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

Chapter 29:

Peter squirmed in his seat as Susan dabbed at his head wound. She wasn't being very gentle.

"You're not being very gentle," he voiced, wincing when she pulled his hair one way to check the wound. "You aren't angry with me for some reason, are you?"

"Why would I be angry?" she huffed, and took up her needle to suture the cut on his scalp.

"Ow!" he gasped, hurriedly biting down on his lip when she pierced him rather suddenly.

"Don't move," she ordered snappishly, giving him another yank on the hair. Peter gritted his teeth. She was standing stiffly next to where he sat, her jaw clenched and her eyes rather fierce as her fingers worked each stitch into a knot. She didn't speak.

The fire crackled despondently nearby, doing little to bring heat or light. He shifted uncomfortably again.

"So… you are angry then?" Peter ventured, when he couldn't stand the silence anymore. He sighed when Susan remained tight-lipped. "Are you going to tell me why?"

Susan tied off the last knot and grabbed up a rag. She wiped at the dried blood caked around the wound, abrading the already swollen skin.

"Ow, careful!" he complained, eyes scrunching closed and squirming away from her.

With an annoyed noise, she dropped the rag back into the water jug. Standing more in front of him, she took his face in both hands and looked at him seriously.

"I know you feel the need to protect me. But you must not hinder me again as you did today. I must be able to make my decisions without you ruining things."

"What are you talking about? I didn't try to ruin anything!"

"You pushed me down when I could have made that shot, Peter."

"Wha… I saved your life!" Peter protested. "If I hadn't pulled you out of the way, you'd have your brains blown out!"

"Maybe. Or I could have made that shot, saved just a few more soldiers from dying. I suppose we'll never know now, will we?"

"You're actually blaming me for saving you?" Peter replied incredulously. "Well, that's the last time I-!"

"No, that's not it at all," she interrupted with a sigh. "Look, Peter, you don't have to look after me. I know what I'm doing here. You can't go leaping in to save me when I clearly don't need to be saved. No one else here would undermine me like that, not even Caspian, because they trust me to do what's right. You understand, don't you? I'm not angry anymore, Peter, because I knew you meant for the best."

"Not angry?" Peter grouched, pulling away and standing. "My entire head is throbbing! Couldn't you have just said so instead of sticking a needle in me and yanking all my hair out?" He gingerly pressed fingers to his new stitches, wincing again. "And I dounderstand. It must have been absolutely beastly of me to have tried to save my own sister. And you know what? I'd do it again."

Susan huffed and crossed her arms, eyes blazing. She looked as if she wanted to yell but merely set her jaw tightly and ground out, "Just remember what I said. Oh, and don't be such a child," she said, turning and walking away. "I could have used a much bigger needle."

Peter held back a frustrated groan as she left him alone with the fire. His head felt like it was splitting apart and the irony ate at him, how that very wound was sustained because of her. He snatched up some clean bandages and went off for some solitude.

,……………………………………..

……………………………………….

"What news do we have about Drinian and his men?" Susan asked without preamble as she re-joined Caspian, Glenstorm, Reepicheep, and the others. They had all been eagerly waiting to speak with Lord Drinian and his men after the rather unexpected change of loyalty, but the Telmarine traitors had withdrew.

Caspian shot her a look that clearly asked "Where have you been?" before holding up a crisp-looking paper message.

"Lord Drinian seeks our aid. He and his men have become refugees when they turned against the king and now they are too scattered to operate fully. Their forces are little and they have few resources. He wants… he asks for a peaceful meeting between himself and our leaders."

"Not quite, my prince," Reepicheep spoke up. The Mouse was bristling slightly, paw tight around his sword belt. He spoke to Susan. "The Prince Caspian speaks well, but the Telmarine Lord was not quite so diplomatic. In fact, in his message, he demands a presence of Prince Caspian, with no more than two companions, at his encampment so that they may discuss the creation of a new Telmarine militia under both their commands."

"Who does he think he is?" said Trumpkin, his voice just below shouting. The Dwarf's face was red.

