Chapter Twenty-Two: Growing Closer

The royals and Brielle traversed to Aslan's How and found refuge for the next few days. Once they were sure the coast was clear, sending out word of their presence to those in Telmar, waiting until they received positive word back before returning to their home.

Upon their arrival, the Telmarines and the Narnians that hadn't been dispatched to the restoration of Cair Paravel had graciously accepted them. Swept them up into their embrace and reveled in having their Kinds and Queens with them once more. Brielle even found herself widely heralded by the servants who had come out in streams to see her.

She was more than excited to see Rosie and Roman scampering her way, sweeping them up in her embrace and tight hugs when they reached her side, tugging at her dress and jumping on her. Brielle hadn't realized how much she missed them, the other servants, missed the familiarity of being at Telmar.

Her palms weren't consistently sweaty, her fingers weren't tingling, her heart wasn't ramming against her chest. Exhilaration wasn't making her make such careless mistakes. Wasn't making Silas and Vincent question her every move, every thought, every whim, wondering if she was going to be able to move forward with the plan. They made their decision; they were going to kill him that night…and were unable to. Something had gone wrong, Brielle'd tried for herself and…the King must've had something looking after him, some higher power they hadn't thought of.

Aslan, she was sure, was the being looking out for him. Aslan knew and understood everything that wen on through Narnia. What did that mean for her? Did he know and understand everything she was doing? Her motives why? The past she shared with the bitterest of enemies he'd ever had?

If so…what was it that was making her stay? What presence did she had in Narnia that was outweighing all the pain and anger that plagued her since…since…she still couldn't think of it without the pain blooming through her chest and taking over all her senses. Even as she sat in the bath on a regular day in Telmar, slowly bringing water up and down her legs and arms, she was reminded of doing the same, dropping water over the head of her familiar, listening as his low growls turned into happy whimpers.

If Aslan knew what Jadis had been up to…then what was keeping him from saying anything. Why had Father Christmas given her gifts as such as the others had received. Even Edmund had gotten his gifts at a later date, gifts that made his eyes widen and his grin swell with a pride she'd hadn't seen in him since.

Dressing, Brielle lifted her hand to touch the gem that sat around her neck, ensuring it was still there. I've already lost so much of my power, if I were to lose this, too… With a quick movement of her fingers, Brielle felt the satin sash that held her brooch tighten around her neck. A satisfying tightness, proving it wasn't leaving her soon.

Some of her power might have been, and it certainly wasn't easier to use them during the day. But that was the point, she surmised. She had to work hard to get stronger. And if the nights of them leaving Anvard was any indication, she was progressing. After her incantations, of which she was sure the others hadn't noticed as they were too busy arguing over their future destination, Peter had had a fitful night of sleep. Tossed and turned, whimpered under his breath.

Little cries that managed to eek out before his breathing became even one more. There were times where she could hear him awaken, where he would pause and see if the others had noticed his worrying rest, but then he'd lay back down and sleep. Sometimes he would start to get a good rest, that was when Brielle would say a quick incantation and he'd be off to the whimpers once more. When they awoken the next morning, no one dared to make any comment of the dark circles and bags under Peter's eyes.

Chalked it up to being roughed up by the assassins the night before. A reminder of what was following behind them. They dethroned Miraz, but there was still a lot of work they needed to do to move forward. To have peace truly come to the world they knew of Narnia once more. And, as far as Brielle was concerned, it could only happen once Peter was able to fully feel the pain he caused other people without a second thought.

The thought alone made a smirk come to Brielle's face. Things hadn't completely worked out the way they thought it would in Archenland; she expected King Nain and Queen Aria to immediately turn on the treaty between the kingdoms. Silas and Vincent had been saying as much, but the three had been caught off-guard when King Nain appeared to take the treaty in mind, taking time to think about it. Showing compassion for the previous ally that had abandoned them.

It ended up taking too long, they needed to move quickly, and it was what pushed the attack for that night. That disastrous attempt that would've ended with his blood on her blade if it weren't for…well, she wasn't quite sure what went wrong. But it all went wrong. She was going to have to try something different, then ensure she could get word back to Archenland when the time came.

