Disclaimer: I do not own any of CS Lewis' books or characters or actors that play the characters.
Chapter 7
The rays of the sun on his cheek woke the prince. There was a pleasant weight against his chest. He could smell the warm sweetness of Peter's hair, the blond head tucked snugly under his chin.
Slowly, Caspian opened his eyes, smiling when he saw Peter still asleep next to him. The comforter was pulled all the way up to the boy's cheekbones, the rest of Peter buried under the thick quilts and snuggled against Caspian.
Caspian did not move, but watched Peter, so peaceful-looking and childlike in sleep, the pale golden lashes resting on a smooth cheek. He could feel the other's boy's chest, rising and falling with each breath, against his own, the gentle heartbeat thumping away.
It was awhile before Peter's eyelids fluttered and opened. Hazy blue eyes blinked and looked around before resting on Caspian's face. The prince smiled and leaned over to kiss Peter's forehead, and Peter let out a small, sleepy murmur of pleasure.
"Good morning," Caspian whispered, and Peter mumbled something similar while burying his head back into Caspian's chest. Caspian chuckled and gently stroked the back of Peter's neck. He looked out the window and saw a bright, beautiful day. Birds were singing and the sky was blue.
"Did you sleep well?" Caspian asked, and Peter hummed his assent.
After a minute of quiet snuggling, he heard Peter say in a teasing tone, slightly muffled, "This is quite inappropriate, don't you think?"
"Hmm?" Caspian murmured, and Peter sat up to look down at him, smirking a bit.
"This. Inappropriate. The two of us in bed together. Don't you think so? One would think that we were doing something awfully wicked." He laughed lightly, his eyes shining, and Caspian smiled too.
"But we were just sleeping. We aren't doing anything wicked, are we?" he said softly, putting a gentle hand over Peter's cheek, carefully minding the bruises which still lingered there.
Peter turned his head slightly, to nuzzle his lips against Caspian's palm, his eyes slipping closed. "No, we aren't," he said, his smile fading away slightly. "But… do you want to?"
Peter's fingers brushed over Caspian's neck, trailing downwards, stroking over the collarbone. Caspian looked up at him, saw that the blue eyes seemed troubled, uncertain. "I don't think you do, Peter," he replied quietly, pushing Peter's wrist away lightly and sitting up as well. "And until you're ready, we shan't."
Peter lowered his head, sighing, and sucking in the corner of his bottom lip.
"Listen, Peter, about what happened last night…"
"Don't, please. I don't want to talk about it," said Peter in a small voice. With a small exhale, the blond pushed back the covers and crawled over Caspian to lower himself to the floor. Silently, he walked across the room and disappeared into the bathroom. With a sigh of his own, Caspian also got up, putting on his dressing gown.
When Peter reappeared, he had donned his trousers and shoes, and was tucking in the long shirt. "I should be going, " he said, a bit awkwardly. "It's already late."
"Going?" said Caspian, confused. "Going where?"
"Back to the warehouse, of course."
"What do you mean, back to the warehouse? Peter, you're staying here."
Now Peter was looking at him confused. "Well I can't just stay here! They'll be expecting me to show up for work. I can't just leave…"
In three quick strides, Caspian walked over to Peter and took his arms firmly, staring at him intently. "No," he said, and his voice and countenance became quite stern. "I'm not letting you go back to that place. You'll stay here with me."
Peter stared at him, quite surprised by his lover's fervor. "Caspian… what are you talking about? Of course I've got to go back…"
"Don't argue with me, Peter, please. What if they try to hurt you again? I may not be able to command those soldiers to leave you alone, but at least I can keep you out of harm's way."
"I can take care of myself, you know," said Peter, now looking at him in mild annoyance.
"I know you can take care of yourself. But what about last night? If Rynelf hadn't gotten the general in time…"
Peter winced at his words and looked down, and Caspian felt his heart clench. "Stay here with me, my love," he said, stroking Peter's arm soothingly. "I could not protect you last night, but I won't let that happen again."
"Caspian, you don't understand. Do you remember when I couldn't work for a day because I was sick and you brought me to the healing ward? The guards nearly whipped one of the other slaves to death because the work was unfinished at the end of the day. And the other day, one of the children ran away, neglecting his duties, and the guards took it out on two of the others. What if they hurt someone because I'm missing? I can't let that happen."
