Disclaimer: C.S. Lewis is shrine-worthy. He owns all.
Rating: PG
Jill glanced deftly up through the canopy of darkened treetops, towards the glinting stars, quickly calculating her bearings and moving forward. Her heart drummed and thumped nervously in her throat, and excitement and adrenaline pumped through her body as she looked back and beckoned them forward. Tirian's eye caught hers, and the sudden intensity of his gaze startled her. Furrowing her eyebrows and looking away, she realized she was shaking. But this was no time to falter. She had to concentrate.
The king Tirian knew. He could not say how, or why, or when, but nevertheless, he knew.
The king was enchanted.
He wondered at it from that second, as he watched her eyes, luminescent beneath the moonlight, fall so easily, so perfectly, into his own. This mysterious, captivating child had come to him – by fate, by Aslan, surely! – out of the blue, of the sky, like... like an angel of some sort, at the risk of sounding ignorant.
This unusual, lovely girl with just the right manners and humility to attract and intrigue him, with her straightforward honesty and easy smile, had brought the king down to his core of humanity.
He tried reasoning with himself after the initial amazement had worn off.
How could he love a lady from another world? She would leave him, he knew she would, eventually. It said so in all the stories, all those old Narnian tales that he'd heard before from his father and mother. The friends of Narnia always left – it was Aslan's will, was it not?
And surely she could be no different than the many princesses across the Narnian border through the Western Wilds, and from places ever farther than Archenland and the Lone Islands that he had met so oft before – and yet...
He watched her, eyes searching, and for a brief, wild moment he felt at peace.
He chided himself.
There were other things at hand, and now was not the time for him to dream of future things. He followed her lead, cautiously scanning the forest for any sign of a Calormene, trying frantically to ignore his growing feelings, at least for now. It was to no avail, for even in this did she impress him. She led them with a quick confidence and courage that he admired increasingly. She even seemed to speak with the trees, the stars, as she found their way through to the Calormenes. He could not help but whisper to Eustace, hoping the desperate emotion he felt within him did not show in the shaking of his voice. "By the mane, this girl is a wondrous wood-maid. If she had Dryad's blood in her she could scarce do it better." They continued, listening, watching.
And then – in a sudden, horrible moment, he noticed the silence.
The silence hung heavily, despairingly in the cold night air. Narnia was a dead land – where were the usual sounds of joy from his people? He clenched his jaw and fists, anger surging within him towards the Calormenes and that great, greedy liar of an Ape.
Aslan was not here – surely not! Surely this could not be His commands! For was it not His blood that saved all of Narnia from the cruel, evil White Witch that fateful day? Surely it couldn't be Him causing such distress and fear in the Narnian people!
Jill slowed down, and he quickly focused once more to his task at hand, an even stronger determination fuelling his spirit with every step. Silently, he watched her glide down to the ground. He leaned over Eustace's form, stretching to see what was in front of them. All of a sudden he felt a warm tickle of breath at his ear, and Jill's voice. "Get down. See better."
All kingly thoughts of avenging his people and honouring the true Aslan flew out of his head. He hoped against hope that she had not felt the way his heart had leapt in his chest, or the way he had leaned slightly into her warm, lithe body. Sucking in his breath and getting his ragged breathing under control, he snaked downwards, laying next to her.
"Well done," was all he could whisper out without sounding a complete stuttering fool. The Calormene sat uselessly outside the stable, where Jewel had to be. She let out a fast smile, and he quickly went into action.
---
The solemn walk home to the castle was disheartening. Even Jill's light concerned touch on his arm did not make him feel any better. Oh, the Dwarves! How could they turn away like that, from the truth? Save for Poggin – by Aslan's mane, thank the stars for Poggin. All hope would have been quite lost without him.
A lump formed at his throat and he frowned, and sighed.
"Your Highness? Don't frown so. You'll get frown-lines, doing that." Her lighthearted teasing held a worried chord to it, and he almost cracked a smile at the thought of her worrying about him.
