Disclaimer: I do not own any of CS Lewis' books or characters or actors that play the characters.


Chapter 3:

It was the same meadow again, on the same lovely summer day. Everything was beautiful and bright, almost too bright. As Caspian turned his head to look around, he was nearly blinded by the glint of green and gold, sun and leaves. The grass was warm and the air was fresh and cool.

Peter was there again, bathed in sunlight. He was smiling again, tugging at Caspian's arm, as if to draw him off somewhere. Caspian smiled back and let himself be pulled, running with Peter over the grassy earth, feeling the breeze in his hair.

With a shiver of laughter, Peter tumbled down a green hill, grabbing Caspian so they both fell and rolled to the bottom. Everything smelled of grass and Peter's skin, and they ended up in an intimate tangle of limbs. He felt like he could rest there forever, cradled by his beloved's arms.

Then, Peter pulled away with a gasp and Caspian knew what was going to happen. The dread settled in his stomach like a rock.

"I'm bleeding," Peter whispered, and once again, he bled. He bled and bled and Caspian couldn't stop it. No matter how much he tried to staunch the flow, or scream for help, or even close his eyes, the blood gushed from Peter's eyes, nose, mouth, and the lines of his scar. It stained the grass at Caspian's feet and he was nearly sick with the stench of it.

He awoke in a cold sweat, his throat convulsing as he tried to cry out in his dream. The morning sunlight blazed across the white bedspread, blinding him for a second. He gasped, grabbing handfuls of the sheets and looking wildly around until he felt the weight of his slumbering husband against his side and knew that Peter was safe.

Relief flooded through him as he saw Peter's face, scarred but rosy with life, nestled against the plump pillow. An arm was thrown around Caspian's waist and the Telmarine king, clutched at it, as if it were a lifeline.

The movement woke Peter, who murmured happily and shifted so he could snuggle up against Caspian's chest.

"Good morning," said Peter, not yet opening his eyes. "D'you sleep well?" When Caspian failed to answer, Peter seemed to notice his distress.

"Are you alright?" he asked, propping himself up on an elbow and peering down into Caspian's pale face.

"N-nightmare," was all the king could manage.

"About what?"

Caspian looked up into blue eyes, wide with concern. "You," Caspian whispered, and closed his eyes tightly. He was afraid if he looked at Peter's face for too long, it would become streaked with blood.

Gently, Peter stroked his face, bringing some warmth back into his cheeks. "Do you want to talk about it?" he whispered.

How calm he looks! Caspian thought. If he had only seen what I'd seen. The Telmarine king shuddered like a child. "No. Never." It was too terrible to think about, much less speak out loud.

At once, Peter took Caspian into his arms and pressed kisses to his husband's forehead and cheeks. "It's alright now," he soothed. "It was just a dream. I'm alright, see?"

Gradually, as Peter rubbed circles on his back and murmured comfortingly to him, Caspian's breathing slowed and he lost the tight, panicked feeling he had upon waking. He burrowed his face into the crook of Peter's elbow and breathed in his husband's living scent. His eyes fluttered closed and he relaxed, heaving a sigh of relief as the horrible images faded away. It was alright: Peter was there. Caspian could smell his skin, his hair, touch him, feel him.

"I wasn't a giant turnip or anything like that, was I?" Peter asked, just as Caspian was about to doze off again. He burst into laughter at the odd statement.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just a childhood fear," Peter said sheepishly. Caspian laughed again, feeling so much better by just hearing the sound of his own mirth.

He held Peter and kissed him deeply, rolling over so that they were facing each other, side-by-side. Peter responded by moaning softly and tangling his hands in Caspian's hair. They were pressed close to each other, and Caspian could feel his husband's quickening heartbeat, the shifting and turning that meant Peter was feeling passionate that morning.

"Anything I can do to make you feel better?" Peter asked huskily, running a hand down Caspian's chest.

Peter had always hated wearing underpants to bed, and Caspian felt evidence of that as Peter's nakedness pressed up against his thigh. "Mmm, I think so, yes," he murmured, now keenly aware that it had been weeks since they'd last slept together, and his heart was racing from his desire.

Another deep kiss heated his blood and Caspian took great delight in toying with Peter's tongue.

"Ohh, I love your lips," Peter moaned breathlessly when they parted, then drew Caspian down so they could kiss again and again.

Caspian pushed up the hem of Peter's night shirt, bunching it up around the waist so that Peter could sit up and straddle him. Quickly, the blond unlaced Caspian's sleeping trousers and pulled them down to expose his husband's growing erection. He threw his head back and moaned as he took it between his smooth, pale thighs and started moving his hips in slow circles, hands holding up his nightshirt out of the way. Caspian was gasping at the sensation of it, reaching up to touch Peter's thighs, the exposed skin of his belly.

There was a knock on the door. "Your Majesties!" called a cheery voice from the other side.

