Margaret's fears in regards to her performance were unfounded- she was, in Peter's mind, perfection embodied, grace and dignity in every inflection of her voice. Where Sophie had been overblown, she seemed genuine, and in some little corner of his heart Peter regretted not being able to stay in Narnia, for she would have made a wonderful queen.
But the lights were going down now, and there was wild clapping from the sea of darkness beyond the edge of the stage- the first act was finished. Between the hullabaloo backstage to change the set for the second act and his costume change and her costume change Peter did not have a chance to tell Margaret what a wonderful job she had done. They sailed into act two without a spare word, the curtain coming up to cheers and shouts.
Peter was acutely aware, now, that there was some old sentimentalist in the front row who was crying and sniffling very loudly, a critic somewhere to her right that was whispering to his neighbor, and a young mother with a baby who had just walked out. But it was the last scene- the magic of the lights and the stage was softly beginning to fade as he said his last soliloquy to the audience, Margaret dead but breathing at his feet.
"Here was the noblest kindest, gentlest, and most pure-
wise in love, and just within her sphere:
Lest we should lay her rest without her mean,
Let every person know- here was a queen."
Peter had hated this speech- how could he give such words, even if it was only acting, to Sophie? Unkind, loud, unwholesome- she was everything a queen should never be. But with Margaret, every part of him trembled to say it; here was indeed a queen.
The curtain closed- the play was finished. Peter waited until the final slivers of light had disappeared behind the curtain before dropping his hand and picking Margaret up off the stage and kissing her, hard.
"You were wonderful." He whispered, and Margaret laughed, crying.
"I can't keep you to myself, Peter." She said, her makeup streaking, nodding to the rest of the cast, streaming towards the stage door. "Go get your laurels- I'll catch up."
Peter was mobbed outside the door from backstage out into the foyer by professors and friends, clapping him on the back and telling him what a fine job he had done. Girls shoved programs and pens in his face, which he signed to the best of his ability.
When the crowd had thinned a little he looked around, trying to find his mother. She had just walked out of the theater, and her eyes lit up when she saw her son. He ran to meet her, his stage shoes making an odd noise on the tile. She hugged him. "I was never so proud before in my life." She managed. They broke apart, and Peter looked around.
"Where's everyone else?" he asked, watching the doors. There was Susan, and Lucy, both smiling from ear to ear, and Edmund, and, behind them, a tall faded sort of man wearing a suit that looked too big for him. Peter's incredulous smile stretched from ear to ear.
"Dad?" He asked, and the man looked up from the tiles and smiled.
Yes, there he was- paler and thinner than Peter remembered, threadbare and worn around the elbows, but still the same dear old Dad Peter remembered from so many happy childhood memories.
When they hugged, Peter knew he'd been ill- there was less muscle over his shoulders, and his whole person seemed frailer.
"What…Where?" Peter couldn't form a whole sentence, and his father smiled wanely.
"I've been in a POW camp, Petey-Boy. I've been sick for a while, and then in a hospital in France till I could travel. But I got home all right, didn't I?" he asked rhetorically, looking at his son. "When did you grow up, Petey-Boy?" Dad asked, hugging his son again, tears in his eyes.
There was a discreet cough behind him, and he broke apart to see Margaret there, smiling at the reunion. Peter blushed and looked at his feet.
"Ah…Dad, Mom, this is Margaret- she was the stand in for Sophie tonight. She's…" he hesitated, not knowing how exactly to put this, and then smiled with abandon. "She's my girlfriend."
Susan shook her head and smiled, Lucy laughed and hugged Margaret and told her she had done a wonderful job, and Edmund just shook her hand, his shocked stare at Peter giving way to amusement. Mrs. Pevensie didn't seem to know what to do with herself, her tears starting again and finally settling for a hug.
Ed called over to Peter and Margaret, his coat looking ridiculous over his black tights and cape, which he hadn't bothered to take off. "Twin Moon Taproom, you two! Can't be a cast party without our leading lord and lady!" he reminded them, bounding out of the door.
"We don't have to go…" Peter started, but Mrs. Pevensie waved them off, telling them to have a good time and not to stay out too late and not to forget their coats and take ill; she was silenced moments later by Susan, who leaned over and patted her mother's shoulder, whispering something to her.
Margaret took Peter's hand as they dashed outside, forgetting the cold in the mad rush of first show finish giddiness, the lights of the hallway spilling out behind them for moments before the doors closed.
"I could learn to dearly love your mother, Peter." She said to him, her hand the only thing keeping him warm as they walked towards the Taproom, a few minute's walk away.
"Oh, you could, could you?" Peter asked, smiling at her. She nodded, exuberant.
"Your dad, too. And your siblings…I told you I would like them." She reminded him.
"You did." Peter admitted.
"What are your feelings on big families, Peter?" Margaret asked, her hand unusually warm in his.
Peter rolled his eyes. "A tiny bit early to be thinking about that, Margaret." He chided, still smiling at how happy she made him feel.
"I suppose you're right." She laughed, and ran ahead, disappearing into the darkness to reappear under the hazy circle of a street lamp's beam. "Well, aren't you coming?" she called to him.
Peter looked at her, the light on her hair a sort of halo under the street light. He shook his head and followed after her, smiling, catching her in the circle of light and then leaving it again to press onward into the darkness.
The street was silent except for the sound of their laughter, fading into the distance, leaving only the lamppost on the darkened street, a lamp that blinked, flickered uncertainly for a few moments, and then went out.