"It's understandable," Caspian replied, "that Lord Drinian would be apprehensive about sending a missive here. This is a Narnian camp, after all, and he needs to care for the welfare of his soldiers."

"His words are 'Telmarine militia!'" said Susan angrily, quickly skimming the page. "This is completely preposterous. After years of fighting for our lives, our homes, he wants us to join with him to form a Telmarine militia?! This is against everything we stand for…!"

"He wants an alliance!" Caspian interrupted, her angry tirade. "We need an alliance. The only reason we haven't lost the battle today is because they came to our aid. Whatever he wants to call this alliance can be discussed but we need to meet with him."

Caspian looked around for approval and was relieved to see at least a few nods. But some of the Beasts were clearly against the idea.

"No disrespect to your majesty," said Trufflehunter, getting up on his hind paws, "but these are Telmarines we're talking about. For centuries, people like Lord Drinian have oppressed us. Most of the people we shelter here have been victims of their cruelty. I'm an old badger, and I remember how many homes were lost and how many families were murdered in the name of Telmar. It would be… difficult for us to fight with them, even against a common enemy."

"I, for one, would rather fight alongside those who fight for the same reason," Glenstorm intoned, nodding his dark head.

"We need their help," Caspian insisted, looking almost desperate.

"We don't need their help," Susan snapped, holding the paper so tightly it crumpled. "It doesn't sound like there's much help they can give us, anyway."

"Our forces are not strong enough to defeat Miraz's!" Caspian cried. "You know that! Look, I understand what you mean about the integrity of this army, but it's a miracle we've held out for so long. The Telmarines have more soldiers, better and more weaponry, and more access to resources. I admit Lord Drinian won't be able to give us as much as that, but he can help us! There are things he knows, information about Miraz's army…"

"I meant," Susan interrupted, "that we don't need them because you can challenge the king to single combat."

The group grew quiet and Caspian flushed as every gaze turned on him. Susan was staring at him with intensity and some strange smugness in her blue eyes.

"Prince Caspian has already made that challenge, and it was refused," said Glenstorm after a short, contemplative silence.

"Then he must make it again, if he's willing," she replied.

"I'm willing enough, but if Miraz has refused the first time, what makes you think he'd agree this time?" Caspian asked testily.

"He was safe behind his castle walls last time, while his troops did battle for him. But now, he marches with them and must appear a proper leader amongst them. How can he refuse, again, when his men are looking to him for courage?"

"Susan speaks the truth," Glenstorm agreed, gazing at Caspian.

"Yes, that is a good point," murmured Trumpkin, nodding, and many of the others replied with something similar. Caspian felt his stomach sinking and his face flushed with vexation at Susan, partly because he knew that his own honor would not allow him to refuse.

She stared at him a moment, then briskly stepped over and took his arm, drawing him away from the others, muttering some excuse or other.

She stepped close to him once they were alone, crossing her arms. "Well, Caspian?" she demanded. "What is it? I thought that you'd be glad to make the challenge again."

"I… I don't know," he said softly, lowering his head.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" she replied. "It was your idea in the first place and now you have another chance at it."

His gaze flickered to somewhere in the distance and with a frown, Susan followed his line of sight. A bit ways off, Peter was sitting and talking with Edmund. Edmund had his hands held close to the fire for warmth, but Peter held his in his lap, fingers toying with the ring on his finger. In an instant, her expression softened.

"I understand," she whispered, turning back to Caspian and seeing the pain on his face, "but you aren't the only one with happiness at stake, Caspian. If you don't want him to know, I won't say anything," she added.

He sighed and tore his eyes away from Peter. "I know," he said softly. "It's not just that, either." He didn't elaborate any further and Susan didn't press.

She looked at him sadly for a moment before taking his arm in a tight grip.

"I can do it," she said fiercely. "Let me challenge Miraz!"

"No!" he immediately said. "This is my fight. I must face Miraz by myself. Don't worry, you can trust me to do what is right."

There was a flash of resentment in her eyes. "It's just as much my fight as it is yours," she said brusquely before walking back towards the gathered group, their private conversation over. Caspian followed, sighing, wishing for once that he and Susan could get along.