Humming a light tune to herself, the same tune that played during the 'welcome dance' at their first night in Anvard, Brielle swept into her room. It still didn't seem like her own space; just a room that didn't have her touches to it yet, not like her old room in Cair Paravel. But it was still familiar, a space she knew she didn't have to hide.

So much so that, as she walked across her room, she waved her hands with reckless abandon. All at once, the sheets on her bed fell back into place, the sides tucked in neatly. The mess of the clothes she'd worn in Anvard folded together in a pile by the door for the servants to take to wash. The drapes on the windows flew open to let in the sunlight stretching over Telmar's courtyard. A hairbrush flew across the room from her desk and landed in her hair, doing one solid swipe through her hair before reaching up to do it again.

"May I have a word with you, please?"

Brielle jumped and whipped around, bringing her hand up to her brush as it embedded itself at the top of her head once more. She leveled her gaze on Peter, who placed his hands on his hips after lowering his hand from the door frame. Brielle's heart leapt to her throat, nearly making her choke. She swallowed hard. What did he see? Did he see anything at all? "Excuse me," she cried, trying to sound more indignant that her near heart attack would've led anyone to believe. "You could've knocked! I could've been indecent; I was just bathing!"

The brief fluttering of Peter's eyelashes proved how hard he was trying not to roll his eyes. "It's midday, Brielle. You take so long to get ready for anything I figured the worst I'd see you doing is putting on your makeup." He made a gesture with his hand, making Brielle roll her eyes, realizing how tightly she was holding onto the brush in her hand. She yanked it out of her hair and tossed it aside, briefly wondering if she'd be able to knock him out and end him there if she simply sent it flying across the room toward him.

But that'd be taking the plan too far too quickly, things in Archenland needed to calm down first. It'd be too suspicious, too worrying if they'd returned to Telmar and one of the Kings of Old was taken down so quickly. Word couldn't have spread that fast. Take your time Bri, Brielle reminded herself. Wait for the dust to settle, don't let things come too quickly.

"Well, what did you wish to speak to me about?" Brielle asked instead, draping herself on the end of her bed. Stretching out so that she could become comfortable.

Glancing over her shoulder, Brielle slid inside the infirmary, the skirts of her dress brushing silently against her legs. She took in a deep breath and set a determined look upon Peter as he lay quietly in his bed. Brielle glanced around, half expecting to find Edmund hiding in the corner of the room, waiting to take down anyone from the Archenland guard—or any of their enemies—trying to take his brother away. Finding no one there, she ventured further into the room, working hard to keep her footsteps light.

Finally, she reached the side of Peter's bed and looked down at him. Waited for him to make some sort of sound, some sort of movement that proved he knew she was nearby. Nothing. Brielle tilted her head, studying Peter in the bed. He lay quietly, eyes shut, chest slowly rising and falling in a motion that proved his slumber. She studied him for a second, before reaching out and brushing her fingertips along his forehead, pushing his hair from his face.

Still, he didn't move

After a second, a quiet sigh escaped his lips and his head fell to the side, cheek pressing into her palm. As she watched, it was as if his entire body relaxed, muscles allowing him to sink into the mattress beneath him. Brielle took a step back, removing her hand from Peter's cheek. His head lolled to the side, brow creasing as if he were aware of the removal of her touch.

Annoyed or…frustrated?

Shaking her head, Brielle ran a hand through her hair, pausing only when Peter spoke. She blinked at him, brought her hand down from her hair, stared at him. No. There was no way he had said what she thought he'd just said. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "Could you please repeat that?"

Peter's lips twitched. He took in a breath through his nose then said, "I said," he emphasized with mild annoyance and amusement. "I wanted to apologize."

Eyes widening, Brielle tried to figure out what to say next. She couldn't quite trust his words, there weren't many times she'd ever heard Peter apologize for anything he did. That was the point, Kings didn't apologize. Royals didn't apologize. They always made their decisions for themselves and the kingdom they ruled over with them in mind. If there were any apologies to be made, it was that they were apologizing for what other factions did to them. An apology that they couldn't protect as well as they'd promised and they'd do better.

But an actual, true apology from Peter Pevensie? Even Edmund's head would be spinning at that.