"Oh!" exclaimed Peter, cheeks burning. Quickly, he rolled off and pulled his shirt down to mid-thigh, but Caspian groaned in frustration and reached for him again.

"Just ignore them," he urged, and kissed Peter breathless, hand roaming to his husband's naked backside.

"Your Majesties!" the person at the door chirped again. More knocking.

"Mmm, no," protested Peter, and he pushed Caspian away, jumping out of bed to slip on a robe. "Come in!" he called, and a servant threw open the doors to their bedchamber.

Caspian groaned again and buried his face into a pillow. He was hot and ready, and he wanted Peter, but the servants were already filing in, carrying warm towels, trays of breakfast, and heading to the bathroom to draw warm water.

"Sorry," Peter said, patting his arm. "I told them to wake me early. Lucy and Edmund are supposed to be arriving today, you know."

Caspian replied with an inaudible grumble.

Peter smiled and bent down to give his husband a kiss. "We can always do it later," he said cheerily. "Come on, the coffee's hot!"

He headed to the bathroom to wash first, but then turned back and said, almost timidly, "Are you still angry with me? From yesterday?"

Caspian lifted his face from the pillow and smiled at Peter. "Not if you promise to make it up to me later." Peter blushed at that.

All through breakfast, Caspian shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wanting nothing better than to drive all the servants out of the room so he and Peter could finish what they started. But, Peter was chattering happily to the jam-bearing page boys and Caspian had to be content with holding hands and stealing some caresses under the tablecloth.

Later in the day, when Peter was accepting petitions in his presence chamber, he received a love letter from Caspian. A gentleman-in-waiting approached his throne and gave him a piece of parchment, held closed with a gold pin. Without thinking, he opened it and read it.

The first scandalous lines made his face burn red, and he crumpled the paper in his fist. When the next petitioner came to complain against a greedy merchant, the king spoke in tongue-tied stammers.

Caspian was waiting when he came out, an hour later. They fell into each other's arms and kissed, then walked arm-in-arm, stumbling away from the crowd, down the hall into a windowed alcove. In the glass-filtered sunlight, Caspian embraced Peter and kissed his lips deeply, as if he would devour the Narnian king. Hungrily, he mouthed Peter's jaw, ear, and neck, holding him tightly so that Peter arched backwards, bending and gasping at each touch. The dust motes swirled around them, turning golden in the sun then disappearing into the shadows.

A few passionate minutes later, Peter laughed and pushed Caspian away. "That's enough," he said. "We should go!" He started to tie up the laces of his shirt.

"One more," Caspian protested, and once again kissed Peter, who gave in with a soft moan.

"We really should go," Peter panted, after yet another few minutes. "Everyone's probably already there." He finished lacing up his shirt and ran fingers through his tousled hair. Gathering his velvets from where they fell, he smoothed out the wrinkles and slipped them back on, looking around for a clasp that had fallen.

"How do I look?" he asked, once he'd put his clothes somewhat in order.

Caspian chuckled and drew him close again. "Like you've just been in bed with me." Peter swatted him on the arm with a noise of protest. "I can't wait until we can be alone again," Caspian whispered.

When they finally arrived at the front gates of Cair Paravel, everyone had already assembled, ready to greet the Princess Lucy and the returning Prince Edmund. It was quite a grand event, as the Narnian prince had not been home in almost a year.

Shortly after he had reached his teenage years, the sumptuous walls of Cair Paravel became too confining for Edmund, and he left to travel. He had abandoned classrooms and tutors, and learned his philosophy and astronomy from the centaurs, living with them and spending entire nights under the starlit skies. He made his home in many different places: with the forest-dwelling creatures, the cave-dwelling dwarves, the Telmarine magistrates who were all to happy to welcome him, the Narnian farmers and peasants, and anywhere his journeys led him. He honed his swordsmanship on the decks of merchant ships while learning to sail at the same time. He fought pirates and mended nets, then kissed the sand with the rest of the sailors when they reached land after months at sea.

But no matter where or how far he traveled, his letters to Susan were frequent and long. He always addressed her as "My Dearest Susan" and signed them, "Your Loving Brother." Sometimes, he would add, "And give my love to the others." Through these correspondences, she learned that he had attended the perfumed court of the Calormene Tisroc one day, then dwelt as a commoner among the merchants, fishermen, and slaves the next, tasting of the barbarity, blood, and sharp scents of Tashbaan. She read that he had traversed the fog and mountains of Archenland and dove in the Winding Arrow River, just to see how far he could swim, and that King Lune received Edmund dripping wet with only the clothes on his back.

He only came back a few times over the years, and now the court was in a frenzy of tittering anticipation, as Prince Edmund was about to make one of his rare visits home.

The queen was standing next to Rynelf, an eager look on her face as she stared off into the distance, hoping to see riders approaching. Rilian stood off to the side with his nurse, but gave her the slip and quickly ran to Peter as the kings arrived.