"It is agreed then," said Caspian to those assembled. "I will send another challenge to the king. He will not likely refuse."

"But what about Drinian?" asked Trumpkin impatiently. "Should we or should we not make an alliance with him?"

"I think it's obvious that we must," said Caspian. "While there's no guarantee whether Miraz will accept or not, I don't know how long we can last without aid."

"Well then who shall we send if not Prince Caspian?" asked Trufflehunter. "Who can we send that Drinian will trust?"

"I can go," Peter spoke up. Caspian nearly jumped when he suddenly realized that Peter had joined them.

"Peter, what are you talking about?" Susan said, the same time Caspian burst out, "That's out of the question!"

"He'll trust me," said Peter adamantly. "I was the one who persuaded him to go against Miraz in the first place. He knows me."

"Yes, but how can we trust him to not attack you?" Caspian replied frantically. Of all the solutions he'd imagined, sending Peter to play ambassador was not one of them. "How do we know you'll be safe-"

"You were quick enough to trust him before," Susan cut in with an accusing look.

"That's because I was to go!"

"Caspian," said Peter, trying to placate, "I know I can trust him to do what's right. An alliance with Drinian is the best thing we can do right now. This is a good thing. How else are we to defeat Miraz?"

"If Peter says he can trust Drinian, that's good enough for me," said Susan.

Caspian looked at her, a little aghast. Didn't she care about her brother being sent into dangerous territories? Who knew how many men Drinian had at his disposal? What if they turned on Peter?

"It's decided then," agreed Trumpkin, followed by the nods and agreements of many of the others.

…………………………………..

………………………………….

"How's the head?" Caspian asked quietly, leaning over Peter and parting the blond hair to check the wound. It was crudely bandaged, probably by Peter himself.

"Still hurts. Throbs like a nuisance," Peter murmured, his eyes half lidded. "Don't care much, though. 'M just tired."

Gently, Caspian kissed Peter's forehead. The Narnian's hair looked so much darker in the dim lamplight. The warm yellow light spilled over Peter's face and neck as he lay on the cot, blankets pressed close to his chest. His skin had taken on an almost buttery color and looked so smooth.

"You took quite a hit. Still got all your memories?" Caspian asked, smiling. He took Peter's hand in his lap and lightly squeezed the fingers. The tenseness of Peter's earlier decision lay unspoken between them.

"I'm fine," said Peter, smiling back up at his husband. "It's more of a laceration, not so much of a bump."

"Then, what's the name of this month?" Caspian asked, playfully trailing his fingers down Peter's chest.

"January," Peter whispered, enchanted by how dark and honey-like Caspian's skin was. The Telmarine's hair was dark like ink in the low light. His lips were chapped and there was a thin, superficial cut above Caspian's eyebrow that ran down to his temple like a red thread.

"What was my mother's favorite color?"

"Um, I don't know."

"See, you don't remember!" Caspian teased. "You have a concussion."

"I don't remember because you never told me, you ass!" Peter said laughing.

The skin around Caspian's eyes crinkled when he smiled. Peter reached up and traced his husband's cheekbones, wondering if Caspian ever looked more perfect than that moment.

"What's my name?" asked the prince, turning his face and leaning into Peter's hand, kissing the fingers he thought were so elegant.

"Caspian," Peter murmured with a chuckle, "my head wasn't hit that hard."

"And…" Caspian continued, leaning down so their noses bumped. "How long have you loved me?"

"Um… since our second kiss."

"What?" Caspian gasped in mock-affront. "I believe the correct answer was: 'from the day I first saw you!'"

Peter giggled and pushed at the prince. "Do you even remember the day we first met? I threw a cup of wine at you."

"Mm, well that's when I knew I loved you," Caspian said, nuzzling at Peter's neck. He kissed the softness of Peter's throat, feeling his love's fragile pulse under his lips. Sighing, the prince lowered his head down onto Peter's chest and grasped his husband's hand tightly.

