A/N: Here is the next installment of Eternity. Someone commented on the last chapter that things between Regan and Peter seemed to fall apart really quickly, and that's just because this chapter was supposed to come pretty quickly after it but I couldn't get everything figured out right. This chapter explains a little more about what happened while they were traveling - there's a nice little discussion between Regan and her brother, as well as flashbacks between Regan and Peter. Please enjoy!

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners that passes through my life,
and you decide to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember that on that day, at that hour,
I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But if each day, each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

- If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

"Have you sent any instructions back about the wedding?" Susan asked one day over breakfast.

Peter and Regan shared a look, and Peter shrugged. "I suppose I had not even thought about sending anything back with the griffins," he admitted. "We have hardly discussed ourselves."

Lucy laughed and drew her knees up to her chest. "I am sure Tumnus will be only too glad to do whatever it is you ask of him," she said teasingly.

"Then perhaps you should send the message back," Peter said, sticking his tongue out at her. "We all know how fond he is of you." Lucy turned red and reached for another piece of bread.

"I know that small is a foreign word for a royal wedding," Regan said after a moment, "but there really is no need to go overboard. I am a very simple woman – simply being married is all I care for." She smiled at Susan. "I believe I shall just leave the planning up to you. Plan us a ball with all the fixings, if that is what you wish."

Peter choked on his bread. "No, not all the fixings," he said quickly, and then gave an apologetic look to Susan. "I know how fond you are of parties, but I agree with Regan. Smaller is better. Simpler is better."

"You are High King," Susan huffed, frowning at him. "It is expected of you to have a magnificent party!"

"Susan," Edmund said soothingly, ever the diplomat, "they only want to be married with as little fuss as possible. It is better to get these details done here so we can put it all together as quickly as we can when we reach the Cair."

"Fine," Susan finally conceded. "We will have a smaller, simpler party. But that only means that Regan's coronation ball will have to be the –"

"Yes, yes, we know," Peter said with a sigh, standing up and offering Regan his hand. "It will be the highlight of the season, Susan." He bent and kissed his sister's hair. "We leave it in your capable hands to plan. We will be back soon."

"Do not go too far," Lucy warned, looking up from her bread. "We wanted to leave by mid-morning."

"It will be a short walk," Regan promised her, looping her arm through Peter's before they disappeared into the little copse of trees near the edge of the camp.

They only walked a short while before Peter stopped and pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss against her shoulder as he buried his face against her neck. "I could not sleep last night," he said with a sigh.

Her arms came around his neck, and she stroked her fingers through his hair. "You should have woken me," she murmured, kissing his ear several times. "I would have given you some herbs to help you sleep."

He shook his head and tightened his arms around her waist. "Mmm," he mumbled noncommittally. "You need your sleep as well. I cannot wake you for every ill and ache I have."

She laughed and pulled away, cradling his face in her hands so she could kiss him. "I am going to be your wife," she reminded him. "It is part of my job to take care of my husband."

He smiled and scooped her up into his arms, flinging her over his shoulder. She shrieked. "Peter!" she yelled, banging a fist against his back. "Put me down!"

"You said your job was to take care of me," he said smugly, carrying her further into the cover of the trees. "And take care of me you shall."

She laughed against his shoulder and let him carry her off.

Her fingers traced a slow, steady pattern against his chest, and he smiled down at her, hands tangling in her hair. Her breath hitched, just as it always did whenever he smiled. There was such joy that radiated in his eyes, and it warmed her straight down to the soul.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he whispered against the skin of her shoulder.

She laughed. "Do you say that to every woman?" she teased, stroking her fingers along his back.

"Only the woman who holds my heart," he murmured, grinning up at her as he attended to her bare skin. She shivered and tugged him up to her mouth so she could kiss him and kiss him and –

"Peter?"

They both froze. "Peter?" came Edmund's voice from in the outer portion of the tent. "Are you here?"

Peter sighed and dropped his forehead to Regan's shoulder. "Damn him," he muttered, sliding out of bed and pulling his robe on. She sat up, clutching the blankets to her naked frame, watching as he disappeared past the tent flap. She heard his low voice responding to Edmund, and she fell back against the pillows with a sigh.

This kind of late night interruption had become commonplace over the past two weeks as they traveled back to the Cair. If it was not Edmund calling his name to brief him on the current status of Narnia, it was Susan who was calling to fuss over his health. If not Susan, it was Lucy to shower her oldest brother with smiles and kisses and sweets.