They waited. The whole court waited, the finely dressed ladies huddling in their furs. An hour passed. An outdoors luncheon had been set out on long tables, and the page boys scurried to cover the dishes as the food went cold.

Susan grew impatient. "The letter said they'd arrive by midday," she said, starting to pace. She blew on the tips of her fingers to warm them and Rynelf, who had been faithfully holding on to her gloves, offered them to her. She waved him off dismissively.

"We should send out a search party," Susan said. "Something must've happened." She was just about to give the command when someone exclaimed, "Look! A rider!" and pointed into the distance.

They all peered intently and sure enough, a lone rider was riding towards them.

"Why, it's Lucy!" cried Peter.

She galloped her horse right up to them in a clatter of hooves, and a few of the courtiers flinched back as the animal reared. She jumped lightly down from her horse, looking handsome, yet out of place, in her trousers while all the other women there garmented in gowns and skirts.

"Peter!" she cried, beaming, and ran to embrace her brother.

"Oh, I missed you!" he said, laughing, and swung her around before setting her down again. "But where are the others? Did you come alone? I thought you rode out to meet with Edmund."

"I did meet them, but as we were riding back here, Edmund's horse threw a shoe. He's in a town nearby, but he insisted I return to the Cair first."

Out of corner of his eye, Peter saw Susan bite her lip in disappointment. But she smiled when Lucy went to her next and kissed both her cheeks.

And as soon as his intimidating aunt Susan moved away, little Rilian ran up to his cheerier aunt Lucy for his hug and kiss. She laughed for joy and picked him up, letting him tangle his little hands in a few loose strands of her hair.

She set him down afterwards, and as she was straightening up, Peter saw an almost invisible change flicker through her. A straightening of her shoulders, a fortifying breath, and a slight quirk of her lips. She stood and turned towards the assembled courtiers, and in a swift movement, tossed the cap from her head so that a wave of unbound chestnut hair tumbled down her back.

She stood there, poised, smiling, and seductive, and in a minute, the court was surrounding the travel-stained girl, greeting her and adoring her. Some of them were honest and their faces were filled with love, but many of them descended on her like vultures, ready to feast and gorge themselves on her wealth and beauty.

A young, handsome Telmarine courtier bowed to her and kissed her hand. "The sun has returned, and is ever more beautiful than I remembered," he said in his honey-sweet voice. With a flourish, he produced a colorful nosegay and presented it to her as a gift.

"Oh, Rhince," she said breathlessly, lowering her eyes and making her cheeks flush. "It's lovely."

Slowly, smiling coyly all the time, she unfastened her cuff and rolled up her sleeve. She held out her fair-skinned arm as if to take the flowers, but kept it just out of reach so that Rhince had to lean forwards to tie the posy around her wrist, his face coming into intimate proximity to her neck and bosom.

She brought the flowers to her face so that the soft petals brushed her lips. She breathed the scent, closing her eyes and sighing as if she was in ecstasy, and the watching crowd sighed with her, enraptured. She looked up at Rhince through her lashes, eyes shining as if she adored him.

"I took the blooms from my own garden," he said, unable to take his eyes off her. "They were so beautiful and fragrant, I knew only one girl in the whole kingdom who was pretty enough to wear them. Oh, pardon me," he chuckled, ducking his head. "I meant to say that you are so beautiful that I knew only these orchids were pretty enough for you to wear, Princess."

Lucy threw back her head and trilled a happy laugh, so that her brown hair shivered and sparkled in the sunlight. "How absolutely charming!" she cried. She smiled mischievously. "Perhaps I shall petition to my brother to have you put in prison, for daring to be more charming than me!" She laughed again and the whole court laughed with her.

"Oh, Mr. Thomas!" she called, pulling back her arm so that Rhince nearly gasped at the loss of her touch. The musician, handsome and smiling, stepped forward and she offered him her other arm, letting the orchid-laden one dangle at her side. He took her small hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, leading her off while the crowd followed.

"Well, there goes Princess Flirt," sighed Peter. He looked over at Susan, expecting a glare of disapproval, but instead saw a wistful look towards the open road, as if the queen was hoping that Edmund would come riding towards them after all.



While the other guests milled around the luncheon tables, most of them chattering to the newly-returned princess, Caspian mostly just stared at Peter. Prince Rilian was clinging to one of Peter's arms while the blond drank his ale and bit into his toast. The king would sometimes look down at the boy and ruffle Rilian's hair or touch his cheek. There was such a look of tenderness and love on Peter's face whenever he looked at Rilian, and Caspian thought his husband looked even more beautiful than ordinary, despite his own conflicted feelings towards Miraz's son.