"You're troubled," Peter whispered, running a hand over Caspian's brow and all the little creases from frowning.

"I'm just worried about you," replied Caspian, voice slightly muffled by fabric and Peter's body.

"Don't be. You trust me, don't you?"

"I do, Peter, I do. It's just… I'm finally with you again and I'd die if I were to lose you. I… I don't think I can live without you."

"Ohh…" Peter sighed, gently stroking Caspian's hair. His voice trembled with emotion and he didn't know what to say except, "I love you."

After a moment, Caspian sat up with a sound of displeasure. "I know you did what you thought was right," he said. "I neither have the power or the right to stop you, but I don't like it."

"Please don't be like this…"

The prince took Peter in his arms then and kissed him, silencing whatever protests. Peter's moaned softly as Caspian dropped feather-light kisses across his face and his neck, then lay down beside him. There were no more words spoken for a long time.

Eventually, Peter fell into a light sleep amidst gentle caresses, more of a doze than a real slumber. He slipped in and out of meaningless dreams while the lamplight continued to flicker and the whistling wind accompanied the noises of the camp outside.

When he woke up a while later, he could tell it was late by how silent it was. The lamp was still lit and Caspian was no longer lying next to him, but sitting at the nearby table and scribbling something on parchment.

"What's that you're doing?" Peter called, his voice a bit hoarse. The pain in his head hadn't quite died down.

Caspian looked up from his work in surprise and smiled. He fumbled with the papers a bit and held up a drawing for Peter to see. It was a moderately good portrait of Peter asleep, each line drawn with loving care, though a bit amateurish.

"Why, that's lovely," Peter murmured sleepily, before his eyes slipped closed again.

"Thank you," Caspian said, blushing a bit. "Do you want some water?" he asked, as an afterthought, noticing how dry Peter's throat sounded. But, the Narnian had fallen back asleep.

He didn't really wake up, Caspian thought, just slipped out of sleep for a few seconds.

Seeing Peter turn over slightly and snuggle deeper into the threadbare blankets, Caspian breathed out a slight sigh of relief. He took his arm off the paper he was covering, hoping the ink hadn't smudged. It was what he'd actually been working on, the message that would be sent to Miraz. The challenge. He felt horribly guilty, keeping it a secret from Peter, but Caspian couldn't bear the thought of telling his newlywed that he'd most likely be going to his death, especially since Peter would be on his way to Drinian fairly soon.

A few hours later, the lamp had burned out and Caspian had also dozed off at the table, worrying himself to sleep.

For awhile, Peter had been shifting this way and that, face scrunched up slightly in discomfort. The cold was bothering him and so was the headache.

Outside, the Narnians dispersed until only a few people were still left standing guard or sitting restlessly by the campfires.

It grew utterly cold and dark in the tent. The night reached an hour when everything seemed to stand silent and unmoving. Then, Peter stilled. It was almost as if an invisible presence came and eased his discomfort. His fidgeting stopped and every muscle relaxed. Within minutes, he fell into a stupor.

A wind from outside fluttered the canvas opening of the tent. Like something tangible, the oddly sweet-smelling breeze traveled within the enclosure. Instead of chilling the interior, however, the wind was warm as if it were a breath of summer air.

Light tendrils whispered across Peter's brow and ruffled his golden hair. The air came in warm, rolling intervals, like breathing. As Peter dreamt below his eyelids, the breeze blew again and lifted the blankets from his shoulder.

Gracefully, he sat up and opened his eyes without really waking. The action was seamless, as if he had simply shifted from one dream into the next. The blankets fell off him and pooled at his feet as Peter stood up on steady feet.

Barefoot and only clothed in his sleeping things, he stepped out of the tent. He didn't wake as his feet touched the frost on the ground. Even the cold didn't wake him. Strangely, the frost seemed to melt before him as he walked, as if some invisible breath was casting its heat on the ground.

Eyes wide and unblinking, Peter slowly walked in the direction of the woods.

"Peter?" Susan called out, quickly standing from where she was tending to a faun's arrow wound. She was one of the few who had stayed up till the late hours of the night, sleep eluding her.