They spend every day together, thought Regan grumpily, rolling over in the sheets and pounding the pillow beneath her head. It was true – they rode at the front of the army together, took their meals together, and spent an hour each evening reading to each other. She was included in these activities, but her time alone with Peter had been severely lacking.

Night was the sacred time in which they could simply lay in bed together and whisper their secrets to each other. She felt safe in their bed with Peter's arms wrapped around her and his mouth pressed against her ear. She slept better than she ever had, she smiled more, she laughed more –

Peter appeared in the tent flap, looking annoyed and weary. "Edmund needs me," he said simply, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. "They are going over routes to get back to the Cair – they do not know which ones will be blocked."

She frowned up at him. "Why do they need you?" she asked, reaching up and trying to pull him back down. "Come back to bed, dearest, you need –"

"I do not know," he said with a sigh, kissing her forehead and pulling away. "But I am needed. I will come back to bed as soon as I can, I pro-"

"Go, go," she huffed, waving him off and reaching for her nightgown.

He frowned in worry. "You are angry with me," he said, and reached for her. "Regan –"

"You are needed," she said simply, pulling her nightgown over her head. "You do not want to keep them waiting, Peter." She kissed his cheek and then slid down into the sheets. "Goodnight."

He did not return until the light in the tent had lightened as the sun rose. She stirred as he slid into bed next to her. "Peter?" she mumbled, turning her head and rubbing her eyes.

"Go back to sleep," she heard him whisper, and his arms came around her. "We will stay here for the day. Go back to sleep."

The fire flickered in the grate, casting dark shadows against the walls and along the floor. Glass clinked together, followed by the steady thrum of wine being poured. Fabric rustled as bodies moved against the sofa, and then someone spoke.

"I am fine, you know," Regan murmured, staring into the flames. She glanced up from her goblet of wine and raised her eyebrows at her brother. "You do not need to keep up with those glances, Rowan. I have been home for a month. I am not going anywhere."

Rowan of Caullenwall took a long drink of his own wine and raised his own eyebrows. "I am not afraid of you going anywhere," he said, his voice rich and deep. "You have already gone somewhere that I cannot follow, Regan. I am merely waiting for you to come back and talk to me."

Regan rolled her eyes and leaned back against the cushions, drawing her legs beneath her. "You do not make sense," she said. "I am home with you, Rowan. I have not –"

"Your mind is still back at the Cair," he said loudly, eying her over the rim of his goblet. "You are here physically, Regan, but your mind and your heart is far away at the Cair."

She turned her eyes back to the fire with a scowl, adjusting the belted tunic and leggings she wore. She was free to shed proper women's clothing here at the Caullenwall estate, and much preferred wearing a tunic and leggings to heavy dresses of the court. "There were many diverting things at the Cair," she finally said. "It is a very different place from Caullenwall Manor, Rowan. There are things to see, people to meet -"

"And one person in particular," he murmured. "You are thinking of one person in particular, Regan. I know that look in your eyes."

She was silent, and he moved to sit next to her, grasping her shoulder gently. "Tell me who he is."

"There is nothing to tell," she said, rising from the chaise and going to refill her wine glass.

"Is he a peasant?" Rowan asked, leaning over the back of the chaise. "Is that why you are ashamed to tell me of him?"

"I am not ashamed of him!" she snapped, whirling around. Then she spotted Rowan's triumphant look, and she sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I am not ashamed of him. I am ashamed of myself."

"Ashamed of yourself?"

Regan sighed and slowly made her way back to the chaise, sipping sullenly on her wine. "His name is …" She swallowed. "It is better that you do not know it. But he was a prisoner in the Tribes with me. We … he was all I had. He came at a time when I had nearly lost all hope, and brought hope to me again. And when they came and found us, we stayed close – insisted on staying close, because we were still so afraid to lose each other after what had happened."

Rowan reached out and touched her shoulder again. "You are in love with him," he whispered.

"So much in love with him it hurts," she confessed, setting her goblet aside and picking at a hole in her sock. "He is my match."

He frowned. "Then why are you here?" he asked, voice confused. "Why are you not with him?" His face grew angry. "Did he send you away?"

"No. He asked me to stay."

"You left him?"

