything that remains of what Caspian now knows are called the Dying Times and the Great Autumn, the years between the Golden Age and his own coronation. Afterwards, Caspian had walked in on Peter being violently sick and Edmund holding his shoulders, trying to calm him down. He’d turned to glare at Caspian so fiercely that Caspian had walked out immediately, nearly walking into the door that was already swinging closed behind him.
“You had no choice then,” Caspian says carefully. “Don’t you have one now?”
“Not if Aslan doesn’t give me one,” Peter says, his face cast downward and into shadow. “And Aslan doesn’t give choices.”
“But you’re the High King,” Caspian says again. “What does Aslan have to do with anything?”
Peter jerks his head up and gives him a shocked look; Caspian realizes that he’s blundered into one of those inexplicable Narnian things that the Telmarines have never understood. When Caspian had heard of Aslan at all – a few whispers among those new-come to the castle, the country lords who found themselves defending their lands against the brigands of Old Narnia – it was as a demon of the forests, of the sea, another shadow of the past, like the High King himself, and he still doesn’t understand how he’s wrong.
“Aslan is everything,” Peter says at last.
“I don’t understand,” Caspian says.
“Then I suppose you’ll either learn or die,” Peter says matter-of-factly. “In which case I pray that I’ll be here to see it.”
His face is completely straight; Caspian has no idea which of the two he’s referring to or even if he’s serious. “If you leave,” he says uncertainly, “and if I blow your sister’s horn, will you come back?”
Peter smiles to himself and then meets Caspian’s eyes. His gaze is open and honest. “I will always answer when Narnia calls,” he says, “but things never happen the same way twice.” He turns toward Caspian straight-on and puts his hands on his chest, fingers quick and light on the laces of his shirt. “You’re not done dressing.”
On a whim, Caspian leans forward to kiss him. Peter lets him, but he doesn’t kiss him back. “Fall for my sister instead,” he says. “I’ve been told I’m high-maintenance.” He steps away, back towards the windows, and puts his hands on the sill. “I love this country,” he says again, to himself more than to Caspian. “By all that’s holy, I love this country.” He clenches his fists and looks down at his hands as he opens them again, and Caspian wonders what he’s seeing. Scars that no longer exist? Calluses from holding sword and shield? The hands that birthed a nation?
Peter turns abruptly back towards Caspian. There is no trace of the boy on his face now; there is only the High King of Narnia, and the High King in raw form – he realizes now that the High King has always been tempered with the boy Peter – is something Caspian has never seen before. He wants to step back, but holds his ground through sheer force of will.
“If you destroy my country,” the High King of Narnia says, “Aslan or not, I will come back and kill you.”
Caspian jerks in surprise, but Peter has already gone, slipping out the door into the hall. Shaken, he glances out the window, trying to see whatever it was that Peter saw, but all he can see is the same view he has seen every day for the past twenty years. The High King’s Narnia is invisible to him and the realization sends shivers racing across Caspian’s skin. He cannot see what the High King sees.
He leaves his room after a few minutes, and when he makes it to the dining hall Peter is already there and changed into new clothes, laughing at some private joke with his brother Edmund. He has taken the head of the high table; the seat at his left hand is empty, waiting for Caspian. The hall is filled with Narnians and no Telmarines, and they do not rise for Caspian when he enters. Peter does not look at him, though Caspian can see the shadow of a bruise on his neck.
“Would it surprise you to learn he’s always like this?” Susan says from his left.
“Yes,” Caspian says, pouring his own drink.
“Don’t be surprised,” she continues, smiling around her goblet. “You’re hardly the first to be taken in by him.”
The memory of the High King’s voice, utterly cold and yet not devoid of emotion – instead, full of promise, and he knows now how Peter conquered from the mountains of Archenland to the mountains of the North – sends shivers down his spine. He cannot see that stranger in the laughing boy to his right. “To tell you the truth, my lady,” Caspian says, “I don’t think you know the half of it.”
Susan glances at her brother, who turns his gaze away from Edmund to raise his eyebrows at her before turning back. “I don’t think you do either,” she says.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-24 03:31 am (UTC)Ahem. The List of Boundless Love that I promised:
- “Come here.” I repeat: oh baby. The unthinking command in here, even though it isn't an order, is just delish.
- “Find someone who likes finding things out and set them to it,” Peter suggests. Translation: get yourself an Edmund. *G* (But not this one; he's mine.)
- “You shouldn’t tell people that, they’ll take advantage of you,” and let me show you how... *cough*
- Caspian's moment of awakening is lovely, especially up against Peter's blush; oh BOYS.
- And the kiss is just... WHEEEgreat. With the fast and desperate and the pushing and then the choking realisation and just... WIN. (You did a great job through there, it's really wound tight by the time Caspian can't take his eyes off... mmm, yesh.)
- Peter crowned by the morning sun - GUH. On so many levels, from the truly shallow to the utterly profound Peter/Narnia level you absolutely have going on here.
- The depth you brought to Peter's apology to his land, and the consequences of his absence, and... ohMY.
- Aslan not giving choices. OH MY HEART. Perfect.
- And That Line. Every single time, it is... magnificent.
