narnia / year 1015
word count: 1,441
peridan & corin requested by cecelia
xXx
Corin shed his cloak and dislodged a sizeable snowdrift onto the pale golden stone of Cair Paravel's entry hall, passing the ice-caked garment off to a dryad woman as he shook the snow from his hair and pulled his freezing hands from his gloves, pressing them to his face still lashed numb from the December storm he'd only narrowly managed to outride.
Music drifted in from the direction of the great hall, where undoubtedly a feast already roared as evening fell beyond the looming windows, but it did not lift his spirits any more than the warmth of the flickering torchlight or the greens draped over every archway dotted with plump red berries.
Every attempt at celebration only seemed to drive the cold in deeper.
"I wasn't sure you'd be back in time for the festivities," came a familiar voice like a death knell as the dryad woman bustled his things away to be dried, and Corin turned to the grand staircase just as Peridan stepped down onto the landing, hesitating there for a moment before striding out to him.
Corin smiled wearily, but not even a flicker of it reached his eyes. "Wouldn't miss it. It's only right to be home for Christmas, after all."
As if either of them could call this place a home, now.
His facade fell as Peridan reached him, eyes flicking up into the lord's fair face, flushed a rosy hue against the red hair that cascaded in waves over his shoulders, tied back with simple braids—not yet a crown.
He looked away again. "The Telmarines have heard nothing. Seen nothing. Nothing, Per, still nothing."
Peridan sighed as Corin pushed his own soaking golden hair back.
They had both already known, on some level, that the search for their four missing royals had hit a dead end months ago.
"Unless they're lying," he muttered, "but I scoured that land myself. And the mountains. I just don't know what else…" He shook his head.
There was nothing else to do.
The rest of the country already suspected magic. After all, how else could four grown monarchs vanish without a trace into the deep Western Wood, leaving naught but the remainder of their hunting party in trance-like bewilderment at their empty saddles?
Corin's fingers ghosted the bone-white etchwork of Queen Susan's horn, where it hung over his belt. Where it had hung since spring.
"They came in by magic," Peridan had said one hopeless night in the depths of October, when they'd both had far too much to drink for men so weary. "Perhaps they went back by the same sort. Or perhaps they caught the stag after all. Perhaps they wished for it. Perhaps they wished to leave us."
"They wouldn't," Corin had spat, slamming his own goblet down and lurching up from his seat in their common chambers. "They wouldn't, they wouldn't leave me, she wouldn't leave me!"
Peridan had only gazed up at him with those forest-green eyes brimming like woodland pools, an absence aching there that no longer pulled away from Corin's fury. "Perhaps she did."
Corin had banged out through the heavy double doors and never looked back. At eighteen he knew better than to come to blows with Peridan, not as he might have done if such a quarrel had befallen them a few years earlier.
This time he'd only crashed down to the stables and set out early for Telmar, the very last place they'd thought might hold some answers.
Two months later, it had not.
And here they stood, out of options, out of hope, as the world moved on around them.
"I'm sorry," breathed Peridan at last, and Corin's eyes flicked back up to him. "I knew Queen Susan as well as your highness did. Perhaps not even so well as that. I know she would never abandon her country, or… her people… of her own accord. None of them would. I should never have said such a thing."
"S'alright," muttered Corin. "I shouldn't have left like that… should've sent word… you didn't need to worry about me, too."
"Well, lad," said Peridan, and this time the faintest ghost of a smile crept into his tone, "if there is anything the last few years have trained me for, it is worrying after you."
Corin suppressed an involuntary, apologetic smirk.
Another set of footsteps clicked down the grand staircase behind them, but before Corin could even turn, Peridan spoke again.
"Ah… I did take the liberty of inviting a couple of guests for the winter season. I hoped you wouldn't mind."
Corin furrowed his brow and glanced over his shoulder, and his heart almost stopped as Cor and Aravis stepped down into the entry hall. His brother smiled slightly at whatever expression of shock must have leapt into his face, and Corin's eyes flashed in disbelief between the newcomers and Peridan.
"You— how—?"
"Surprise," said Cor, golden hair curling down to the nape of his neck, red robe gathered around shoulders that looked so much broader than Corin had last seen them in the summer, and suddenly the summer felt like such a long time ago.
It struck him all at once just how many months had passed since before he'd become single-mindedly focused on the search, how long he hadn't even really been living.
Aravis smiled softly at his bewilderment, dark eyes glittering in the torchlight as he stepped toward them, toward the boy who looked so royal and grown now in Cair Paravel's grand foyer that for an instant he might have been Peter from Corin's earliest memories.
Heat surged unbidden into his eyes and he threw his arms around his brother's neck, burying his face into his sturdy shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath as Cor clutched him with a strength he didn't even recognize.
For the first time in his life, he really did feel like the younger brother, clinging tighter as tears welled involuntarily and soaked into Cor's cloak, hidden and safe for just an instant.
He breathed a weak laugh when at last he pulled back, rubbing his eyes and tucking Aravis into a hug, too, in spite of his soggy hair and horsey riding scent.
"Father didn't mind you coming?" he asked once he trusted his voice again, though it still came out thick.
"Oh, not at all," said Aravis. "I think he only wished he could have come as well."
Peridan smiled and shook his head, having at some point joined the rest of the group. "I didn't want to impose on Anvard's Christmas, but they seemed more than happy to trade off for a year."
Corin forced a teary smile, and hoped it communicated even the smallest ounce of his gratitude.
Cor patted him on the back. "Come on, let's get you into something dry and join the banquet."
"Oh, you go ahead, I can change and meet you there." He wiped his eyes again with the cuffs of his sleeves, attempting to regain a hint of his dignity. "And you have to tell me everything that's been happening back home."
Cor grinned, nodded, and took Aravis' hand with one last glance as if in reassurance before they turned off toward the great hall.
Peridan stood behind, watching from Corin's shoulder until they disappeared into the next room. "Are you sure you don't need anything?"
Corin glanced up at him, a hundred thoughts jumping into his throat at once, but they all seemed to stick there, caught just at the edge of speech, and at last he only slipped his arms around Peridan's chest in a wordless embrace, the lord's hand flying instantly up to clutch the back of his head and thread through dripping hair as his sharp cheek pressed into Corin's skull.
Two men who knew best the unique grief and burden of a kingdom left leaderless, yet also the two best fitted to share it, friends beyond memory in spite of the nearly eleven years split between them; in spite of any quarrel that might have driven them apart.
"Thank you," breathed Corin as he pulled back for the last time, and Peridan smiled through his own shining green eyes, ruffling Corin's hair like he'd done so many times before they stood at nearly the same level.
Corin hiccuped a laugh in protest.
"Go on," said Peridan at last. "They've managed quite the feast in there, and I daresay you could use at least five helpings yourself." He squeezed Corin's bony shoulder, lean from months in the wilderness. He smiled softly. "Let's see if we can't make this place something of a home for Christmas after all."