She nodded sadly, resting her chin on her knees. "I did," she admitted. "We were engaged, you know. Engaged to be married. He asked the night we were found – said that any talk there was in the court about our circumstances of engagement, that he would tell them that he loved me, that we were going to be married, that –"

"The circumstances of your engagement?" Rowan's voice had gone very quiet, his hand stilling on her shoulder.

She looked up at him in guilt. "You must not get angry, Rowan," she whispered, twisting the bottom of her tunic in her hands. "I … I was not treated well in the camp, and he was only trying to help –"

Rowan grasped her arms and turned her towards him firmly, shaking her once. "What did he do, Regan?" he asked, his voice hard.

"I asked him to do it!" she cried, trying to pull away from him. Memories of other men, of hands rougher and more calloused than his, threatened to bring back the memories she had tried so hard to stifle. "Stop! Let me go! You are hurting me!"

He let go of her instantly, and she darted across the room to stand near the fire. She stood there for several minutes, shaking and clutching her throat between her hands. "Regan," Rowan whispered. "What is it?"

She swallowed back her tears and shook her head. "I did not tell you and Uncle about it because I did not want you to worry," she said quietly. "I was not an innocent when I met Peter, Rowan. The Wild Men … they are a vicious breed. They do not treat their prisoners kindly."

The look on Rowan's face nearly broke her heart. "They touched you?" he whispered, and then put his face into his hands. "Regan … why did you not tell us?"

"You did not need to know," she pleaded, sinking down beside him once more. "I knew it would only bring you pain. Besides, I am all right. There is no permanent damage!"

"You thought that I was one of them!" he suddenly said, jerking back from her. "Of course there is damage! You would think that your own brother was one of those Wild Men who touched you and –" He shuddered, and then clasped her close to his chest. "No one will ever hurt you again, Regan. I promise."

She smiled against his shoulder. "That is a very hefty promise," she murmured. "You are a very kind brother. The best there is."

They sat there in companionable silence for a few minutes, and Rowan finally pulled away. "Peter," he said. "That is his name?"

Regan flushed. "Yes," she murmured, her eyes dropping to the floor. "Peter. Tis a good name, I think."

"He touched you, too."

"Yes," she said, and lifted her chin stubbornly. "I asked him to. He did not want to at first, but I asked him to. I loved him then. I needed to know that not every man is vile and cruel. He showed me that, and I loved him more for it."

Rowan frowned. "Then why did you leave him?" he asked, confusion evident on his face. "Why did you go, after he asked you to stay with him? Why did you leave if you love him?"

She swallowed and picked at a hole in her sock again. "Because I was afraid," she breathed. "I was afraid of letting myself love him." She rubbed at her eyes. "I was not the first woman he was with, and that fact frightened me. When we arrived at the Cair, he had duties thrust upon him, and I was afraid that he would find a woman to love that was more beautiful, or more womanly, who did as she was told." She laughed bitterly. "I was afraid of being left with nothing but a broken heart. So I fled and came home."

She hugged her knees tighter to her chest and sighed heavily. "But this does not feel like home anymore. Home is where he is. I fear I shall never have a home again."

"Then return to him," Rowan urged her, leaning towards her. "Write to him. Invite him here to meet Uncle and Father and I, and tell him that you have seen the error in your ways." He ran a hand over her hair. "If he loves you as much as you love him, he will understand."

"I told him I did not trust him," she said sadly. "I told him I did not trust him to betray me with another woman. He told me that love without trust is not love, that if I did not trust him I did not love him." She shook her head and hugged her knees tighter. "He will never forgive me for what I did."

Rowan fell silent, stroking her hair carefully as he turned back to gaze at the flames in the grate. Finally, he sighed and drained the rest of his wine. "Did you meet the High King while you were a prisoner?" he asked, voice now full of curiosity. "I heard he was a prisoner with you … that was why they came."

She swallowed. "I did not know he was the High King while we were in the camp," she whispered, "but he told us as soon as we were safe."

"Funny, I think," he said, standing up and moving to put his goblet away, "that your lover's name is Peter. Is that not the name of the High King?" He fixed her with a knowing glance, and then disappeared.

Peter stumbled into the tent after dark, exhausted and feeling as though he would drop at any moment. Regan looked up from where she was settled on the chaise and rose quickly, crossing to him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

"You must stop staying out so late," she insisted quietly, kissing his jaw. "This is doing nothing for your health, Peter. You need your rest."

He nodded silently and sank down on the chaise she had vacated, grateful when she pushed a bowl of hot soup into his hands. He ate it quickly and held it out to be refilled, nibbling on a hunk of bread as he waited.