There was a dot of jam on the corner of Peter's mouth. Peter wiped it off with his thumb and, instead of wiping it off with one of the silk napkins, swiped at the red spot with his tongue and drew the sweetness into his mouth. Caspian stared at that puckering mouth, those sticky fingers, and the pink lips that were so kissable.

He walked up to Peter to whisper fondly into his ear, "Looks like Dear Lucy has got everyone entertained. I'm sure our absence won't be noticed. Why don't we leave and finish what we started earlier?" He brushed the bare skin of Peter's throat, feeling his husband swallow.

"Oh!" Peter said lowly, blushing deeply with desire.

Minutes later, they had marched indoors, arm-in-arm, and stumbled into the first empty room they came across.

"But there's no bed here!" Peter gasped, looking around while trying to tear open Caspian's outer tunic.

"We don't need one," said Caspian, then plopped down on a cushioned chair and pulled Peter onto his lap. "We used to do this all the time, remember? Anywhere we could." Whatever protests Peter might have had were drowned out in a deep moan as they kissed.

Peter wriggled and tried to position himself comfortably, but it was an awkward tangle of limbs and grasping hands.

"Ack!" he choked out, when Caspian nearly strangled him on his scarf while trying to take it off. Knees and elbows kept getting in the way and with much difficulty, he straddled Caspian, but his clothes all bunched up and made it almost impossible to move.

"Here, just let me…"

"Don't pull!"

With a yank, Caspian tore Peter's shirt and sent the buttons flying all over the room, rolling across the floor.

"Ugh, look what you did…" Peter complained half-heartedly, before Caspian pulled him down into another kiss.

"Mmm, you taste like jam," Peter moaned, and twisted sideways to nibble at Caspian's ear.

"No, that's you, love."

Deftly, Caspian undid Peter's trousers and reached around to cup Peter's rear, which produced another moan. He could feel Peter quivering all over.

"I want you," said Peter, breath hot at Caspian's neck.

Unfortunately for Peter, the door to their hideaway was thrown open at that moment and in came Lucy and her hoard of adorers. Their cheery voices echoed off the paneled walls, then fell silent in shock. Startled and embarrassed, Caspian unthinkingly tried to stand and Peter went tumbling to the floor, smacking into the armrest on his way down.

The group of neatly-dressed people stopped abruptly at the sight of two half-naked kings, and a few scandalized gasps were heard. Lucy herself, who was at the front of the group, gave a little squeak of surprise.

It should have been funny. It would have been funny, if only for the reason that half of them were giggling behind their hands. But those who weren't laughing were the ones who hated one king but loved the other: Telmarines who adored Caspian as a prince of the royal blood but hated the Narnian usurpers, and Old Narnians who felt the exact same way about Peter.

And though no native Narnian could dispute that Peter and Caspian were rightfully married, some of the Telmarineswould whisper that their marriage was not a marriage. The lovely woodland wedding, where they had held hands in the rain and loved with all their hearts, was slandered as a barbaric ritual, disgusting and unlawful.

They whispered then, in the pretty paneled room, and their eyes glinted with disapproval and disgust.

To Lucy's credit, she did recover quickly for someone who had seen her own brother lying on the floor with a split lip and his trousers down, while her brother-in-law clutched a blue scarf over the obvious bulge in his trousers.

Her color came back after just a second and she said rather loudly, "My goodness! Someone go and fetch my brother a chair. Are we so destitute that he has to sit on his husband?" She turned her head to the crowd and trilled her lovely laugh, so that it was a joke because she laughed, and they laughed with her.

Caspian used this distraction to pull his clothes back on and offer Peter a hand up. With a few mumbled excuses from Caspian and plenty of blushing, the two kings left the room with their heads bowed, as if they weren't kings at all but naughty schoolboys.

Peter was silent as they left for their own rooms, away from the spectators and Lucy's laughter.

"Well, that went well," Caspian chuckled weakly, once they were safe in the sanctuary of their own bedroom.

"That was absolutely horrid," Peter mumbled, "and I've split my lip."

"Here," said Caspian, dipping his handkerchief into some cold water and pressing it gently to the cut. "I suppose the mood's ruined, huh?"

Peter just sighed, then snatched the cloth away and went to peer at himself in a mirror, dabbing distractedly at the wound.

"Are you alright?" said Caspian. When Peter's shoulders slumped in that particular way, Caspian knew his husband was upset.

"Did you see the way they looked at me?" said Peter, so quietly that his husband barely heard him.

"My love, I assure you they were all looking at me. I'm very handsome, you know."

"Don't be an ass," said Peter, smashing the cloth into a ball and tossing it away.

"Oh, Peter," said Caspian, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Peter's waist. "The ones who don't like you now never did like you. It's never bothered you before. And besides, I'll wager there are plenty of them who'd like to slit my throat."

