Loving in the Moment
The final day of the jousting tournament arrived with fanfare and excitement. A procession of the court followed by the kings and queen led the way to the arena. Rachel traipsed behind, preferring the company of Alp and Tal. As the three walked together through the snow, her arms swinging at her sides, she took in a deep breath of cold, winter air and thought of Peter. He rode just a little ways ahead on something of a magnificent, white stallion, crown atop his head in a most dignified manner. Rachel had smiled to see him so decked out.
The king in question glanced back over his shoulder at the three stragglers. Rachel threw her head back and laughed at something Alp had said and Peter crooked a small smile. He liked to see her happy. It had been a long time since he had liked sitting and watching someone laugh, cause unknown. Peter twisted back so he was facing forward, but his thoughts dwelled on the woman behind him. He wasn't naïve, nor young, despite what anyone might think, and he certainly wasn't unaware or ignorant of the emotions swirling inside him. Rachel was not the first girl he had fancied, as Lucy would put it. She was the first to incite such intense ponderings, however. Ed had always been the one to sit and moon over a woman, writing sonnets that never made much sense. For the first time, Peter found himself not thinking his brother slightly daft.
His arrival at the noisy arena interrupted Peter's thoughts and soon he was being a bit too ceremoniously hauled up to the box. Rachel trailed just behind, having caught up in mock-fear Peter would bolt. She knew he didn't enjoy being cooped up and forced to only watch and not participate, though he had cooperated nicely the past two days. They took their seats and, as Stilian started the day off, Rachel glanced over at him, only to find him already watching her.
"What?" she asked quietly, unnerved by his gaze.
Peter half-smiled, reaching out a hand and taking hers in it. "Nothing." She didn't look convinced but he gave her hand a squeeze and turned his attention to the games.
Rachel found herself paying more attention to the calluses on Peter's palm as they brushed roughly over the back over her hand than to the commencing jousts and continued to study his profile from the corner of her eye after he looked away. She took in the way his eyes squinted against the glare of sunlight on snow and the way his hair flopped to one side no matter how much she knew he tried to force it to stay neatly combed.
The High King felt Rachel's eyes on him as though everywhere she traced with them was on fire. As a Calormene completed an impressive dodge, he clapped a hand against his thigh so as not to let go of hers. His memory banks flicked through file after file of beautiful courtiers and foreign damsels but not one came to mind that had made him feel like this simple yet lovely British redhead did.
Peter wouldn't go so far as to say he was in love with her, but there was the distinct possibility. In fact, the thought of chocolate candies in red, heart-shaped boxes no longer evoked memories of Edmund's first unsuccessful attempt at wooing the neighbor girl when he was seven but brought to mind timid fantasies for the long-off Valentine's Day. Peter started as he realized he was actually looking forward to something that would only take place back in England. He glanced at Rachel, abruptly startled, not sure how he felt about that prospect. Granted, it had only been a passing, slightly sarcastic thought of a rather ridiculous holiday, but it had been thought nonetheless.
Rachel felt him tense beside her, his hand still enveloping hers though the morning had progressed into early afternoon. Her eyes darted to him, instinctually fearing he had somehow aggravated his wound. She visibly relaxed once she assured herself he was physically fine and allowed herself to rub her thumb over the back of his hand in small comfort.
"Are you all right?" she asked, quiet enough so the others couldn't hear. Peter nodded tightly before looking over to meet her eyes. Their blues clashed and sparked and Rachel dropped his hand without meaning to. The rest of the games passed in a tangible silence that, while not awkward or uncomfortable, pressed between them, seeping into the spider-like fractures that threatened to demolish their carefully constructed, yet fragile, walls like so many glass windows.
Rachel and Kaili slipped away as the men were gathering around to congratulate the final winner. They laughed and chatted their way to the palace and, as Rachel was turning to head up the stairs in the direction of her chambers, the queen caught her arm.
"Just change in my rooms, why don't you? I'm sure we can even find something in my rather extensive wardrobe you can wear," Kaili joked.
So the two made their way to the royal suite to begin their preparations for the concluding ball of the Winter Festival. Kaili had somehow managed to plan an entire feast and dance whilst still attending all the games and to her numerous guests.
Rachel merely shook her head at the other woman's tenacity, not to mention at the sheer and splendid opulence of the royal suite. Kaili called for tea and they sat in their robes on the bed, sipping at their cups and giggling over all manner of things like young girls. They wiled away an hour or two in such a manner before setting about getting ready for the big night. Kaili threw open the double doors that stood along one wall to reveal what was quite possibly the largest closet Rachel had ever seen. Dress after dress and gown after gown lined the rich mahogany-paneled walls in every color and fashion. They were arranged by use, whether it be dancing, hunting or midnight relaxing. Kaili laughed quietly at the expression on Rachel's face.
"Stop laughing. I've never seen so many clothes all in one place before!" Rachel chided, her eyes a bit wide.
