THANK YOU, DEAR REVIEWERS! It feels so good to know that my work is being liked by so many people. Oh and I'm looking for a shop that sells Griffy(s). I hope to find it soon because I want me a Griffy!

Once again, this chapter is for the Peter/Isabel lovers. I hope you like it. Let me know!

Disclaimer: Nah, Narnia ain't mine, folks! This story is, though.

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FATE OR DESTINY?

WITH LOVE, ISABEL… WITH LOVE, PETER

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Isabel slashed her makeshift dagger, aiming for Caspian's chest, but the king raised his own weapon and the clunk of wood meeting wood echoed all over the empty training grounds. She aimed a kick at Caspian's shins and catching him unaware shoved him away. He stumbled. And that was all the Isabel needed. Striding forward, her auburn hair flying wildly around her, she placed her dagger on his throat. "Dead."

This was the first time she had defeated anyone in a battle – not counting the time she had fought Lenora's attackers.

Caspian stared wide-eyed at her for a few moments, breathing heavily as he dropped his weapon. And then he grinned. "Congratulations!"

"I've never seen anyone so happy on being defeated."

Caspian laughed. "I'm not only happy, but I'm extremely proud of you."

Isabel smiled. "Well, I had talented teachers."

"You deserve a treat," Caspian said, sitting down. "Tell me, what you would like to have."

And then, before Isabel could reply, Griffy came swirling down and gracefully landed before the consort queen. Isabel bowed down and took the envelope from its beak, patting it on its head. With a small hoot, Griffy, spread its wings and flew away.

"Someone is in touch with the High King," Caspian commented.

Isabel blushed as she opened the envelope. "Do you talk to him?"

"Both him and Edmund," Caspian nodded. "It is important that we share news and strategies."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"We write in codes." Caspian said. "I think I should leave you to read your letter. I'll see you at dinner." With a smile, he walked away.

Isabel looked at the letter.

Dear Isabel,

I will be honest. After reading your last letter, I had half a mind to toss it into the fire and never speak to you again. And its not because of Vane's actions, its because of your words.

What Vane did to you is your nightmare, but I assure you that the shame is his and never yours. I'm fighting this war so I can bring that man to justice, and so you and I can put an end to this nightmare together.

If I had wanted to leave you, I'd have already done so. But I didn't, I choose not to. You say I'm the first man to come into your life, and I'd be honored if you allow me to be the last.

Take care,

Peter.

It took Isabel a few moments to realize that she was crying. What Vane had did to her was indeed her nightmare; it haunted her every night in her dreams and she woke up screaming. Sometimes, she could feel his dirty touch on her skin. Sometimes, she would hear his voice following her. Sometimes, she would cringe and flinch when any man - apart from Caspian and Edmund - approached her. She had thought that Peter would want to fix her, to make her whole, which wasn't possible because she was like shattered glass. But Peter didn't want to fix her. He was willing to embrace all the cracks and all the pieces like a good friend. It filled her with a lot of emotions - guilt and remorse the most.

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Dear Peter,

Please understand that my intention was not to hurt you. I don't think I'll ever be able to truly put an end to this nightmare. I am scarred and I'll have these scars for the rest of my life. I didn't want you to tolerate a broken wife due to sheer duty, so I gave you a way out. I will admit that I am glad you didn't take it.

I hope everything is alright at the front.

Praying for your safe return.

Isabel.

Peter shook his head at the words, a small smile on his face. He picked up his quill and started writing on a small piece of parchment:

Dear Isabel,

Let this be our nightmare then. We shall live and deal and die with it together.

Everything is as you'd expect at the battlefront. I hate every second of it. They always sing songs about glorious battles, but they are not. The place smells of death. There's bloodshed and cries of pain and feasting crows and actual shit and vomit everywhere. At night I wander around our encampment and I wonder where the glory is in war. But then the day comes and we have to fight for our country and family and I see it bright and clear.

I hope you are well.

Peter.

P.S. I was thinking the other day that I don't know much about your likes and dislikes. Tell me about yourself – what colors do you like? What is your favorite food or flower or season? It's time I get to know a few things about my wife.