"We were discussing routes home again," he explained, kissing the inside of her wrist when she handed the bowl back to him. "There are several roads that are blocked because of the snow, and we have to have enough room for two hundred men and our supplies to get through."

"And that requires you to be out all day?" she asked pointedly.

He glanced up at her and frowned slightly. "I am the king, Regan," he said slowly. "They want and need my opinion."

"Edmund could come here and ask you things," she said, raising an eyebrow at him. "Why must you always be the one to –"

"Stop," he said harshly, raising his voice for the first time at her. He set his bowl aside and stood, grasping her by the shoulders. "Listen to me very carefully, Regan: I am High King of Narnia. I have the responsibility to care for my country weighing upon my shoulders. Edmund and my sisters are wise, strong leaders in their own right, but I was named High King for a reason. It is me they depend upon, and I must be there for all things to give them guidance should they need it. If you are going to be my wife, you must understand this. I cannot always rest or take a break. I have been gone for several months and have much to do when I return to the Cair, and I will be constantly moving until the time I get up until the time I go to bed. I need you there to support me."

She swallowed, and he could feel her trembling beneath his hands. He sighed and drew her close, kissing her hair. "Forgive me," he murmured. "It will not always be like this. I promise. Only for a few more months. Can you endure this for a few more months?"

"Yes," she murmured, curling her fingers into his tunic. "I only want you well. I have never known you in health, Peter. Only sickness. I want to know you in both states."

He laughed quietly against her ear and squeezed his arms around her. "I am already well on my way to being healthy again," he assured her, and pulled away to kiss her tenderly. "I love you. I do not want you to ever forget that."

She pulled his mouth back down to hers. "I will not," she breathed, tugging him further into the tent. "I promise I will not."

"I must admit, Peter, that I did not expect you to call for me again."

Peter, from his place at the window, shrugged and scratched his chin slowly. "I wanted to see if your presence would ease my troubles," he murmured. "It has countless times in the past."

There was a rustle of fabric behind him. "And has it?"

He swallowed. "No. It has not."

A few moments of silence passed, and pale, thin arms twined around his waist from behind. "Shall I try again?" Cora whispered against his spine.

A smile tugged at his mouth, and he grasped one of her hands to press a kiss against her wrist. "No," he said in amusement, "but thank you. I appreciate the thought." He turned and sat down on the windowsill, rubbing at his eyes wearily before reaching up for her. She settled down on his knee and brushed a kiss into his golden curls, pulling his head down to rest against her collarbone. He sighed and buried his face into her long, black hair, and she slid her arms around him.

"This is about the Lady Regan," she said wisely, stroking her fingers over his shoulder blades.

He sighed and shut his eyes. "You are far too observant to be allowed to console me," he muttered. "You know me far too well. What made you think of that?"

She kissed his temple. "Your soldiers came regaling us with stories of the High King and the beautiful lady Regan of Caullenwall. They said that, although you were in poor health, it was the happiest these men have ever seen their king. Now you are well on your way to recovery, and you have turned into a quiet, sullen –"

"It is so refreshing to know that my soldiers tell the court about what happens in my personal life," he said dryly, pulling his head up with a sigh. "Is the entire castle aware of my plight?"

"Yes," she said carefully, "but only because we care for our king. We hold you in the highest regard, and we do not like to see you in pain. When you hurt, we hurt."

He snorted in amusement, and then fingered the sheet wrapped around her lithe little body. "Regan," he finally murmured. "Yes, it is about Regan." He swallowed. "We were going to be married … and then we had an atrocious fight the night we arrived here, and we both said awful things." He shook his head, and then glanced up at Cora with wild eyes. "She accused me of keeping a mistress after we were wed. I would never keep a mistress if I had a wife, Cora, you –"

"I know," she said soothingly. "Everyone at court knows it, Peter. I am the only woman you have been with more than once. The idea of you keeping a mistress and a wife is absurd." She ran her fingers through his hair. "So she accused you of keeping a mistress. What did you say?"

"I told her that she should trust me to be faithful to her, and that if she did not trust me, then she could not possibly love me, and that I could not marry a woman that did not love me."

Cora laughed and pulled him close for another embrace, murmuring soothingly against his ear. "Oh, Peter," she murmured, rubbing his back. "She is frightened. Can you not understand her position?"