"I don't care about that!" Caspian snapped impatiently, immediately regretting his words when Peter pulled out of his grasp with a reproachful look.
"Well I do," said Peter stubbornly. "They're people, just like you and me. But you wouldn't understand that, would you? Never mind, I should be going," and he turned to leave.
"Peter, wait, please," said Caspian, taking hold of his arm. The prince pulled him into an almost desperate embrace. "I didn't mean that, you know I didn't. But I'm worried about you."
When Peter made no answer, Caspian sighed and pulled back so he could look into his eyes. "Look, would you at least come back here tonight then? Right after they dismiss you? I'll send Rynelf to get you."
"Alright," said Peter, and Caspian pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Peter looked up into his lover's dark eyes managed a small smile. "Thank you, Caspian. For caring for me." And he leaned his head up for another brief kiss before he turned away and left through the door.
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As soon as Peter arrived back at the warehouse, they put him back to work as if nothing had happened the previous night. He fell back into the routine of loading bricks, somewhat gratefully, since it kept his mind off of the soldiers that stood around watching him. Still, he could not help shuddering every now and then, wondering if the guard at his side was there in the barracks with him last night.
They were allowed a rest at midday, and scanty rations were given out. Peter sought out Jacob and went to sit next to the old man, hoping for comfort as well as some small measure of protection from the ever-watchful guards.
"I heard what happened," the old man whispered, as Peter sat down close to him, snuggling into the protective arms. "Are you alright, my boy?"
Silently, Peter nodded and began to sip at his bowl of grayish porridge. Jacob hummed comfortingly and kissed his hair in sympathy. They did not speak much, and Peter was glad.
"Where were you last night?" asked the old man, and Peter could hear a frown in his voice. The boy didn't answer.
"With the prince?" Jacob guessed, and sighed when Peter didn't respond. "It is unwise my son, so very unwise to become too close with Prince Caspian. Will you not heed my words?"
Peter squared his jaw and pulled away slightly, not looking at Jacob. He set his bowl down with an angry little thump.
"Ah, you are upset. Do you love him very much, Peter?"
"I do," the boy declared. He stared down at his hands. "Is it so selfish of me to want to be happy, sir?" he whispered forlornly.
"No, no. You are anything but selfish, dear. To love the prince is not selfish, but very dangerous, as I have learned. Haven't you wondered, Peter, how I came to be in this place?"
Peter stared up at him, looking into Jacob's old, weary features. The dark eyes of a Telmarine, the wrinkled skin of age and stress. "You told me your name was once Lord Erimon," he said hesitantly, "and that you were one of king's courtiers. But what happened?"
Jacob smiled sadly and put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "The same thing that happened to Lord Belisar and Lord Uvilas, and the two Lords of Beaversdam. Fell from Miraz's grace, all of us, for being loyal to Caspian."
"Prince Caspian?" said Peter, his brow wrinkling in bewilderment. He immediately lowered his voice when Jacob hushed him, looking pointedly at the guards. "But what does Prince Caspian have anything to do with Miraz?"
"No, not the prince," said Jacob. "At least, not just the prince himself. King Caspian, the ninth."
"Caspian's father?" Peter gasped.
Jacob nodded. "There were many of us," the old man whispered with his lips against Peter's ear, "that believed the former king did not die of natural causes, as Miraz claimed when he took his brother's throne."
"But…surely you can't be suggesting that Miraz murdered his own brother?"
"Do you doubt that Miraz is capable of such a thing?" asked Jacob, and Peter could not disagree.
"We campaigned for Prince Caspian, who was only a child at the time. The throne was rightfully his, and Miraz was the usurper. Still, Miraz and his supporters helped him seize the Telmarine throne, and once he was crowned, he slowly started to rid the court of anyone he suspected of being loyal to King Caspian, or supported his son's sovereignty. I suppose I was one of the lucky ones. The rest were killed, "by accident" or executed under false charges."
Peter chuckled mirthlessly. "But what does he have to fear from me? I am no lord or prince. What threat am I to him, if I'm to be with Caspian?"
"Miraz is a paranoid and power-hungry man, Peter. Anyone can be seen as a threat in his eyes. So you see, by associating yourself with the prince, you are associating yourself with Miraz's political enemy. Do you see, my son, why it is unwise to be involved in such things?"