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Dear Peter,

I could write a book about my likes and dislikes! I love the color blue because I've always loved the sea. There is nothing more peaceful than listening to the sound of waves, or feeling the soft sand under your feet, or looking into the far away horizon where the sea meets the sky.

I can eat almost anything that Edmund doesn't like. Did you know that I once saw him mix custard with chicken broth and eat it?

Spring is my favorite season. When everything blooms with joy, the trees rustle with the breeze and the birds sing their happy songs. It is so full of life. And I believe that that is exactly how the world should be - full of peace, love and happiness. And should you ever wish to bring me flowers, know that I love white roses.

Now that I've answered your questions, it is only fair that you answer the same questions for me too. I should get to know my husband too.

With love,
Isabel.

Peter glanced at the letter on his desk. The letter he had received last night. Whenever he read Isabel's letters, he felt as if everything was normal, as if everything was absolutely, completely fine. And he hated her for it. Because after thinking that he was in peace while he immersed himself in her words, he had to return to his surroundings, to the reality, to the bloodshed.

Peter kept on looking at the piece of paper, ignoring all the hustle and bustle in his tent, imagining as if it was nothing but a loud gust of wind.

Edmund walked in his tent, dressed in his armor, his sword bloody. "Peter…" he whispered, placing a hand on his elder brother's shoulder.

"I'm fine," the High King replied. It was funny how these words just kept on leaving his mouth on their own.

"No, you're not. You're hurt."

"Yes, well," Peter glared at his brother. "Thank you for reminding me." Reluctantly, he glanced down, cursing the man who had rammed a spear into his leg. The muscles in his calf were torn, and Peter felt that the spearhead had definitely hit - if not broken - the bone.

"Is it painful?" Edmund asked, looking at the blood oozing out of the wound which refused to stop.

"Not at all." He muttered sarcastically.

"The healers told me that the spearhead was poisoned." Edmund said. "Luckily, it was not a strong poison."

Peter took a deep breath and tried to steady his breathing rate which was escalating along with his heartbeats. His eyelids felt heavy and the corners of his vision were blurring. The healers had told him that the poison would do that to him, but he refused to give in. He would not die, not now, not like this. "Go back to the fight," he said to his younger brother.

The Just King reluctantly moved to leave.

"Ed," Peter called. "Give me a paper and a quill."

Edmund seemed confused but he obeyed. Then, after one last concerned look, he marched out of the tent to lead their people in battle, as was his duty now that Peter was... detained.

With great difficulty, Peter started writing. It was hard to tune out the healers working on his leg and trying to stop the bleeding, it was hard to ignore the painful, painful poison and the spasms that came with it, and it was hard to concentrate on his words and make sense of anything. Yet still, he wrote.

Dear Isabel,

How are you?

His hands were shaking due to pain and weakness as he scribbled the note to his wife.

Don't worry about the handwriting. I'm fine. I'm just tired…

A lie, of course. He hoped she would believe it.

I love the color white. It is pure. You looked very beautiful in that white dress on our wedding. I was stunned. I dream about it sometimes.

Peter had been frank about his feelings with Isabel, but his words now were too... revealing. But his mind was clouded by the pain, so he didn't take much notice. If that had not been the case, he would have discarded this paper and started the letter from scratch.

I dared Edmund to eat that. It was funny. But he does eat a lot of odd things. I love chocolate. When – if – I get back, I'll definitely have chocolate cake; my mouth waters even thinking of it.

My favorite season is autumn without any doubt. The orange leaves falling down – it all seems so fascinating. Everything has its end and it falls down. And yet, those things have eternal beauty.

I think I should stop writing now because…

He couldn't write the reason. He couldn't tell her he was injured. She'll get worried, she'll tell the others and then they'll be worried. No. He had to pretend he was fine. The letter was spinning before his eyes now. Or was he spinning? The pain was excruciating. And one of the healers was telling him to drink a potion.

He looked back at the letter and tried to focus. His hand was trembling more than ever.

With love,
Peter.

"Griffy," he whispered. His throat was dry.

The healer understood and quickly had the baby griffin summoned. Peter held out the letter for the creature, hoping it would understand the silent command. Thankfully, it did. With a hoot, it flew away.

