Chapter 11. Hope you like!
As ever, everything is the property of CS Lewis.
Angela sat on the steps outside Peter's bedroom and waited. The soldiers had returned home that morning and it had been a shock to say the least. Many were injured, some limping through the castle gate, some being carried by their comrades., Still more were not present at all. Peter had ridden in looking as weary as she'd ever seen him, years older than he had looked the day they set out. He had caught her eye and given an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Not now, that look had said. Now he was in his room speaking with Trumpkin and had been so for hours. It was almost nightfall again and Angela wanted to speak to him so badly she couldn't sit still. She had alternated between pacing the hallway and sitting down, wringing her hands and biting her nails. What had happened?
Finally Trumpkin emerged and headed away down the hallway, looking troubled and muttering to himself. Angela slipped quickly from the shadows to Peter's door and knocked.
"It's me"
"Come in" came Peter's tired voice and she cautiously pushed the door open.
Peter was sitting on the edge of his bed, his back to her, his head hanging. Angela walked across the room and sat down next to him. She watched his face but he made no move to look at her or to speak. He seemed utterly broken.
"What happened?"
Peter started to speak, his voice defeated and heavy.
"The Calormenes were waiting for us at Aslan's How. They ambushed us. I don't know how they guessed we'd go there first but they did. And it paid off."
"But they've retreated now?"
"They've fallen back but they've done what they set out to do. We've been weakened, and they forced us to run before we could do any damage back."
Angela bit her lip.
"They'll be back, won't they?"
"Yes" Peter answered shortly. "They'll regroup and I expect them to march on Cair Paravel. Soon. At least we have been preparing for a siege." He sighed. "But it's worse than that."
"What?"
Peter suddenly grabbed her elbow and stood up, pulling her to the window.
"Look at the horizon, go on, look"
Angela followed his gaze and saw what he was looking at. The sun had set and the sky was a dark velvety blue while the land was inky black; it should have been almost impossible to pick out the line of the horizon, but there it was, sharply outlined in silvery white.
"What is that?" Angela asked squinting as she tried to see more clearly.
"It's winter, Angela. The White Witch is coming back. It's she the Tisroc is taking his orders from. I should've known, I should have thought" Peter banged his fist on the windowsill in frustration and suddenly winced.
"You're hurt" Angela said in concern.
"It's nothing, really"
"Let me see"
"No, really, I-"
"Let me see, Peter"
Peter gave her a resigned glance before sitting back down on the edge of his bed and starting to unbutton his jerkin. Angela could see he was favouring his right arm and she moved to kneel behind him on the bed, helping to ease the vest off his shoulders so he would not have to raise his arm too far. Casting it aside, she continued to help him with his shirt and then folded it behind her, before turning to be faced with Peter's naked back. Her cheeks burned and she had a sudden very vivid image of her what her Aunt's face would look like if she were aware of the situation Angela found herself in. She may have been unconventional, but there were some things she had very strong views about. And being in the company of a half naked young man in his bedroom is probably one of the things she wouldn't approve of.
Angela shook her head and collected her thoughts before slipping back of the bed and moving to stand in front of Peter. The wound was on his right side and was angry and red. A deep purple bruise had blossomed around it and she guessed whatever had caused it had caught one of the ribs underneath.
"I need to clean this properly, otherwise it might become diseased."
Peter nodded and Angela turned and tipped some water from the pitcher on the side table into a dish. The package of herbs she had given Peter was lying on his windowsill and she was glad to note that it had been opened. At least someone had the sense to use them when the wound was fresher than it is now. She pinched some of the herbs from the pack and crumbled them into the dish. Taking up a rag she dipped it into the mixture and turned to dab some of it onto the wound. Peter hissed in pain and gripped her shoulder with his good hand.
Angela tried to work quickly, washing the wound thoroughly and then binding it again, wrapping a bandage around Peter's ribcage. He sighed in relief once she was done and leant back against his pillows, closing his eyes. He looked simply exhausted and Angela turned to leave.
"I'll let you get some sleep"
"Wait" Peter's voice suddenly sounded desperate "Could you? I mean, I; I just need-"
Angela saw in his eyes the words he couldn't bring himself to speak. Mr Pevensie, the King, the Magnificent, was asking her to stay with him. Pleading silently that she wouldn't leave him alone with his thoughts. Angela knew she couldn't refuse him.
"Alright," she said, walking back towards the bed. "Alright."
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