He frowned and pulled away from her. "I thought you were supposed to be comforting me, not sympathizing with her," he said a little crossly.

"I am a woman, Peter," she reminded him, standing and moving towards the vanity as she tucked the sheet tightly around her. She settled down on the stool and began to pin up her dark tresses. "I understand what she is going through. She knows you not as a king, but as a prisoner and someone unimportant. She watched during your journey here as you became immersed in your duties as king again. You went from devoting most of your time to her to devoting more and more of your time to attending to duties of state. She grew frightened at the prospect of losing you, and put up a wall to prevent that." She paused, smiling sadly and reaching for another pin. "For a woman that truly loves you, for the man that you are, losing you would be unbearable."

Silence stretched between them, and several minutes went by before Cora spoke again. "Why have you not gone after her?" she whispered, dropping her hands from her half-pinned hair. "Why are you still here with the common whore?"

Peter stood and crossed to her, grasping her hands. "You are not a common whore," he said firmly. "Have I ever treated you like one?"

"It is not a matter of how you have treated me," she murmured, leaning forward to kiss his hair. "You have been one of the kindest, most wonderful man that I have ever known, Peter. But I am a barren woman – I have been my whole life. I knew the first night that we were together that I would be a passing phase in your life." She smiled and stroked his cheek once. "But this Regan – your Regan – loves you. Be with her, Peter. Love her. Cherish her."

He reached up and pulled her close, kissing her hair a few times as he folded her into his embrace. "You were far more than comfort to me," he whispered, stroking her back. "You have been a wonderful friend these past years, Cora. Please tell me that I will not lose your friendship."

She laughed a little tearfully and squeezed her arms around his neck. "I shall return to my family in Galma," she said, kissing his ear. "They wrote me last week, asking if I could return home soon. I shall go home to them and live my life in peace."

He pulled her tighter and returned a kiss to her hair. "Will you write to me?" he asked. "If I ever need your counsel on anything?"

He felt her smile, and she pulled away with happier eyes. "Your wife should counsel you," she said, and then stood to gather her clothing. She ducked behind the screen, and he heard fabric rustling as she continued. "If your Regan is anywhere near as wonderful as the soldiers say she is, then you shall not need to write to me at all."

"You have been my friend since I was sixteen, Cora," he pointed out, standing and moving to the window again. "I was young and foolish then – you have seen me grow up into a decent young man."

She emerged from behind the screen, her dress stays still unlaced. He crossed to her in their normal ritual so he could lace-up the back of her dress, and she held her hair over one shoulder just as she always did. "You did that all on your own," she told him. "Perhaps I was merely a stepping stone to your outlook on life today."

He finished her laces, and she turned to stand on her toes and kiss his cheek. "Now you must go to her," she whispered. "Whether she loves you or rejects you, Peter, we cannot continue like this. You must know, once and for all, of her feelings. Go to her."

He swallowed and nodded. "I will pray you have a safe journey back to Galma," he said, and kissed the crown of her head. "I will miss you."

"And I you," she said, and then moved towards the door. "You have been my dearest friend, Peter. Take care of yourself." And then she was gone, the door thudding shut heavily behind her.

Peter stared at the door until he heard a knock, and Lucy peered around the frame. "It is nearly time for luncheon," she said with a worried frown. "We did not know –"

"I am going away for a few weeks," he said suddenly, rising from his place on the edge of the bed and crossing to his wardrobe. He missed Lucy's surprised look, but heard the door shut as she slipped into the room.

"Where are you going?" she asked in alarm. "You cannot run from your duties, Peter. We –"

"I am going to Caullenwall Manor," he said simply, beginning to fold his tunics carefully and pack them away. "I am going to see Regan."

"You are trembling," Peter whispered into the dark. "Are you cold?"

Regan shook her head and reached out to trace his features. "I could never be cold when you are near me," she murmured, fingers skimming across his jaw. "I am not cold."

"Then why do you tremble?" he asked, shifting closer to her. "What worries you?"

"You do," she admitted, letting her hand fall away from his face. "You frighten me sometimes."

"Me? How do I frighten you?"

"How much I love you frightens me," she said, and sat up. "You could break me in one fell swoop, and I –"

"Stop," he said gently, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her. "I love you, Regan. If I break you, I break myself. I could not imagine being without you."

She blinked at him, and then curled against his side. "Do you promise?" she whispered against his collarbone.

He carefully pulled her back down into the sheets. "I promise.