Peter looked troubled. He wrung his hands. "Does Caspian know that his uncle killed his father? I mean, do you have any proof?"
"Proof? No, Miraz is much too clever to leave behind any proof. And I doubt that the prince knows, which should be a blessing, I suppose. It would put him in more danger if he were to know."
"And being with him would put me in danger, is that what you're saying?" said Peter, with a wry smile. "Well I don't care. Let the king do to me what he will. If being with Caspian will make the king my enemy, I'd rather have him as my enemy than as an admirer." The boy stood up and left, as the guards called the slaves back to work, leaving behind a concerned Jacob staring after him.
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"General Glozelle," said Miraz, his tone smoothly royal. "I hear that there has been some unpleasantness in the barracks last night. Would you care to elaborate? Come, walk with me."
"The soldiers' conduct was highly improper, your majesty," replied the General as he followed the king down the corridor. "They assaulted one of the Narnian slaves."
"I see," said the king. "And who was it that told you of this unfortunate behavior? One of the soldiers themselves?"
There was a pause before the general spoke again. "No one, sire. I heard the racket myself, and left my quarters to investigate."
"I also heard from the honor guard that the boy was missing from the bunkhouse last night. Do you know where he was, my general? He has reappeared today, seemingly with no ill-use, so I can only assume someone sheltered him last night." The king's voice turned dangerous. "Who, general, sheltered my prisoner?"
"I-it was me, sire. I took pity on the boy and let him rest in my quarters. There was no one else who would take him in."
There was a chilling chuckle from the king, and it was a while before he spoke again. "General Glozelle, tell me, where do your loyalties lie?"
The general looked warily at the king, and gulped nervously before he spoke. "Sire, my duty to you is unquestionable-"
The king's arm lashed out and struck the general across the face, the heavy rings on his fingers leaving long gouges in his cheek. There was no cry of pain, merely a quiet grunt of surprise.
"The Narnian slave is in my keeping!" Miraz hissed, his countenance turning from coldly pleasant to furious in an instant. "You, general, knew better than to interfere! Whatever I see fit to do, you have no right question or intervene. You are lucky that you are my most trusted general. I have executed people for less!"
"Yes, your majesty," said Glozelle, bowing his head low, not daring to wipe at the blood that was gathering on his lip. "I shall never go against your wishes again, I swear it."
"See that you don't," snapped Miraz, who kept walking.
Caspian, who was huddled into a hidden alcove and had heard their entire exchange, shuddered when he heard their footsteps come closer. The prince slid out of his hiding place quickly and pretended to look as if casually walking, just as the two men turned the corner and stepped in front of him.
"Uncle! General," he said, hoping his voice didn't squeak, as he made a short bow to both of them.
"Ahh, Caspian!" said Miraz, a wide smile gracing his face. Caspian felt his stomach curdle, at how his uncle had sounded positively murderous just a moment ago. "And how is my nephew today? Your lessons going well, I hope?" Miraz put a parental hand on Caspian's shoulder and the prince had to fight not to cringe.
"Yes, sir. I'm on my way to find Dr. Cornelius right now, actually," he said, hoping to be out of Miraz's presence, trying his hardest not to stare at the silent general's injured face.
"Good, good," said the king. "Well, be on your way then, little prince." And he tightened his fingers on Caspian's shoulder just the slightest bit, and an odd smile came over his face. Caspian nodded, trying not to shiver at the inexplicably cold feeling that came over him. Bowing politely, the prince moved away from Miraz's touch and walked the other direction as fast as he could
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The old woman hobbled through the streets, a gnarled, sun-browed hand tightly clutching an equally gnarled walking stick. "Alms for the poor…" Her wheedling voice was thin and high, tremulous and cracking, drawn from a throat that was dry and emaciated.
"Alms….alms…." Unwashed gray hair hung in clumps and tangles, down the crone's back and over her face so that she looked like a creature half-wild. No one stopped for her, not on this dark, desolate street.
People passed, faces dead-looking, eyes downcast. Walking and walking yet heading nowhere. No one to stop for one poor, lonely beggar woman.
"Alms for the poor!" she cried, the needle of her voice piercing the air. She wandered farther off, off the main road, her walking stick before her, a wooden bowl held out in the other hand.