"They didn't look at me like they wanted to slit my throat, did they?" Peter said harshly, pulling out of the embrace. "They looked at me as if I've sullied your virtue or something. Like I was a… a…"

Caspian sighed heavily as Peter bit his lip in anger and frustration. Even alone with his husband, Peter couldn't say the ugly thing that so many have accused him of being.

"Well, they have no right to judge!" Peter finished with a yell.

Red spots appeared on his cheeks and Peter looked as if he'd very much like to hit something. He jerked away and walked over to a chest of drawers, pulling one of them open and rummaging through a pile of shirts. Linens hit the carpet as he yanked out shirt after shirt, not really picking anything out in particular.

"And the fact that they've been complete beasts for years doesn't make it hurt any less," he muttered.

"Let's go away," Caspian said suddenly, and Peter stilled his movements, though his back still heaved with angry breaths.

"What?" he asked, almost wearily.

"Let's go away," Caspian repeated. "Like we used to do all the time. Tomorrow, we'll take two horses from the stables and ride out, just the two of us. Just for a day, let's forget that anyone else exists."

The tense line of Peter's shoulders softened a bit, and he smiled slightly. "Where shall we ride?"

"Anywhere you want. Anywhere at all," said Caspian, coming closer and pulling a ripped linen shirt out of Peter's hands. He touched the flushed face and kissed his husband's lips.

"But you've just returned from Avra," Peter murmured, closing his eyes as Caspian brushed gentle thumbs over his temples.

"Well, now I want to travel again, with you," said Caspian. "Tomorrow, we'll steal away and no one can stop us."

Peter chuckled and shook his head, but Caspian could see in his eyes, a desperate sort of relief.

"What if I want to go home? Visit my parents' house?"

"Tomorrow, we'll go. Simple as that."

"Um… well, alright," Peter said hesitantly, as if not quite believing him yet. Then he smiled, a genuine smile, radiating happiness and Caspian smiled too. In truth, he was weary from his month-long journey and the very thought of traveling again made his bones ache in memory. But, the quite joy in Peter's face was worth it.

"It's decided then!" said Caspian cheerfully, and pecked Peter on the cheek. "Now, if I remember correctly, there's to be a play performed in the Great Hall in honor of our returning prince. Knowing Lucy, she'll be having them perform it anyway, and call it in her honor instead. Shall we go?"

Though Peter was happy enough to take Caspian's arm and walk out with him, he remained gloomy through the play, eyes downcast as if trying to avoid anyone who might be staring at him.

At dinner, Peter cheered up a little, because there was gingerbread. But it seemed that he didn't enjoy the music much, and he didn't talk much or dance. When Caspian tentatively asked how he was, he smiled wanly and picked at his meal.

Dismal as Peter was, Cair Paravel was livelier than usual with the return of Princess Lucy. The feast that should have welcomed back Edmund was now for her, the triumphant princess returning home. The garlands of flowers decorating the tables matched her dress and the musicians were playing all her favorite songs. There was dancing after the gold-plated dishes had been cleared away and she stole everyone's attention then, twirling across the hall, arm-in-arm with her ladies or a handsome young courtier.

Prince Rilian was allowed to stay up late that night, dressed up in velvet and boosted up to the table by piles of cushions on a chair. For Peter, this was a delight, but for Caspian, having the child openly displayed like this always caused some measure of trouble.

That night, as always, there was nothing more effective in distinguishing the Narnians' races than the child's presence. While the Old Narnians approached the chubby-cheeked child with wary politeness, the Telmarines flocked around him and gushed over how well he looked and how big he was growing. They looked on the prince with a calculated pride, and their eyes often fell on the throne where Caspian was sitting, as if they would rather see Rilian sitting there.

One of the Telmarines in particular was very loudly complimenting everything the child said, claiming that he was the best-spoken prince in Narnia. The man, who had taken quite a lot of wine, drank toast after toast to "Our Narnian Prince," nearly tripping over his fancy shoes as he swayed and laughed drunkenly.

Peter first noticed something was wrong when he saw Susan, who was sitting near the child, grow redder and redder with anger. She was clutching her napkin in her hand so hard her knuckles were white.

In the middle of the man's drunken praise, she suddenly stood and slapped the table, shouting something at him. Peter didn't hear what she said from across the room, but she sounded furious.

Rynelf, who was sitting next to her, looked nervous, and Rilian looked frightened. In fact, all those who were sitting nearby looked uncomfortable, except for the drunk fellow. At her outburst, he glanced up at the queen in mild surprise, then a look of scorn crossed his face.

What he said next made the people at the table gasp and Susan flush an even deeper crimson. With two swift clicks of her dagger-heeled shoes, she stepped from behind the table and up to the man's face. She drew her hand back, not in a slap, but in a closed fist. Peter gasped as he saw her swing and break his nose.

Before the man finished his fall to the floor, she had stormed from the hall.