"Peter!" she called again, running up to her under-clothed brother when he failed to respond.

She was the firs to notice him, but soon, people gathered around, whispering and wondering. "What is it?" one of them asked.

Susan grabbed on of Peter's shoulders and shook it, but he simply walked out of her grasp.

"I think he's sleepwalking!" said a talking Owl.

"No, he's not," Susan said, following Peter as he continued heading for the trees. "If he was sleepwalking he would have woken up by now. I… I think he's in a trance!"

"Oh, look!" someone cried, his voice shrill and urgent.

In the distance, there was a great golden beast. Strangely, everyone could see Him clearly though it was night time. He was at the same time solid yet incorporeal. For a second, Susan was sure she could see Him, all fur and muscle and heavy paws, but He would dim and melt into nothingness the next second, appearing and reappearing like sunshine during a cloudy day.

"Don't stop him," she whispered in awe, watching as Peter made his way to where Aslan was. She wasn't even worried for him anymore, heading barefoot and unarmed into the woods, because she knew her brother would be protected.

Back in the tent, Caspian awoke with a start. He groaned at the cramp in his back, as he had fallen asleep face-down on the table, and shivered in the gloom.

"Peter?" the prince called out, alarmed when he realized he no longer heard the other boy's quiet breathing. Squinting into the darkness, Caspian could just make out the tousled blankets on the ground.

A second later, he jumped up and grabbed his cloak before walking out.

"Peter!" he shouted, just as he saw his husband pass out of sight, swallowed up by the dark woods. Ignoring the people gathered around, Caspian made to dash after him.

"No, you mustn't interfere!" cried Susan. She grabbed him and tried to hold him back.

"I'm going after him," Caspian declared, shaking her off.

"No, your majesty!" cried someone else, a centaur. "It is Aslan himself who has Called Peter, and it is not our place to stop him."

"I don't care who called him! I'm not letting him go off by himself!"

Without another word, he ran for the woods, calling Peter's name.

The woods were surprisingly warm and a strange fog gathered all around him, obscuring his way. Caspian struggled through the forest, trying to catch up. For some odd reason he couldn't fathom, Peter was walking a lot easier and faster than he was though Peter had no shoes and it was utterly dark.

The paleness of Peter's shirt was like a beacon to him, always far ahead but never completely out of sight. A few times, Caspian tripped over some hidden tree root and scraped his shins.

Peter was getting farther and farther out of reach. Caspian pushed his arms in front of him in a vain attempt to dispel some of the fog. He had just stumbled up a small hill in time to see Peter disappear into a cave in the distance.

……………………….

…………………………

Peter felt like he was walking on air. He lost himself in the sweet-smelling fog that surrounded him and threw himself recklessly into the power that drew him closer and closer to… something.

He knew that he was asleep, or at least that he wasn't quite awake. He heard people's voices calling out to him from far off, but they were dim and inconsequential. Caspian's faint cries made him falter and his heart beat in consternation, but he only hesitated for a moment before continuing on his path.

He couldn't feel his feet stepping over the forest floor, couldn't even see where he was going, but took each step with confidence and utter fearlessness.

The mist sighed and twisted around him. He couldn't feel the cold or the sharp rocks under his feet, only the silent promise of safety. It was almost as if some invisible string was pulling him along, but he would have gone along willingly just the same.

When he came to, he found himself in a cave. The walls around him were a red earthy color, and there were ripples of light illuminating the whole place, as if there was water nearby reflecting sunlight.

He heard a Call, so sweet, beautiful, and strong, and he recognized it immediately as the voice of the Great Lion that had spoken to him before. With a tremulous smile, he stepped deeper into the cave.

Further and further he walked. It seemed to him that the cave was merely an entrance to some enormous underground cavern.

They were waiting for him, the Great Lion and a woman. Peter instantly knew her, as if he had known her all his life. She was the queen that had appeared so often in his dreams, the ghost that haunted him in his darkest moments, and the specter that had frightened him to life when all hope had departed.