There was a young Telmarine soldier, who was lounging with his back against a sign post. He had a lazy look on his face and his eyes were bored and arrogant. He was dressed in the imperial uniform, looking terribly out of place in the bleak village.
"Alms for the poor…" she croaked, limping close to where he was standing. The man recoiled with a look of utter disgust.
"Narnian hag!" he snapped harshly. "The streets are filthy enough as they are without you traipsing through them. Be gone with you!"
She made a low whining noise and turned her head towards the soldier, looking up at him through her hair. "Good sir, kind sir," she said, dipping her head in a jerky sort of bow. "This is a free road, this is. There's no harm in a poor crone walking here. Perhaps, would you spare some money, kindly?"
She tottered towards him, arm held out. With a revolted look, the Telmarine angrily shoved her and she fell to the ground with a screech.
The woman moaned pitifully, a cut on her forehead where it had struck a rock. As the Telmarine soldier tried to walk past her, she reached out and put a hand on his leg, as if to plead for help.
He yanked out of her grip with an angry cry of loathing and drew back his leg to kick at her. His blow never fell.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a cold steel blade slid across his neck to tickle against his vulnerable throat. The Telmarine froze, his eyes growing wide.
"Strike her, and you are dead," said the person holding the blade. A slim, white hand reached under his chin to unfasten the buckles of his helm, then drew it off, letting it fall to the ground. Slowly, the soldier turned his head and caught a sight of a dark-cloaked figure with blue eyes and pale skin.
"Do you know who I am?" said the person, drawing off the hood with the free hand, revealing a young girl's face.
"No," said the man, his lips twisting into a sneer, "and it is you who should know that I am one of king's imperial soldiers. If you so much as harm one hair on my head-"
She twisted the blade slightly, nicking him, and the man gasped as a trickle of blood ran down his neck. Shapely pink lips curved upwards into a cold smile.
"Well," said Susan. "You shall know me better soon." In one swift movement, she swung the blade around and struck the man on his un-helmed head with the hilt of her knife. He fell to the ground, unconscious.
Two more figures crept from the shadows to drag the limp Telmarine off while Susan went to help the old woman.
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"How many of you are occupying the village?" Susan demanded, staring down at the captured Telmarine, who was sitting on a rock, unarmed and guarded by two of her soldiers. They were in the forest, where the rest of the Narnian army was camped out.
When he refused to answer, she nodded to a nearby minotaur, who stepped forward menacingly with his axe raised.
"Fifty!" the soldier stammered out immediately, cowering back with fear. "There are about fifty Telmarines soldiers stationed at the village!"
"And why," continued Susan, "does the king have so much interest in this place? There aren't any farms or storehouses to raid."
Watching the minotaur warily, the man gulped and answered, "The king wants this place because it is close to a rock quarry. He plans to use the villagers as workers, to mine the rocks and carry it back to the capital. That is all I know!"
Angrily, Susan strode forth and grabbed him by the collar, shaking him. "This is the third Narnian village, so far, that has been invaded and enslaved! Why does the king need so many laborers? What is he building in his castle? Speak!"
"I-I'm telling you, I don't know!" gasped the man, clearly frightened by her fierceness. "I'm just a soldier, stationed here to watch over the villagers! I know nothing of the king's plans!"
Susan peered into the man's face, seeing that he was telling the truth. With a frustrated sigh, she let him go, and he slumped back onto the ground. She turned her back on the Telmarine, thinking furiously. What was the king up to? For a long time, the outer Narnian villages have been left relatively in peace, but the raids were becoming more and more frequent. For what great project does Miraz need so many slaves? And why was he invading all the rock quarries and mines? What is he building?
Suddenly, there was a yell behind her and Susan whipped around to see the Telmarine soldier take a knife from his boot and lunge straight at her, before any of the others could stop him.
She ducked as he swung at her, grabbed his arm spun it around the man, twisting it painfully behind his back, squeezing at the wrist joint until he dropped the knife. He shouted and struggled in her grip and tried to seize her by the hair. Quick as a flash, she drew her own knife from her belt and stabbed, once, twice, three times.