After a moment of shocked silence, the place was filled with cries of shock and outrage. The man on the floor, who had been too stunned to cry out before, now screeched with pain and cupped his bloodied face with his hands. His flailing arms knocked the nearby cutlery to the floor and the crashing added to the din.

"Oh, damn," Peter heard Caspian groan from nearby. Then, his husband was striding quickly across the room to the injured man, trying to get through the crowd.

"The Queen goes too far!" shouted a Telmarine man, red-faced and shaking his fist.

"She's a madwoman! There is a madwoman on the throne!" screamed a lady, which drew several angry shouts from the Narnian courtiers and a hiss from one of the talking cats.

"Sir, I am sorry for what happened," said Caspian, trying to help up the man from the floor. "I apologize on the Queen's behalf and I will send you my personal physician-"

"Damn her!" shrieked the man, staggering to his feet and daring to shove the king's hand away. His chin was dripping with blood as well as spilt wine. "She is a monster, attacking me without any provocation! She should be restrained!"

"Sir-"

"Never before have I seen a savage! She's worse than a beast, worse than all beasts! How can such a woman be our Queen? She has the temper of a child and the-"

"Don't you talk about her that way!" Lucy cried shrilly from across the room. "You said something to upset her, I know it! Caspian, tell him."

"Yes, watch your tongue," said Caspian angrily. "You will do well to remember that it's the Queen of Narnia you are slandering. I don't care that she struck you and I don't care that you're drunk; neither will save you if you speak treason."

Some of the people gasped at the word, "treason," a dangerous accusation and not one that Caspian used lightly.

The man looked furious, then frightened, and he glared angrily as if he would dare to shout back. Several tense seconds passed as everyone watched to see what would happen. Then, the courtier seemed to concede. Prying his hands away from his dripping face, he sank into a stiff bow.

"Then with Your Majesty's permission, I shall now retire for the night. And in the morning, I shall withdraw from court."

He wiped his face angrily with his sleeve and turned to face the rest of the hall.

"And anyone else who doesn't wish to be abused as I am now should come with me."

Caspian gritted his teeth to see that there were more than a few that rose from their seats, coming to stand behind the man, a menacing presence. He saw Lucy pale a bit, in anger or fear, and her hands tightened into fists.

"With Your Majesty's permission, of course," said the man, bowing again and spreading his arms out exaggeratedly as a sign of false submission.

"We are more than happy to give our permission," the king ground out. "Right, Peter? Peter?"

He turned to look, but Peter was nowhere to be seen. He had been gone since Susan stormed out.

The Narnian king had been the only to see the tears that came with the fury. She had tried to hide them with her hand while she ran, and Peter had run after her.

Out through the doors he followed her, only to see her skirts flick out of sight around a corner.

"Susan!" he called, and he heard the echo of her groan. "Susan, wait!"

He turned the corner and jogged down the hallway, past the paneled walls and up the stairs to her chambers. At the entryway, just before the guards closed the doors after her, Peter saw her slump against a table. He saw her pull at her hair in anguish. He heard her wail, then the doors were shut and her voice was muffled by the heavy oak.


The dinner was over by the time Peter returned. He had spent a good deal of time trying to talk to Susan, but she had refused to let him enter her rooms.

There was a hush over the Great Hall. The dirty plates, split wine, and broken fish bones lay scattered on the tables and floors like carnage after a battle.

Caspian and Lucy were gone, as well as most of the people. Prince Rilian had long been swept up by his nurse, right after the ugly incident with Susan and the drunk Telmarine. The few people who were still there were either talking in whispers or sprawled across the tables, drowsy with wine. The servants who were starting to clean up looked morose.

Peter noticed Rynelf was still lounging by one of the tables, and it was obvious he had been drinking heavily. There was a nearly-empty wine jug by him as well as several wine-stained goblets. He was alone and seemed quite miserable.

"So how ish she?" Rynelf slurred, when he noticed Peter walking towards him.

"I don't know. She's locked up tight in her rooms and won't speak to me. What set her off like that, anyway? What did that man say to her?"

Rynelf chuckled mirthlessly and pushed around one of the empty goblets so it rolled. "Well, the fool implied that Rilian was Narnia's one true prince and one true heir, which made her angry. And when she told him to kindly shut his mouth, he then implied that there would be no heirs coming from her because she's barren."

"Oh, dear."

"Yes, indeed. And that's when she took the liberty of breaking his face."

Peter sighed and rubbed the tension out of the back of his neck. "Couldn't she have just thrown a pie at him? We have plenty of those, but the poor fellow only had one nose."

He jumped when Rynelf broke out in overly loud laughter.

Peter looked at Rynelf as he tilted the wine jug again so that the crimson liquid sloshed into his goblet. Tipping his head back, Rynelf drank it all down, still shaking from mirth but seeming bitter at the same time.

"Are you alright?" Peter asked tentatively. "The two of you?"

"We're as fine as we always were," came the surly reply.

"Oh. Um, good."