After a moment, Brielle's eyebrows came together. "Did Lucy put you up to this?"

"Believe me, if Lucy were putting me up to this, she'd be in the corner of the room glaring at me." Peter crossed the floor of Brielle's room until he was standing at the window, looking out into Telmar's courtyard. "And we both don't want that."

"No, we don't," Brielle replied. She paused. "So, what are you apologizing for?" With his back turned, she slid her wand out from beneath her pillow and waved it, allowing her journal to rocket across the room and land in her lap, pen tucked inside. She replaced her wand and flipped the pages open. "I have to write this down."

"Ha ha." Peter turned from the view, pressing his palms against the window sill, leaning his weight against it as he sat down. "I wanted to apologize for the way I spoke to you when we were coming back from Anvard." Brielle blinked twice. "I didn't intend for you to feel that I was accusing you of anything. But I'm aware I wasn't being fair and…what?"

He noticed Brielle staring at him.

"Are you sure Lucy didn't put you up to this? Su? Ed?" She shook her head, reaching up a hand to tuck some hair behind her ear. "I can't remember the last time you've ever apologized for anything, let alone to me. Especially with how many fights you start."

"I don't start fights," Peter defended himself. Brielle gave a very unladylike snort. "I don't!"

"I'm sure Ed would beg to differ."

"That's different."

"How?"

"I reckon you're supposed to fight with your brothers and sisters and you're not meant to apologize." Brielle shrugged, dropping her hands into her lap. "I'd assume that we're at least friendssss…" she trailed off the word, twitching an eyebrow upwards. "I guess…to where we wouldn't have to apologize."

Peter raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. "That's simply your way of getting away with the fact you've never apologized to me for anything, innit?"

Brielle chose to ignore that part. "What was it you were trying to apologize for?"

Peter took in a deep breath through his nose. Even from where she sat, she could see the knuckles of his fingers turn white from how hard he gripped the windowsill after unfolding his arms. "I spoke out of turn when I was trying to figure out how the Calormens knew to attack me at Cair Paravel and then again at Archenland. Things were moving fast, and we needed answers."

"…You were running off the fear of having been attacked," Brielle reassured him. She shrugged. "I understand. I was there, remember? I could've had a sword sticking out through my back right now if it weren't for you." Peter looked at her expectantly. "What?"

"You could thank me."

"For waking you up? That sounds more like something you need to thank me for." She pretended to think, tapping her finger against her cheek. "What do I want? Well, I could use some land, and maybe a title…" She trailed off with a light giggle of amusement, making Peter chuckle as well. He shook his head.

"Do you always have to argue with me?" Peter asked, turning his gaze to her, after taking it away from the ceiling.

"Excuse me?" Brielle's eyebrows rose. "You always argue with me."

"I don't think so!"

"You have since we met," Brielle exclaimed. Then she lifted her chin loftily. "Or else, if I remember correctly, that was the only time you'd ever been speechless."

A small smirk-smile came to Brielle's face, noticing the way Peter opened then immediately closed his mouth, falling silent. There were more than enough people who'd heard of their infamous meeting, where Brielle had, quietly literally, washed up on the beaches of Cair Paravel. It was one thing to hear about it, for it to be salacious gossip winding around the castle.

Brielle blinked rapidly, noticing his hesitation. She was never one to apologize, never liked to do so unless absolutely needed. There weren't many times that she felt she'd hurt someone to do so. It was part of the role she played; the perfect daughter, the perfect friend, all while others hadn't known she was working to keep her own shortcomings from rising to the surface. The daughter that couldn't stand to be around her father for more than a few moments, the friend who felt lonely even within a crowd of peers.

Nevertheless, he was a king and it was clear she had overstepped a boundary. She had to remember…had to buy her time…had to play her cards right, couldn't be too forward when it wasn't the right time. But…she had to admit…seeing the King revert to a sixteen-year-old boy was always humorous.

"That's…neither here nor there," Peter said slowly, working to find his words. "I was a young boy, I had more important things to worry about at the time. Such as…" he reached up to rub the back of his head. "Knowing I was taking on the role of being a King to a new Kingdom…country…all the people that inhabited it…" he trailed off shaking his head.