Kaili was leaned against the doorframe, her arms folded. "Pick whatever you like. What's mine is yours." She waved a hand carelessly and straightened. "Although, honestly, I would go with something white. You looked stunning last time you wore it. Peter commented on it himself the next day," she smirked.
Rachel flushed. "Oh, he did, did he? What, did you drag it out of him, kicking and screaming?"
With a roll of her eyes, Kaili flipped a lock of black hair over her shoulder. "Stop pretending you're so blind, Rachel. It may not be love but there's something there. Have you not seen the way he looks at you? Do you think I have not seen the way you look at him?" she challenged.
Rachel looked away with a sigh. After a pause, she murmured, "Of course I have seen. I am a modern woman, Kaili, but that doesn't mean I have any experience in this sort of thing."
"Not to sound rude, but Peter does." Kaili stepped into the closet and began rustling through the arrayed gowns.
Her lips tipped up on one side. "Yes, I know." Rachel's answer had Kaili spinning around, shocked. "Well, not like that, Kaili! For heaven's sake!"
To her surprise, the queen looked almost disappointed. "Come, Rachel! He's handsome, you're beautiful; you are both young and full of life! What is so wrong about loving in the moment even if you may refuse to live there?"
"You sound like an old, dying philosopher," Rachel snapped, though she felt the truth in her friend's words.
"Quite possibly, but that doesn't mean I'm not right."
"I know you're right and it irks me. I don't want to want to even be in the same room as Peter. But if I list his flaws you'll only tell me I love him all the more!"
"So true, so true. I'm glad you've come to learn the pattern of my lectures," Kaili smiled. "Here. Try this one on." She tossed a soft, pale blue dress to the ranting nurse.
"It's not white," Rachel pointed out needlessly.
"Oh, hush up. It'll bring out your eyes."
Kaili and Rachel arrived for the ball fashionably late, sweeping in as if everyone else had kept them waiting. Kaili was announced first and descended with all the grace Rachel could always envy to her husband's waiting kiss of admiration. Taking a deep breath, Rachel schooled her features into a pleasant smile and stepped out onto the large top step. It wasn't that everyone turned and was swept away by her beauty. The room didn't grow quiet or still. But it certainly seemed that way to Rachel and Peter as their eyes met, blue on blue, for the second time that day.
Auburn hair was twisted into a braided bun with a blue ribbon intertwined. Her dress was of the faintest ice blue, so soft it almost appeared Kaili's favored white. The cap sleeves and empire waist with a matching, dainty shawl made Peter think of those old romance novels Susan pored over. Traces of an irridescent silver thread throughout the uniquely simple gown and cover caught the light so she shimmered and captivated, though Peter imagined she would have done that had she been wearing a potato sack.
She stepped down the stairs, holding her skirt a little above her toes to keep from tripping head over heels and took his outstretched hand. Peter pulled her to him so he could whisper in her ear, "Kaili cleaned you up nice."
Rachel glared and swatted at his arm, retorting with, "And if only I had a camera, I could show you off all primped and cleaned and ruffled to the boys back home." She flipped her fingers over the velvet ruffles along the bottom edge of Peter's tunic with a smirk.
He grimaced. "It's the style. I'm expected to look stylish." Peter found he couldn't tear his gaze from her eyes. The dress really did bring out that blue.
Rachel glanced out over the already filling dance floor. "Do we have dance cards?"
Peter chuckled, rubbing his thumb over her hand. "Are you asking me to dance? I do believe that's my job."
"I'll take that as a 'no', then."
"And I'll take that as a 'yes.'" Peter turned, still clutching her hand, and half-dragged her into the swirling couples. His arm went around her waist, any pretenses left far behind them. They danced in silence, the noise of the room filling in where a conversation might have stood. Finally, as the song turned to a slow waltz, Peter asked, looking at something over her shoulder, "What have we got, Rachel?"
At her startled look, he elaborated, "With us? What are we? And what are we going to be when we go back?"
"That's abrupt. I thought we had decided to just not talk about it," Rachel said, a tinge of acid in her voice.
He sighed, relaxing his hold a bit. "We never actually decided that."
"It was a silent agreement."
"Well, I think we need to talk about it, anyway."
"Lighten up, Peter. It's a party." Peter bit his lip with a sigh but let it go, as though he had suddenly remember he was dancing to a very slow, romantic song with a beautiful woman in his arms.
They danced a few songs, grazed through the buffet and then danced a few more. As the night went on and the wine was poured, both relaxed enough to appear comfortable in each other's arms. They laughed freely and their smiles grew genuine. Kaili winked at Rachel over Stilian's shoulder drawing out the twinkling eyes and the cheeky smile. Sometime after it grew dark and candles lit the ballroom with an elegant glow, a trio of fauns collected long poles from a corner and fastened a clump of holly berries to the end of it. Rachel watched curiously as they spread through the crowd, holding the branches aloft so the berries and leaves dangled up above.
"What are they doing?" she asked Peter as small groups spontaneously burst out into laughter.