Peter watched it leave, then turned to the healers. Accepting the potion, he downed it in one go. "Fix me up soon," he said, resting his head back and closing his eyes. "I want to fight once I get up."

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Isabel was angry. She had been ever since she had received word from her husband. The letter was sweet. She was beginning to see sides of her husband that she didn't even know yet, she was angry - no wait. She was furious. No other word could describe it better than that.

Did Peter think her to be stupid?

She glanced back at the letter lying on a desk in the library. She could clearly see the smudges of blood on the paper. And any concern she had felt when she had first opened the letter was now gone, only to be replaced by the urge to scream at Peter.

"Don't worry about the handwriting. I'm fine. I'm just tired…"

Liar. How could she not worry? The shaky, disjointed, messy writing alone told her that Peter had been trembling, possibly in pain, when he wrote it. And the blood... Her mind filled with all sorts of horrible images when she thought of the blood. Why didn't he just say that he was hurt?

"You have been pacing for a while, Isabel," Lucy walked up to her. "Is everything alright?"

"I think Peter is hurt." She replied, gesturing towards the letter.

"May I read it?" Lucy asked.

"Of course."

The Valiant Queen picked up the piece of paper and began reading. Every now and then she would glance at Isabel. Finally after a couple of minutes, Lucy replaced the papers on the desk with a sigh and turned to Isabel. "I hope dreams of you bring him peace during the battles," she said slowly. "He is a brilliant warrior, but war has always troubled his heart."

Isabel could feel her cheeks getting red. Peter's confession about dreaming of her had been swept away by her concern and anger at him. Besides, she didn't know if he really meant it or not. And she didn't know how to react to it.

Lucy paused for a moment. "I think you should write back to him. Mention his writing and the blood and ask if he is alright."

"How stupid can he get?" Isabel questioned. "He should have simply mentioned that he's a little hurt and that he'll be fine. I would not have been so worried then."

"I think you still would have. And I think he didn't want to trouble you."

"And look how trouble-free I'm right now." Isabel snorted sarcastically. "I'll kill him when he comes back!"

"Don't tell him that," Lucy joked. "He might decide not to return."

Isabel tried to smile at the young queen's attempt to cheer her up. But she was so worried and so angry that it barely came out as a grimace. She excused herself and grabbed a parchment and quill. Fuming, she wrote:

Peter Pevensie,

I want to know what is going on and how are you? Don't you dare say that you're fine unless it is the truth. I know you're injured. Not knowing more about it is killing me here. Please, spare me the sleepless nights and tell me what happened.

I can't believe that you would send me a letter covered with your blood and tell me that you are fine and that I should not worry about you. I swear, Peter, if you write such ambiguous letters to me, I WILL come there, and no one will be able to stop me from doing so.

You're my husband and I have a right to know what condition you're in. In our relationship, I expect nothing but honesty from you, and I hope you fulfill this expectation of mine.

Take care of yourself, Peter. Staying out of trouble can really be a good thing in life. Trust my word and try it.

With love,
Isabel.

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Dear Isabel,

Something tells me you are very angry with me, which is why I won't write that I'm fine. I'm a little hurt, but I'll be fine. It's just a small gash.

Peter cringed as he wrote yet another lie, but he really didn't want Isabel to worry because of him. He could actually feel waves of concern radiating from Isabel's letter and he doubted that telling her the extent of his injury would make her feel better.

I didn't tell you about it because I thought that you would be worried, but I suppose that caused you much more headache.

DON'T you dare even think about coming to the battlefield! I forbid you, and I will not be very pleased if you so much as mention it ever again. This is a nasty place, full of nasty things going on and the last thing I want is my wife to be in the middle of all of this.

Please stop worrying about me.

Peter paused wondering what else he could write to Isabel, or even better, a good way to change the topic of his injuries.

There was a knock outside, and a moment later, a soldier walked in. "King Edmund requests your presence, your majesty," he said after a bow.

"Is everything alright?" Peter asked.

"Vane's second-in-command has asked an audience with you and the Just King."

That intrigued Peter. What was that bastard Vane playing at now? "I'll be there."

The soldier hesitated, looking at him. "Do you… need help, milord?"

Peter looked down at his bandaged leg and then back at him. "No," he replied with a small smile. "I'll walk myself." Once the man had left, Peter quickly scribbled the rest of the letter:

I've to go now. Take care of yourself.

