Disclaimer: I don't own even a few square centimeters of Narnia, and I certainly am not being paid for this. Any bits of dialog you recognize come from Prince Caspian by C. S. Lewis and are property of his estate - or whoever holds those purse/copyright strings.

AN: I have had the first three chapters of this story languishing on my jump drive for many, many months, certainly long before that bit of cinema calling itself an adaption of the book debuted on the big screen. I was pretty disappointed by the way certain characters were twisted and deformed nearly beyond recognition, and while Adamson's version does provide for much angst, I think there is plenty to mine from between the sentences of Lewis's actual work. Hence the reason this story is strictly bookverse and includes several favorite lines I sorely missed in the film. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: Hope Reborn

"Are you alright, Ed?"

"I, I think so. I've got that brute Nikabrik, but he's still alive."

"Weights and waterbottles! It's me you're sitting on! You're like a young elephant! Get off!"

"I'm sorry, D.L.F. There, is that better?"

"Ow! No! You're putting your boot in my mouth! Go away!"

"Is King Caspian anywhere?"

"I'm here," I answered faintly, "Something bit me."

When the match flared, I saw the newcomer's face. Dirty, pale, and fatigued, a boy looked back at me who might have been a little younger than I. He blundered about for the candle for a few minutes, found it at last, and lit it. The resulting light illuminated the remainder of our allies, and we all stood for a moment, blinking stupidly at one another as if we'd just woken from sleep, not fought for our very lives.

Trumpkin had returned, and with him, next to the dark haired boy, stood another who might have been roughly my own age. They were all clothed in ancient chain mail of the finest make, and weariness marked their sweaty faces.

The older boy drew a deep breath and spoke. "We don't seem to have any enemies left. There's the hag, dead." He averted his gaze quickly, looking rather ill. "And Nikabrik, dead too. And I suppose this thing is a Wer-Wolf. It's so long since I've seen one. Wolf's head and a man's body. That means he was just turning from man into wolf when he was killed."

He sounded curiously as though he were reciting, or remembering aloud something he'd forgotten. Then he turned straight to me, and even in the candlelight, I felt the weight of his gaze. "And you, I suppose, are King Caspian?"

"Yes," I responded, fiercely pushing down the wild anticipation mixed with pure confusion still rising within me – I tried to tell myself I'd had too many illusions dashed already. Honesty was the best course to pursue; get the inevitable over with quickly. What was one more hope crushed? "But I've no idea who you are."

"It's the High King, King Peter," Trumpkin said with just a touch of pride, and suddenly, my bitten, throbbing arm was the furthest thing from my mind.

I could not find my voice.

I had spent my formative years with tales and legends of Narnia's greatest kings and queens being whispered in my ears. I had grown into youth wanting deeply to know them and wishing desperately I could spend even just a few hours with them and the marvelous Talking Animals and Magical Creatures of their kingdom. They'd had such splendid adventures, and oh, how I had longed to take part in them, to escape from the dull grey morass that was, so I thought, the extent of my childish life. With the passion and zeal of a true believer, I had soaked up every story and scrap of legend first Nurse and then Doctor Cornelius possessed.

The possibility that Aslan would see fit to send us help in the form of the Four Sovereigns of the Golden Age had seen me through these last disastrous hours of battle and defeat and discouragement. Indeed, even though the aid we so desperately needed might possibly come in another form, I secretly hoped he would choose his greatest champions; that is, if he could not come himself. Perhaps, one very dark corner of my mind whispered, even if he could come himself...

And so from the instant I winded the Horn, I had waited for this moment with every ounce of patience and discipline I possessed. I had been busily preparing courtly speeches in my mind, noble things I would say to the High King and his brother and sisters when they rode out of the mist on great destriers, clad in shining armor and wearing glorious crowns. Gratefully, I would sink to my knees and offer the Magnificent my sword, and he would ride out and command, win the battle, and save the day.

Now, that moment had arrived, and far, far differently than I had imagined. To my shame, I felt a wave of acute disappointment. Now reality was staring me in the face, I realized I really didn't know what I had expected, but I knew for certain it wasn't this schoolboy before me.

Was this really the High King? High King over Narnia; High King over me? The mighty warrior who had ruled honorably and well, keeping Narnia safe from untold dangers, sacrificing his body for her welfare, his happiness for her bounty, his life for hers? High King Peter?

In spite of my initial disenchantment, a burgeoning awe was beginning to blossom beneath my breastbone and speedily engulf the disbelief. After all, the portion of me unfazed by wishful imaginings whispered, he had been that mere schoolboy when he had killed Maugrim the wolf and won his kingdom at Beruna.

Unbelievable. Aslan had really sent him. He had really come.

The silence finally captured my attention, and I flushed uncomfortably. The other boy – King Edmund the Just, my mind supplied with another jolt of amazement – was watching me perceptively, and I tried to ignore his assessing gaze. Were my thoughts reflected on my face for all to see? I blushed harder and was thankful for the relative gloom in the chamber.

"Your Majesty is very welcome," I said, instinctively falling back on the good manners trained into me since birth and then immediately cursing my inability to say anything fairer.

High King Peter – the High King of Narnia! – smiled. At me. "And so is your Majesty. I haven't come to take your place, you know, but to put you into it."

"Your majesty," interposed Trufflehunter, who had come to stand at the High King's elbow. I could hear the tremor in the badger's voice; he sounded as though he could not wait any longer. Faithful beast, he had never doubted – he deserved no censure for putting himself forward. The boy turned, and then he leaned forward and embraced Trufflehunter, kissing the beast on his head. It was a formal, yet completely sincere gesture of affection, the greeting and blessing of a grateful king to his loyal subject, and chills ran up and down my spine.

It's the High King, King Peter…

My knees nearly went weak as the full import hit me at last. The High King Peter was here! Standing here! Right in front of me!

So he certainly seemed to be.