- Still love the ending, for all the reasons I iterated previously. Susan's wisdom. (Love the change in seating arrangements; it's the perfect culmination of the ways you've tweaked the latter half.) And you did marvellously with Caspian.
So very splendid. I rather think I adore this.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-24 07:15 am (UTC)Peter is, well, Peter is the High King of Narnia and will remain such as long as he lives. There is a reason that he's remembered as High King over all Kings of Narnia; there is a reason that "all true Kings of Narnia sit at Cair Paravel on the throne of Peter the High King." (It's midnight here; I'm not coherent; I have to quote Lewis. Which is kind of scary as far as coherency goes, actually.) And Peter has only just remembered who the High King of Narnia is and how to be that man. (Translation: Aslan, bad timing. Caspian, so screwed, and not in a good way.) And that man is -- a fair man, and not a bad one, but also a hard one, and one who's bound himself to Narnia for good or for ill. And one who knows in his heart, though he hasn't heard it yet, that he will have to turn away from all that he loves and holds dear. And Peter doesn't quite trust Caspian just yet, I don't think -- close, but not to the depth he'd like, not if he has to leave Narnia behind.
If there's one thing Peter knows how to do really well besides fight, it's delegate. His advice to Caspian: get yourself an Edmund, get yourself a Susan, get yourself a Lucy. Or you're going to go mad trying to do everything.
Oh, I'm so glad the not-romance worked. That worried me.
There is a possibility I wrote this entire story just to have Peter crowned by sunlight. There is also a possibility I am shallow. Oh, well, possibilities.
Any time a time period is called the Dying Times? It is not good. (If all works out, we should see some of the historical records Peter was reading. And I will ruin my computer by crying all over it.) And knowing about it is killing Peter, and there's nothing he can do.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-24 05:54 am (UTC)I like the way Peter shifts between his selves so much, and I like the way the selves meld together and break apart. “I don’t want this to be because I’m the High King,” Peter says. OH BUT THAT'S JUST THE THING ISN'T IT.
The beaming smile and the arrogance and the superiority complex and the tangible nostalgia and the awkward. No wonder Caspian isn't sure where he stands.
I like the tips of the icebergs of history in your fics. I like how you leave some stories untold. (But they ate them, didn't they??)
Thumbs up! :D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-24 07:22 am (UTC)No Pevencest intended! Susan just knows her brother very well.
I think we see a lot of this in the movie, Peter-who's-Peter-Pevensie and Peter-the-High-King, and he has a lot of trouble (initially) slotting into High King mode; I don't think he completely makes the transition (remembers who the High King is) until the very end of the movie. And then Aslan sends him away, so, uh, whoops. But Peter is very much the High King of Narnia and given his position, how could he be anything but arrogant? He's the High King of Narnia; he faced down giants and emperors, warlords and kings, witches and bandits. He could crush Caspian like a bug, and Caspian is only just aware of this.
I am fascinated by the untold bits of Narnian history, because there's such a weight of it lingering on everything, especially in the movieverse. What happened?
Thank you! I'm glad you liked it!
re:Pevencest, the hopes thereof
Date: 2008-07-20 10:58 pm (UTC)Re: Pevencest, the hopes thereof
Date: 2008-07-20 11:10 pm (UTC)Re: Pevencest, the hopes thereof
Date: 2008-07-20 11:13 pm (UTC)Re: Pevencest, the hopes thereof
Date: 2008-07-21 12:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-24 02:58 pm (UTC)From the hints of history, to Peter taking advantage, to his fierce love of his country and his threat to Caspian, this was all just perfect.
I loved so much it's hard to pick out a favorite, but this bit:
There is no trace of the boy on his face now; there is only the High King of Narnia, and the High King in raw form – he realizes now that the High King has always been tempered with the boy Peter – is something Caspian has never seen before. He wants to step back, but holds his ground through sheer force of will.
really struck me. I love how Peter is shifting in this story, between boy and High King. I loved how you could catch glimpses of that in the movie, thanks for picking it up and taking it further.
You had a great voice for Caspian too, and I really liked the exchange between him and Susan at the end. I just really enjoyed this all over. :D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-25 12:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-24 04:12 pm (UTC)I really need to go back and read your other Narnia fics now. :) This was great.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-25 12:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-24 06:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-25 12:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-29 09:54 am (UTC)Um. I'm sorry I didn't leave comments for your previous stories but I have read them and love them very very much and lka;shgl keyboard smash they are brilliant; thank you for writing them.
(P.S. I saw your post on the LOTR/Narnia crossover, and the short segment you did in the comments, and, just to let you know, if you ever do write it I will MARRY THAT FIC AND HAVE ITS BABIES. I may have exploded from excitement reading that. :/)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-29 09:16 pm (UTC)(LotR/Narnia makes so much sense, doesn't it? *is still rather intrigued by the idea*) Thank you again!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-18 10:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-18 08:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-18 03:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-18 08:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-20 11:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-20 11:15 pm (UTC)And Caspian...Caspian's terrified. But oh yeah is he going to remember this night.
I'm glad you liked it!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-15 02:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-15 04:30 pm (UTC)