Disclaimer: I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia. C. S. Lewis does.
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Peter ran a hand through his pale hair, straining his sea blue eyes in the dim illuminating glow of the lamp beside him as he studied the map held in his strong, long fingered hands.
It was a dangerous war to be sure. The enemy had cleverly positioned themselves on the top of the deadliest mountain range on the border of Archenland and Narnia.
It would prove to be favorable to them, no doubt.
They had the utmost advantage as Peter's army would have to first climb up the peak and that was no easy task. More over, they were only just prepared for the extreme, ruthless temperature of these mountains.
Automatically his eyes turned to the sleeping, slender form on the blanket-covered floor, breathing rhythmatically, her long black hair strewn over the pillow, stunningly prominent against the paleness of the pillow.
Why had he brought her along? He cursed himself for relenting. He cursed himself for allowing her to come. He cursed his sibling's reasonable argument.
Isabela was sure to get killed.
If not by the enemy, then by the extreme cold.
And he most certainly did not want that.
Isabela turned to him and he realized that her eyes were wide open. He studied them, deeply immersed by the emerald green color.
'I think you are falling in love, Peter, don't you?'
Peter scowled at her, a deep frown creasing his flawless features.
'Most certainly not.' He informed her. 'And if I do, it will not be with you.'
She yawned, hugging her blankets closer to her, to retain some degree of warmth.
'Whatever you say.' She tilted her head like a child's. 'Aren't you going to get some sleep? It's a big day tomorrow.'
'You have no idea.' Peter muttered. He continued formally. 'I will make sure to get some sleep as my lady so kindly suggests. I thank you for your concern.'
'Did some aliens tamper with your brain, my king? Why are you being so considerate?'
'Aren't I always considerate?' He said pompously, his expression one to befit an arrogant man.
'Please. You insult the considerate people by claiming to be in their category.' She rolled her eyes.
Peter drew back, appalled and greatly stunned by her openness. Not many women could talk to him let alone insult him like that.
She studied him owlishly and he felt slightly uncomfortable.
'You should go back to sleep. You won't have time to do so tomorrow.'
'Neither will you.'
'Will you stop comparing yourself to me?' Peter asked exasperated. 'I have many years of practice and I am a warrior and a knight and I have lived through the difficulties of war life. But you are used to living a lavish lifestyle and I fear for your health.'
'I have participated in numerous battles before. I was the commander-in-chief of the army of Liriope, elected not by my brothers but by my own people.'
Peter raised his eyebrows, leaning his long, muscled body against the table.
'That may be so but you lived as a princess and now as a queen. And more so it is not befitting a queen to fight in battles. Wars get revolting when there are women involved.'
'But men are always fighting in the battles. Why not women? Women can fight too.'
'It is not the question of the combat skills of a woman, Isabela. Believe me I know how well women fight. I grew up with Susan and Lucy and they are beyond skilled fighters, much better than some of my men. But-' He hesitated. 'It is the danger involved. I cannot bear to watch them die, fighting a battle meant for me. The danger of death is constant. And when I am in the field I have to continuously worry about their safety, whether they are alive or dead. And that is a source of immense distraction for me.'
'I will not be a distraction for you.'
'I hope not.' Peter said quietly, turning back to his map.
She stared at him, bewildered by his sudden change of attitude. Isabela pushed the heavy covers off her and stood up, her night gown falling in pleats to the floor.
Peter barely glanced up, his blond hair tousled and glistening in the faint light. That was until she moved next to him, lowering her head and studying the map he held.
'What is this? A map?'
'No, a caribou.' Peter replied sarcastically, moving over to make room for her. He added. 'Sit down, my lady.'
'Thank you.' She plucked down on a chair, crossing her legs to keep out the cold from her loose night gown.
'You should not be out of bed, my lady. You are cold.' He noted. 'It would not do well for you to get ill.'
Isabela sighed, brushing back the ringlets from her face.
'Why do you worry so much about me, Peter? Why do you bother to make sure that I am warm and comfortable and well fed when you said you do not care about me?' She demanded. 'You say I am a burden on you but most obviously you would not look after a burden, would you?'
Peter's barely glanced up and seemed unsurprised by her outburst.