Panting, she dropped the man, and he fell to the ground, dead. There was a shriek to her left and Susan turned to see Lucy staring at her in horror. Susan dropped the red knife in her hand and shouted for the centaur that was supposed to be watching her sister, "Glenstorm! Get her out of here!" Her voice was harsh and unnatural, and she wiped her sweaty face, not realizing when her fingers left bloody streaks across her pale cheek. She shouldn't have had to see that, not Lucy, not her baby sister…
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Caspian had been slightly off-balance the entire day, since he overheard the conversation between his uncle and the general. He had been worried sick, worried for Peter and worried for Rynelf, who would surely be punished if his uncle ever found out that it was Caspian's personal guard who had saved Peter. Thanks to Glozelle, that problem seemed to be averted.
Caspian pushed open the door to his chambers, looking around for Peter. It was late, and Rynelf should already have brought Peter back. Where was he?
"Peter?" Caspian called out. There was no answer at first, and the prince began to panic slightly. Then, there was a quiet murmur coming from the bathing room, and Caspian could see that the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar, and there was light coming from it.
Caspian sighed with relief, and shut the door behind him. He unbuttoned and shrugged off his outer shirt and went around lighting some candles in his room. He summoned the page for some supper to be brought up.
"Are you alright in there?" he called, wondering why Peter hadn't come out yet, thinking the other boy had probably just been using the toilet or washing his face. There was another quiet murmur that he couldn't quite make out.
Curious, Caspian walked over to investigate. Pulling open the bathroom door, he froze and a not-so-innocent tremor of delight ran through his body.
"I hope you don't mind that I'm using your bath," said Peter, who was lounging back in the large marble bathtub, head tilted back in repose, eyes half-lidded. The steam from the water rose in puffs, curling about the slightly flushed cheeks, hiding the boy's naked body under a cloud of white.
"Uh… no, of course not," said Caspian, his throat terribly dry. He nearly melted when Peter gave another pleasurable little hum and closed his eyes, sinking lower into the water, leaning back his head to rest against the edge of the tub.
"You can join me," said Peter, "I don't mind."
"J-join you?" said Caspian, his voice a little high-pitched. Was Peter actually suggesting…? The water must be terribly hot, the prince decided, if it was making him sweat and he wasn't even near the tub. "I don't think… I mean… I thought we were trying to… probably not a good idea…" he stammered ineloquently.
Peter, however, was not at all trying to be seductive. At home, baths were always shared, since hot water in large quantities was hard to come by. Not knowing any better, Peter assumed that it was also the case everywhere else, and was just trying to be polite.
Caspian, on the other hand, had grown up in a castle where bathwater was readily available for the prince's comfort, and the thought of sharing a tub with someone, for practical reasons, at least, was completely unknown to him. Peter's suggestion struck him as positively scandalous and rather kinky.
Taking Caspian's stuttering to be a negative, Peter rolled his shoulders and replied, "Alright then. Suit yourself." He sat up slightly and reached for the soap, giving Caspian a very nice view of water glistening on a bare chest and two pink nipples.
Caspian gasped and immediately turned around, stepping out of the bathroom. Trying to quell the feelings that were rising up in him, he started pacing around the small living area. Should he…? Or not… Honor and concern for Peter's well-being made him ultimately decide to not.
He noticed that supper had already been brought in and set up on the table. Caspian quickly went to light some more candles, just to give his shaking hands something to do. A soft moan and the sound of soap rubbing against slick skin caused Caspian to nearly knock over the candlesticks.
The prince was ever so grateful when Peter finally stepped out, with a robe on. "I feel so much better," Peter said, his cheeks pink from the heat. "You have such a lovely bathroom and the hot water was so nice."
Caspian found himself smiling at Peter's talking, despite the uncomfortable clenching in his stomach and groin. Soon, they were sitting down and Caspian was trying to teach Peter how to use the crab fork, and Peter was laughing, and then Caspian was laughing as well. He found himself staring fondly, unable to look away as Peter buttered the bread with the wrong knife, or licked his fingers instead of using the silk napkins. Caspian got him to try a little wine, and blushed furiously when Peter leaned over and kissed his cheek with wine-stained lips.
Unable to help himself, Caspian took Peter's hand under the tablecloth and held it tightly, smiling like he would never stop. Everything was warm and happy, and all their cares could wait.
Notes: Thank you all for reading! Please review and let me know what you think! Sorry this chapter doesn't really advance the plot much, but next chapter will!