She stood by Aslan, her face now healthy with an ethereal glow, her lips rosy. Her raven hair fell majestically down her back and her dress was white. A wreath of golden flowers crowned her dark head. In her hands she held a shining sword.

She looked at him gently with her sky-blue eyes and he his heart beat with fond recognition.

"Peter," Aslan called in welcome.

"Aslan, you've come at last!" Peter cried, voice choked with joy and longing. "I've longed to see you ever since last time. But… why have you called me here?"

"You have done well, Son of Adam, since I last came to you," said He. "You have been far braver, suffered far more, and done more than I could ever have asked of you. For that reason, I deem you worthier than all your predecessors to receive this sword: the sword Rhindon that belonged to the first king in Narnia to be called Peter."

Reverently, Peter knelt at the queen's feet. Ever her clothes seemed other-worldly, made of star-stuff, as if she had traveled years and years and untold distances just for him, before she had to return to Aslan's country. Gingerly, he touched the hem of her gown and brought the fabric to his lips, laying upon it the gentlest of kisses.

But when she offered the sword to him in both hands, he shied away apprehensively. It all seemed like a dream…

"Oh, I daren't!" he gasped.

"Do you doubt the prophecy?" Aslan said. "You are the scion of King Peter the Magnificent and the last king, King Peter the tenth. Surely, you have always known this to be true, in your heart. It is your destiny to bring about peace for Narnia."

"Me? King Peter's heir?" Peter spoke with disbelief, the kind of disbelief that was coupled with fear. "No, I never thought it could be true! There must be hundreds more fitting than me! I'm just… myself."

"Do not doubt your worth, Son of Adam," the Lion chastised gently, "for I have seen all you've done. I have felt your fear as a child when your father died and your mother was taken. You showed courage, young as you were, when you took care of your family. When your sister left, you showed even more courage when you stayed to nurture Edmund and Lucy, even though your heart cried out at the injustices of the Telmarine rule and you longed to fight.

"I have felt your fear and your pain when you sacrificed yourself so that the people in your village may live, willingly selling yourself into slavery for the sake of others. I felt your heartbreak, Peter, when you had to leave your brother and sister behind."

Peter jerked in surprise when he felt hot tears dripping down his chin. He felt ashamed that he was crying like a child in front of Aslan, but the tears came trickling down and he could not hold them back. And when he looked into the kind, knowing eyes of the Lion, he no longer wanted to. All the pain he had felt over the years that he had carefully kept dammed were now being drained from him in shuddering waves.

"I saw how bravely you faced your captors, and how you stood up to Miraz when he made his advances. Yet, bravery is not your only virtue. Many people are brave, but not can be kind kind.

"Despite your hatred for the Telmarines who destroyed your family, you loved Prince Caspian. Despite him being a Telmarine prince, everything you should have despised, you did not let prejudice cloud your judgment and you saw him as a person rather than a race. You were able to love him, Peter, just as you were able to love the other slaves.

"It was this same ability to love that made you mistakenly sacrifice yourself to protect your sister, even though love was what kept you from giving in to Miraz earlier. It was the same love that later made you see what little good there was in the king, the same love that drew you to nurture the infant Rilian and care for Queen Prunaprismia, though she tried to murder you. And that love, Peter, has brought you much sorrow, yet you retained it throughout your hardships."

"There were at times," Peter spoke haltingly, bringing his hands to his face to wipe away the stream of tears, "that I imagined it was a weakness." The Queen looked down at him, her eyes shining with sorrow and silent tears running in silver rivulets down her pale face. "If I… if I hadn't loved Caspian so much, it wouldn't have hurt so much when he left me. And it wouldn't hurt so much now, wondering and wondering whether Miraz might have been… a better man." He whispered the last words, fighting the urge to hold his hands over his mouth, but Aslan knew what was in his heart anyway.

"It is no weakness, Peter," He said, His deep and comforting voice washing over Peter and vibrating in the boy's blood. "You are not weak. Knowing you would be captured and most likely killed, you chose to stay in the castle and fight, even though I offered you an easier way and would not have condemned you for choosing it. You were far from weak when you fought by Caspian's side, or challenged Caspian himself when you felt that your honor was at stake."