Love,
Peter.

Folding the piece of paper, the High King held it out to Griffy who had been sitting on his cot, nibbling a piece of bread, or tearing it into pieces, whichever described it better.

Then, Peter forced himself onto his feet. He gasped at the pain that shot through his leg, but he could live with that. Right now, Narnia needed its High King. And he had promised this to Aslan and to himself the day he was crowned: Narnia before anything else.

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Isabel sipped her tea and smiled as Susan and Lucy argued over their dresses. Sisters! She had always wanted one when she was little. And now, thanks to Aslan and to this marriage, she had two. Isabel considered herself very lucky to have such a nice family.

It was almost sunset and the three queens were sitting outside in the gardens. "Is that Griffy?" Susan asked suddenly, pointing towards the sky.

Isabel's eyes followed and in spite of herself, she smiled. Yes, there was Griffy – cute and yet majestic – as he flew towards the palace. But Isabel had not even replied to Peter's last letter where he had forbidden her to go to the battlefield. She had thought of a couple of scathing and funny replies to that. She hoped they would ease the waves of anger flowing between the two of them since Peter stupidly sent her a blood covered letter.

But why was Griffy here then? She could see the creature look at her, but instead of coming to her, it spiraled towards the palace and flew in the window of Caspian's study. Perhaps Peter had sent a letter to the king... But why would he do that via Griffy? Peter was already in touch with Caspian through other messengers. Griffy was the mode of communication between the High King and his wife only, or so Peter had told her.

Her queries were answered not long after. A servant came running towards them. "My queens," he bowed. "King Caspian requests your presence in his study. He says it's urgent."

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"What is it, Caspian?"

Caspian looked up to see the Gentle Queen enter the study room, followed by Lucy and Isabel. "Have a seat, all of you," he said, pointing towards the chairs.

The three queens obliged. Susan looked curiously at him, Lucy fiddled with the hem of her sleeves and Isabel was staring at Griffy who was perched on the windowsill.

"The letter was not for you, Isabel," Caspian said, holding out the paper he had just received. "It was for me... And it was from Edmund."

Isabel looked into his eyes. "Is everything alright?" she asked slowly.

"I'm afraid, no." Caspian replied, then proceeded to read the letter out loud for the queens:

"Dear Caspian. I hope all of you are well. I've written this letter to tell you about what is going on here – and believe me, it is not what we had planned. Vane is smart. More smart than we give him credit for. The cunning bastard has trapped us in a corner where the only way out is his way. You see, Gerald (Vane's second-in-command) asked for an audience with us yesterday. Vane has challenged Peter in a one-to-one combat to avoid the unnecessary bloodshed, as he called it–"

"The hypocrite," Susan exclaimed, cutting Caspian in mid-sentence, "Vane was the one who started this war in the first place!"

"I know," Caspian nodded his head in agreement before reading ahead. "The fight would be to the death... He played the exact card that we did in the battle against Miraz. He had me and Peter gather the entire Narnian war council, and then challenged Peter in such a tricky way that Peter couldn't refuse. Normally, I wouldn't worry. Peter is an excellent fighter, but he is badly wounded. A poisoned tear tore his leg the other day. Though the healers were able to save his leg, he is extremely weak. I do not think he can face a boy, let alone a seasoned fighter like Vane, in proper combat."

Isabel stilled, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Peter had lied to her. He had said it was a gash and that he was fine. And now this challenge. No, no, no... this could not be happening.

"I would have taken Peter's place, I still want to, but Pete won't let me." Caspian continued to read Edmund's letter. "I have tried to convince him to decline the challenge. We can defeat him on the battlefield, but he says that already many Narnians have died and if can prevent any more deaths, he will do so. As noble as that is, the fact still remains that Peter is not fit to fight. One move gone wrong could cost me my brother... Needless to say, against my counsel, Peter accepted the challenge. The fight is tomorrow at noon. Take care of the girls. I'll write to you when all this is over. Edmund."

Caspian placed the letter on his desk and looked up at the queens, who were staring at him with wide eyes, their expressions nothing but horror and fear.

Until next time, folks! =D

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