A pang hit Brielle in the chest, almost knocking her off-kilter. There were a lot of things she tried not to think about, tried not to dwell about. Having been brought back into Narnia and immediately being thrown into working to stop Miraz had been a good distraction, their plans to re-form allies and treaties was an even better distraction. A, potential, upcoming war was an even greater distraction.

But…nothing was a complete distraction from the people they met and lost and were going to lose even further, in battle.

"I miss them, too," Brielle reassured him, voice turning quiet. It amazed her how sincere her words were, feeling tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She refused to allow herself to think about it, and then Susan reminds her of Lord Peridan and everything she worked hard to hold back seemed to go flying out the window.

"I suppose you'd know more than the rest of us," Peter said, lowering his tone of voice to match hers. "What it feels like to lose those you love; first in England, then in Archenland, then Narnia…"

She'd lost more than that, long before that. Her father had been lost to her since he'd returned from the war. It was the first significant loss she still couldn't quite get over…couldn't quite stop thinking about when she allowed her mind to wander. She knew how debilitating that could be, the worst thoughts that came at the worst time, it was how she was able to plague Peter with them so easily. It was one of her greatest skills form her powers, if she were being honest.

Controlling one's mind, one's thoughts, to turn to the darkest things others tried to hide. Memories were memories for a reason, they were puzzle pieces that continued to form and shape a person, affecting their personality and reactions moving forward. The darker the thought, the easier for Brielle to control. And what was a darker thought than having experienced and replayed the first murder they experienced in Narnia?

Jadis had tried to do the same with Edmund, taking in his darkened, jealous thoughts toward his older brother. Tried to control him with it. But Jadis wasn't a Night Witch, she was a White Witch who could enchant the world around her as easily as she could freeze it. There were things she couldn't do that Brielle could and vice-versa. Jadis, however, failed. Brielle wouldn't allow herself to do so.

"How often do you think about your mum and dad?" Brielle asked instead, taking the attention off her.

She turned her head away, brushing her hair behind her ear once more. Couldn't quite handle how directly he was looking at her. How it made butterflies erupt in her stomach as much as it had every time she visited him in the infirmary.

How she nearly let it overrun her when she saw leaning over him, dagger in hand, staring down in his face.

"Not as much as I should, I'm sure," Peter said after only a moment of guilty hesitation. "When I was sent back…I wasn't happy. The war was real again, dad was off fighting against, mum was…" he shook his head. "Now, look at us. We're off in a war, we're the ones who are fighting…they're the ones waiting for us to come home."

"Pete…" Brielle looked up at Peter and dead-panned. "Don't kill the mood." Was she imagining it? Was there even a mood to kill?

Peter laughed. He pushed himself off the window and headed toward her door. Brielle lifted her chin and said to his retreating back, taunting him, "You're not worried about the rumors?" He turned back to her with raised eyebrows. "Anvard was speaking about the time they saw me leaving your quarters, you're not worried about what servants would say to see you leaving mine?"

She saw the tiny twitch in the corner of his mouth and smiled to herself, knowing it was a reminder of the questioning of his rule. The whispers that went around Anvard he pretended they didn't exist or not. A worrying thing for someone who was supposed to be a Magnificent King, but also didn't know if their rein was to be shared with a Telmarine.

A crack in his armor.

"I don't listen to rumor and gossip," he finally said, tearing his gaze away from hers. Then with a wide smile he added, "That's what I keep you around for," and slipped out of her room.

It took Brielle a good twenty minutes after he left to realize she was still smiling, and another five after that for her smile to fade when she realized it. The connotation aside, he'd been in her room, no one knew, no one would've suspected a dead king in her room.

She had the perfect opportunity.

But couldn't bring herself to do it.

Again.

That was really starting to get on her nerves.

A/N: Now the second arc of the story starts, where you can see more of Brielle's thought process of what she's going through with staying true to the two points of herself; the witchy part she keeps from the Pevensies and the friendly part she has with them and how it comes to a head with Peter. I hope you guys enjoyed this Prielle centered chapter. It was certainly fun for me, especially writing how Brielle is stuck working through her two sides when it comes to him.

Thanks for sticking around as I start to update again.

Cheers,

-Riles