"Why me? And why now?" Peter cried. "Why not my father or my mother, when Miraz began terrorizing the land? Why not some other child just as brave as I am, who could have stopped the scourges of war generations earlier? Why all this… this suffering?"

Aslan sighed and brought His face close to Peter's so that His breath ruffled the golden locks. "I cannot make a king, Peter, no matter the circumstances. He has to make himself. And now, you yourself have taken on the Task that will most probably end this war."

Peter looked at Him, confused.

"You have offered to ride forth and treat with Lord Drinian. Though you did not see it before, this is a most important Task because it will unite Narnians and Telmarines, though they have warred for generations. Go to Drinian and aid him so that he may aid you and you will see that it is not only the Narnians who have suffered under the cruelty of the Telmarine kings. Then you must unite them, Peter, and lead them to victory. Together, defeat Miraz and all his supporters so that there may be peace.

"Take up the sword Peter, and it will help you!"

Peter stood shakily and reached for Rhindon, but still hesitated. "What about Caspian?" he asked. "Surely, it's his destiny to be king. This is his war, Aslan. I can't take the kingship from him because it is rightfully his!"

"But it was his forefathers who stole this land from yours, and brought about ruin for its people. Have you forgotten? What you call rightfully his was taken by force and inherited through a line of self-declared kings."

"But Sir, you said that you cannot make a king, that he must be self-made. What of Caspian's virtues, then? Hasn't he sacrificed just as much as I have? Even more than I, actually, because I didn't have much to begin with. He lost his princedom, his home, and his whole way of life for my sake, for love! He fought just as bravely as I ever could have, and he had so much more to lose, because don't you see? He's a Telmarine and fighting for Narnia must be splitting him apart! He's sacrificed his very identity for Narnia, all for trying to bring peace between our people. How can I, who has lost far less than he has, take his kingship from him?"

Peter spread his hands in a desperate plea, his face flushed with emotion at how torn he felt inside.

"Your words are true," said Aslan, "and most noble. But can you truly give up your kingship, destined to be yours at birth, to the Telmarine prince and have him rule over you? Would you let all your suffering culminate in this: that he should be the High King of Narnia instead of you or your sister?"

"It isn't kingship, though that would be the greatest of all honors and the highest of all gifts, that I want," said Peter. "It is peace, understanding, and prosperity, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to see that Narnia receives them."

"Well spoken, Peter!" Aslan said, and His rich voice rang through the cavern. "Then take up your sword and fulfill the duties you have named. And though you are well endowed with humility and selflessness, do not concern yourself with Caspian's welfare. Whatever is rightfully his shall come to him in time, for I know him and I know that he is good and honorable.

"King Peter is born again!" Aslan declared, and a sharp ringing of magic filled the air. An instant later, Peter found himself attired in shining, majestic armor and a bright red tunic with a golden lion embroidered on the front.

"Kneel," spoke the Queen for the first time, and Peter was surprised at how deep and rich her voice was. He got to his knees and removed his helm, bowing his head.

"Do you swear your loyalty to Narnia, to fight for Narnia in whatever way might be asked of you, and to uphold virtue and goodness for always?"

"I swear," he said, and the Queen touched his shoulders with the flat of the sword.

"Rise, Sir Peter Pevensie," she called triumphantly, and he rose with a new strength in his eyes. With both hands, he took the sword from her and sheathed it, letting it hang comfortingly from his sword belt.

With a more tender smile on her rosy lips, she took his face in her hands and leaned to kiss his brow.

A flood of images invaded his mind at her touch, and he gasped as he saw her no longer standing before him in white but somewhere else. Fleeting pictures danced before his eyes, times and events from long ago and far away.

There she was, a young girl dressed awkwardly in strange clothing stumbling into a snowy wonderland.

A second later, and she was a teenager, riding a horse with a bow and quiver strapped proudly on her back.

She was a queen, crowned in golden flowers.