Rynelf snorted. He reached out for his goblet again but ended up knocking it off the table. With a grunt, the man slumped onto the tabletop, arms sprawled out. "No. Not good. Wonderful. We're just wonderful. Intimate as ever, but utterly joyless. She hates me, you know. Because we're so damned joyless."

Peter sighed. "I think you've had enough for tonight."

He pried Rynelf's hands away from the drink and hefted the man up into a standing position.

"Come on, I'll take you upstairs," said Peter, taking one of Rynelf's arms and slinging it across his shoulders.

"Oh, yesh, take me upstairs, pleeeease…"

Rynelf clung to Peter like a vise, and Peter walked him, staggering out of the hall. He felt Rynelf's mouth at his neck and he tossed his head, annoyed.

"Stop that," he said.

They made it halfway up the stairs before a low, angry voice stopped them.

"Let go of him," said Caspian, who had appeared suddenly. His eyes were narrowed and he was coming up the stairs behind them.

Awkwardly, Peter turned to face his husband, still holding onto Rynelf.

"I can't," Peter protested. "He's drunk and just about ready to fall over-"

"I wasn't talking to you," Caspian said, looking hard at the Prince Consort. "Rynelf, let go of King Peter."

Peter blinked confusedly.

After an awkward silence, Rynelf slid his right arm off from around Peter's shoulders and removed his left hand from where it had been grasping the front of Peter's shirt, right over his navel.

The man backed away to lean against the railing, looking dazed.

"Peter," said Caspian, a great deal more gently, "Rynelf can make it upstairs on his own. Come with me?"

He held out his hand and after a moment of hesitation, Peter walked down the stairs and took Caspian's hand.


It was hours later that night, but Caspian wasn't in bed yet. Instead, he was at the table in his dressing gown and reading. Peter, who wasn't in bed either, had decided to let Rilian stay up even later, as a way of making up for the trauma of seeing "Aunt Susan" break someone's nose.

The Narnian King was sitting cross-legged on the carpet with the little prince. Rilian was playing with a kitten that was playing with a ball. Acting rather like a cat himself, Rilian batted the brightly colored toy back and forth. He kept it just out of sight of the kitten so that it kept twisting around and pouncing with cries of "ball!"

The room was filled with giggles, the kitten's squeaks, and the soft crackling of the fire. Sometimes, Caspian would catch Peter looking up and smiling at him and he'd smile back.

It was times like these when he'd feel such a sweet pain. Caspian was enchanted by the touching scene: the pretty child playing to his heart's content while the pretty surrogate father watched over him with such a gentle gaze. He was keeping only half his attention on his book so that he could watch them play. But at the same time, he felt as if there was some invisible barrier between him and them, as if that touching scene was somehow too intimate for him to join in.

It almost hurt, watching them.

Soon, Rilian became bored. The cat's movements grew predictable and he gave up trying to toss the ball around, so Peter took over, which left the little prince stretch and look around the room.

His curious eyes rested on Peter's left cheek, and not for the first time, the child stared in disgusted fascination at the ragged scar on his surrogate father's face. With his little hand, Rilian stroked his own smooth cheek, staring, as if uncomprehending how such an ugly thing could mar Peter's face.

Out of the corner of his eye, Caspian saw Rilian reach up for Peter's damaged cheek. Caspian saw Peter flinch and jerk away, and he flinched too.

"Don't touch that," Peter said softly.

Caspian frowned and slipped off his spectacles, putting down the book altogether.

Peter bounced the ball a little so that the kitten would jump higher to retrieve it, but Rilian was still staring.

"Papa, why do you have the thing?"

From Peter's weary look, Caspian could tell it wasn't the first time Rilian had asked that. Peter shook his head. "It's from a long time ago."

"But what is it?"

Peter was silent for awhile before saying, "It's a brand."

"Oh," the child replied, obviously not knowing what a brand was. "Does it hurt?"

"No," said Peter, but Caspian remembered all too well when that wound was fresh. He could still smell the blood, and he remembered the cold, the fear in those blue eyes, and how they had trembled in each other's arms. He could still hear the sickening grind of the executioner's axe, and he wondered if Peter was hearing it too.

"Will I grow one when I'm bigger?" the little child piped.

"Oh, good heavens, no!" Peter laughed and ruffled Rilian's hair.

But Rilian was staring again, and Peter was now forcing his smiles. When the boy reached up to touch Peter's face again, Caspian slammed his book down on the table.

"Rilian, that's enough!" he snapped.

It came out much louder than he'd meant it too, and the angry echo bounced around the room. Rilian jumped, paling and looking utterly distressed, and the kitten was so startled it jumped and arched, claws fully extended and hissing like a snake.

Immediately, Caspian felt like a complete cad at his outburst, seeing as he had just scared the wits out of the two youngest creatures in the room.