Peter glanced over and grinned. "Oh. It's the Narnian version of mistletoe. Ed was very put out when he discovered it doesn't grow here so he decided holly would work just as well and added his, uh, own personal touch. You know, spread the wealth. I'm not surprised it stuck; it was always a very popular tradition."
Rachel smiled, briefly raising her eyebrows. "I see."
"Maybe I ought to pull us just a smidge more out into the open… Make us a target…" Peter caught her around the waist and easily dragged her towards the nearest holly-bearing faun. The faun grinned and bounded over to oblige his High King.
"Peter-" Whatever else Rachel might have been about to protest was obliterated by his lips on hers. It was a dramatic, exaggerated kiss, meant not to be overly romantic or personal. Rachel knew that but still she couldn't help but melt against him. The first time they had kissed, she had been preoccupied with wanting it. This time was so unexpected thinking would have been out of the question. It was short and teasing, but she could have sworn he had left an impression on her very being.
He pulled away and the whistles and cheers filtered into her consciousness. She blinked, wetting her lips as she stared at him. Peter's eyes narrowed as he studied her reaction. He visibly relaxed as a slow smile spread across her face. "I was worried you were going to slap me," he admitted with a grin, low enough so only she could hear him.
"I didn't slap you the first time, did I?" Rachel winked.
The moon was hidden behind the clouds. Snow obscured any view Rachel might have seen from her window. It didn't matter anyway. There was only one thing she was looking at. Peter. The way the castle curved around this particular courtyard, their balconies were sort of diagonal from each other. Peter had been standing on his balcony with his hands folded behind him for at least 20 minutes and she had been standing in her window in her nightgown watching him for almost as long. Rachel could almost picture her willpower heaving a disgusted sigh as she slipped into a robe, gathered a candle and stepped quietly out into the hall.
She knocked lightly on Peter's door but pushed it open without waiting. She hadn't expected him to answer. "Peter?" she called out softly, setting the candle on the dresser. "Hey." Rachel stepped out onto the balcony, shivering slightly at the chill. She stopped to the side and behind him, right where he couldn't see her, and ran a hand back and forth along his shoulders. He closed his eyes but stayed still and silent. Rachel bit her lip, kneading at the back of his neck with one hand.
"We're leaving tomorrow," he announced abruptly.
"What? Did you see the- what's his name? He said that?" She stopped her ministrations but left her hand against his skin.
Peter shook his head. "No. I didn't see Aslan. I just know."
"How?"
He cleared his throat and glanced to his feet, slapping them against the cool stone floor. "Uh… Well. I think I may have figured out why we're here in the first place." His words were halting as though he didn't want to admit what he had discovered. Rachel nodded, knowing he couldn't see her. "Okay. See, here's the thing." Peter took a deep breath. "We're here because- I- need you."
"I don't understand," Rachel murmured, rubbing her hand across his back again.
"I don't really get it either, but I'm not scared anymore. I'm not scared of England. That's all your fault," Peter explained, the last part half-joking, rather than accusatory. "To help me, you had to know me. So here we are. But the Festival ended today. It just makes sense. Doesn't it make sense?"
Rachel felt choked up, like she was going to cry. "Sure, Peter. Yeah. It makes sense." She really wasn't sure if it did, but then, that might just have been her muddled brain. Sighing lightly, she dragged her hand down his spine as she turned to go. Her fingers grazed his hand and before she could think or even let go, her back was against the arched doorframe and his mouth was on hers.
It wasn't short or sweet and she could think but only about how warm he was and the way he was gentle and merciful but took no prisoners. His hand strayed up her side to grip her neck and hers were pressed against the bare skin exposed by his undone tunic. She moaned against him, a rich, decadent sound that rushed over him. It could have been hours before he pulled away, lips dark and bruised. Both breathed heavily, breath come in short gasps of air. Peter's hand held her roughly against the doorframe.
Their eyes met in the dark, crisp, diamond-like reflections of each other's want. Without a word, their lips collided again and Peter's hand slid down to her thigh, dragging her nightgown up. The night around them grew still and quiet, leaving them alone to each other, her hands sliding the tunic from his broad shoulders and his pulling her nightgown over her head. They shivered between kisses. The bed hit her mid-thigh and he had to lift her up. Silky sheets, conveniently turned down, slid over and under them to block the cold winter air, though probably neither of them would have noticed anyway.
With her legs locked around his waist, she pulled away for the briefest of moments so he moved down her throat to her collarbone. "Peter?" she gasped out. He groaned, though she couldn't be sure if it was an acknowledgement or a sound that came of his current state. He pressed a kiss to the creamy, sloping skin of her breast, his tongue tracing a frantic circle she was sure would leave a mark. Fingers tangling in his blond hair, she mumbled a, "Nevermind." Her hair desperately splashed across his pillow like a streak of red paint on a blank canvas or a stripe of blood across a white bandage. They didn't speak for the rest of the night.