"Sweet child, your words alone would melt any frown of mine away."
He glanced down at her, and saw her let out a pleased, friendly smile at his kingly, kind and sincere words.
Through the stillness, Eustace's voice called out, "Finally, we're home at last! Good night, everyone; I'm beat and I'm going to bed."
With tired cheers, lazy waves and yawns all around, they dispersed, Jewel and Puzzle outside, with Poggin, Eustace, Jill and Tirian in the bunks.
It was turning into a restless night.
"Sire... are you not yet asleep?"
Eustace and Poggin had long since fallen into their dreams, as had Jill, or so he had thought. In the quiet calmness, her mellow whisper was a pleasant intrusion into his jumbled thoughts.
"Not yet, Lady. You, however, ought to be."
She stood from her sitting position on her bed behind his, and walked till she was in front of his bunk.
"How is it with you, Sire? Don't be discouraged. We still have lots more that we can do."
He smiled, and sat up, then motioned for her to come and sit beside him.
Carefully she did, as his gaze held hers.
Comfortable, easy silence fell. He watched her in the dim lighting, tracing the curves of her cheeks, her nose, her lips with his eyes. She was beautiful at such a young age, perhaps about 15, or 16 – so young in comparison to his 21 years.
"Sire?"
"You are beautiful, fair maiden."
She looked away from him, awkward, down at the stone floor. He wondered if she had heard the wrecking emotion in his tone, but continued.
"I apologize if I make you uncomfortable, but..."
His own thoughts overwhelmed him so much so he could not complete his words. That fear of almost losing her, the horror of the thoughts that had run through his mind at the stable when he thought he had lost her, and the utmost admiration he had encountered as she defended the name of the true Aslan in front of those poor, misled Dwarves...
She turned towards him now, and worry seized him as he caught sight of a tear in her eye. Impulsively he reached out and lay a hand on her trembling arm. She was cold, and he immediately wanted to cover her with his blanket, perhaps, or light a fire for them both, anything that might help...
He felt her tense, and speak.
"Your Highness... I can't. You're... You are the king of Narnia... and I... I might leave any time, by Aslan's will, you know it is so...!"
He didn't listen, refused to think again of what she had said, refused to let himself feel the dread and helpless horror once again.
Pure instinct and impulse caught hold of him now, and he knew in a blinding flash, with an terrible urgency, that he could not – would not! – let her go.
Kingly duties and self-sacrifice and logic were rudely shoved aside in his mind as he leaned in.
Catching her cold, soft lips in his mouth, he pulled her to him, his hands gently gliding up her shaking arms. It was a soft kiss, one that he wanted her to remember – even if she did have to leave. Especially if she had to leave. The thought sent tremors of fear up him, stronger than ever – but surely not! Surely not by Aslan's will! Not with him feeling this way –
He pulled away, carefully, anxiously, nervously, joyously, fearfully all at once, but left his hands upon hers. He spoke before she did.
"Dear Jill, I should only pray that you would pardon my boldness, to-night. It is all I can do, to put my feelings into my lips against yours, and there is no more I can say beyond that..."
He waited, breathless, and she was quiet for a moment.
"Sire..."
Already having slipped into recklessness, he cut her off quietly.
"Surely, fair lady, you would please me by calling me by my name?"
He saw her smile in the darkness, and look down at their entwined fingers. Her smile made his heart lift in hope, in love.
"Tirian... Tirian... I..."
She looked up now, tongue testing, tasting the feel of his name, and it felt like eternity as they looked, contemplating, into each other's eyes. Her eyes searched him, as if looking for an answer to a question she had not yet asked.
She leaned forward slowly.
She was cautious, and yet... held a degree of fragile, wild abandon. Gently, ever so gently, she placed a kiss just by the side of his lips. Her hands brushed around his arms, and around his waist as his breath caught in his throat.
"Pardon me, Your Highness, tonight, but I think. I think I might love you."
And the echoing words could scarce part from his lips.