Peter looked at Caspian with reproach, though he said nothing. With one arm, he hugged Rilian, who was stunned into silence. With the other hand, he stroked the kitten soothingly until it un-arched and ran whining to his mother, who was sitting in the corner and watching with her big green eyes.

"Um, I didn't mean to shout," mumbled Caspian. He felt guilty, as if he had somehow broken the sweet, fragile tableau that was there before. It was as if his voice had shattered the spun sugar that was Peter, Rilian, and their make-believe family.

Rilian whimpered and burrowed deeper into Peter's arms, which made Caspian feel like a bigger cad.

He sighed and got up from his chair. "Come on, Rilian," he said gently, holding out his hand. "I think it's time for bed now. I'll take you so we won't have to wake Nurse."

"Yes, go on," Peter encouraged softly, when Rilian first shied away.

"Good night, Pa… King Peter," Rilian said, standing and bowing clumsily. He slipped his small hand into Caspian's.

The king led the prince out into the hall and through the torch-lit hallways to Rilian's own rooms.

"Listen," Caspian said, trying to maintain what he thought was a stern but soft voice, one he had heard Dr. Cornelius use so often. "You mustn't talk to King Peter about the brand anymore. Don't try to touch it, don't even stare at it if you can help it. The truth is, he was hurt very badly a long time ago by Mir-… well, he was hurt, and that's where the brand came from. When something bad happens to you, you want to forget about it, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," said the child, looking down at his slippers.

"Well, it's the same for Peter. He doesn't want to remember and you shouldn't keep reminding him. Do you understand?"

He shook the child's arm and repeated the question in a sterner voice when Rilian didn't respond.

"Yes, sir," replied Rilian, just as they reached his rooms.

There was a rosy fire in the hearth when they arrived, and the thick rugs were warm under their feet. Caspian usually didn't spend any time in the prince's suite unless Peter was there, and he was impressed by how cozy it was. It was fit for a prince, yet lacked the chilly grandness of Miraz's nursery, where Rilian had spent most of his days as a baby. Caspian remembered even less of that place, but he recalled many heavy candlesticks and stern-looking portraits that glared down from the walls.

Here, the tapestries on the walls all pictured Narnian tales, or Narnian animals. The ceiling was a deep blue and painted with stars, depicting the Narnian constellations. Over in the corner was a wonderfully painted rocking horse, and on the red saddle was inscribed: "To Rilian." It was a gift from Edmund.

Once they were in the room, Rilian brightened up and he skipped towards his bed, leading Caspian by the hand. Then, the child looked him expectantly as if waiting for something.

"Oh," said Caspian, realizing that Peter or the Nurse probably made a habit of tucking the prince into bed. The king tucked Rilian in, a bit awkwardly. In the process, he dislodged one of the pillows in the process.

Rilian gasped, as only a child who had been caught does, and jumped to pull the pillow back, but not before Caspian caught sight of a stash of sweets.

He sighed. "Give," he demanded, holding out his hand.

Rilian pouted and leaned heavily on the pillow, as if he would protect his brightly-colored treasure. "But they're mine!" he whined.

"And Peter told me that you shouldn't have any at nighttime, especially not under your pillow. Hand them over. Rilian, I mean it," he said, frowning.

With a sigh of childish misery, the boy pulled out a hoard of candies and dumped them into Caspian's hands.

"Good night, Your Majesty," Rilian huffed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

"Watch your tone."

"Good night, Your Majesty," repeated the boy, in a meeker voice.

"Good night, Rilian." He blew out the candles and left.

"Are those for me?" Peter asked, once he returned their room with a handful of sweets.

"If you like," said Caspian, relinquishing them. "I found them under the kid's pillow."

"I knew he was hiding them somewhere!" Peter laughed, and kissed Caspian with peppermint-sweet lips. Caspian felt warm all of a sudden, as if something special had just happened between them, and it had to do with Rilian. He felt as if he had been let in from the cold, into the warmth that was the sugar-spun family, and it was sweeter than the lingering taste of candy.

Smiling, he watched Peter undress before their bed. By the dim light of the candles, he watched as the linen fell away to reveal Peter's bare back, marked with old scars.

"You know I love you, right?" said Caspian, coming up behind him and kissing a naked shoulder.

"Show me," Peter whispered huskily, and Caspian gently ran his hands down Peter's bare chest.

They made love gently that night, Caspian holding Peter close and covering his body with kisses. He savored every touch, every taste and sound of their passion.

Afterwards, as Caspian was about to fall asleep, he thought he heard Peter whisper, "Dream of me."


Notes: OMG FINALLY updated! I hope there's still people reading this, lol. I'm really, really sorry to have left it this long, but grad school got in the way. (And I must admit, part of the reason I delayed was because I was disheartened by some unkind words, so much that I lost confidence for awhile.) As always, thank you so much for reading and plz feedback and lemme know what you think!!