Peter almost staggered as he saw the lives of all the children after her, the princesses and princes who bore her noble blood, all of them beautiful and brave. He saw her as she appeared to him in his dreams, pale hands clutched around an even paler ivory cup, full of red flames. He saw the fall of Queen Susan, her heir and wife of King Peter the Tenth, and the child who lived to become the forefather of his family.

In that one moment that she kissed him, he saw his mother with her black hair and rosy lips, his sister Susan, and all the lives that came before them. He felt her anger, her sorrow, and her unrelenting passion, but most of all, he felt her love and her hope for a new Narnia.

"Do you know who I am?" Queen Susan whispered to him.

"Yes, of course," he breathed, feeling his heart bursting with joy and love. "A man is still his mother's son."

……………………………………………….

……………………………………………….

Caspian burst into the cave, panting, bedraggled, and cold. He heard voices, beautiful voices, from deeper in and he ran towards them.

"Peter!" he called, even though his voice was hoarse. "Peter! Peter! Pete-!"

Caspian stopped abruptly when he came upon the three people, just in time to see the Lion and the beautiful Queen before the two of them disappeared. The light that lingered in the cavern dimmed until there was only Peter standing there, fully accoutered in armor with a sword at his side.

Peter turned and Caspian almost gasped when he saw how changed his husband was. The armor glittered even in the dark, and seemed to fit Peter as if it had been made just for him.

But what surprised Caspian the most was the look in his eyes, as if he had seen and spoken to and touched something that was heavenly and other-worldly and was only now awakening from that dream. If Caspian had not just seen the Lion (that he knew must have been Aslan) he would have thought Peter bewitched.

"P-Peter?" he called out, wavering, unsure. Peter came towards him, strong and confident, and Caspian did not know what to think.

"Come on," Peter said softly, taking Caspian's arm and leading him out of the cave. "We have to go back."

………………………………………..

…………………………………….

It was a cold, gray dawn and Caspian was feeling achy and rather empty. It was him, this time, who watched Peter getting dressed and armored to get ready to leave.

I hate that you're going, that you're heading into danger. I hate that you're leaving me, even if it's just for now, and oh how I hate that you've somehow moved away from me,he wanted to say. But he kept these negative thoughts to himself as he stood and helped Peter to tie and buckle, smoothing his hands over his husband's skin every now and then. As it often is, when one person had seen something magical that someone else hasn't, Peter could not find the words to reconcile his vision with Caspian and Caspian had no words to ask him about it.

When Peter went out to mount his horse, the Narnians gathered around to stare in silent awe. Though Peter had kept mostly silent about last night's adventures, the people of the camp had made conjectures. They had seen his armor, and the dazzled look in his face, and they could feel that he had been touched by magic.

Rynelf was nearby, already armed and mounted. Caspian would trust no other man to go with Peter. Wind-Mane, the female centaur was to go with them as well, and she stamped the ground impatiently, armored plates clanking along her flanks.

"Be careful," were Susan's only words to Peter as she clasped his hands in hers.

Caspian himself didn't know what to say, afraid his voice would crack. But Peter seemed to understand the love and fear in Caspian's eyes, and merely touched Caspian's cheek lovingly, trying to express all he could with one lingering look.

"Goodbye, for now," he whispered.

Caspian felt his heart aching as he watched Peter ride off, swallowed up by the horizon and the rose-colored sunrise, the nickering of Peter's horse the last thing to fade away.

Not long after Peter left, a message came from Miraz, brought by a nervous-looking young Telmarine soldier. The king had accepted Caspian's challenge, and the fight would be to the death.

As Susan read over the message, Caspian slowly sank onto a nearby tree stump for support. He would go fight. He had to.

As Caspian shook his head, trying to deal with this turn of events, his eyes fell on a golden chrysanthemum, growing happily nearby. How strange, he thought. They usually bloom in autumn.

………………………….

……………………………..

Notes: Argh, once AGAIN, sorry this took so long! But now that it's summer, I'll hopefully have more time to update. Thanks so much to everyone who's reading! Please please feedback and lemme know what you think!! ^_^