'I obviously have to care for you and look after you. You are my wife and I have to treat you as such. It was a promise I made when we made our vows.'
'Oh.'
'Yes, oh.' Peter chuckled softly in the night air. None of them spoke and the night was silent with the occasional humming of the mosquitoes. The crickets croaked and the toads twanged into the darkness.
'You should go to bed, Isabela.' Peter told her not glancing up from his map. When she did not answer, he turned around slightly, feeling a light weight on his shoulder. 'Isabela?'
Her head was placed on his shoulder, her silky locks tickling his neck, her breathing softer than cream. He could not contain the tender smile that spread over his face.
He stood up, gathering her limp form in his arms before striding across the room and placing her in the bed.
'Goodnight Isabela.'
His only answer was the quiet humming of the night.
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'LOOK UP, ALL! ATTACK!'
The awakening cry rang along the bare ground and everybody stood up straight as if infused with power, strength and stamina.
The old centaur, leading the left flank, roared and galloped off, his arrows whizzing one after the other, a complete blur. Behind him the Narnians cheered and shouted, waving their weapons, before running behind him causing dust to rise behind them.
They were under attack from the enemy. Again. Throughout the day Vladimar's army of demons and frightening men shot arrows and leveled spears as the Narnians struggled to climb up the slope.
Of course they fought back valiantly but it was difficult to do so what with a violent chaos and utter confusion everywhere. The soldiers sought refuge in the lush green trees and mulberry bushes ensnaring the mountain completely. But at present everything as cold and white and glistening like silver.
Snowflakes shot down ferociously from the murky gray sky, moving feverishly from side to side as if unable to decide where to land.
Isabela pushed back her black bangs and glanced up, her eyes scanning the border of the mountain. Clumsily she patted the bow at her side.
Stupid fool! She thought angrily. Arrows and you? Ha!
But still it was a more effective measure than using a sword or a dagger. You would have been killed before you even got a chance to pull your weapon out.
Her locks blew roughly in her face blinding her briefly and in that instant she felt herself plummeting to the ground, her blazing cheek icy against the snow. Somebody scrambled from her and she heard Edmund's voice shouting to her.
'Lia! Are you alright?' He searched her face anxiously as she smiled weakly.
'I'm alright.' She said lightheartedly. Edmund muttered to himself.
'Peter will kill me.'
'Don't be silly, Edmund. Now!' She got to her feet. 'Let's go forward and show those cockroaches what we've got!'
The following hours were a blur and Isabela wove from one place to another, defending a place strong in attacks and attacking in an area holding up its shields. For one instant there was Edmund by her side, his hair matted to hi wide forehead, his eyes narrowed in concentration. And on other times Peter would blow a deadly arc with his glittering sword, his expression cold and cool. He was one person she would never understand.
It was all a vague impression and by midnight when the enemy retreated Isabela literally fell on her bed, her bones aching with fatigue and exhaustion. But sleep still would not come and she lay awake tossing and turning until Peter entered the tent, his face paler than death and sat down beside her.
'Sleep, Isabela.' He ordered sternly when he caught her wide open eyes.
'I can't.' She complained tiredly. Peter stared at her and let out a humorless laugh.
'Isabela if you fall down tomorrow from utter sleepiness, I swear I will kill you.'
Isabela held up her head, dazed and disorientated from weariness.
'Oh joy.' She said to him sarcastically.
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Susan sat down, curling her long ringlets, ever so stylishly decorated, on her fingertips as she waited for her handmaidens to help her dress up for the ball.
Slowly the ghostly dryads flitted in, holding forth a lavish rich blue dress which complimented Susan's slim figure. Their expert fingers wove Susan's hair into a Narnian coiffure and massaged her cheeks gently to bring color to them.
As evening set lazily over the horizon Susan withdrew from her room, opening the doors to meet Rabadash, handsomely dressed, and already extending his arm to her. She sighed. It would be a beautiful night.
The Calormen royalty had decorated their Ball Room in traditional style with rich, dark hues. Sensuous black drapes fell from the high windows, curling and rolling over the marble floor. The ceiling was swathed in long fabric of deep red color which spilled down on intervals. It was utterly striking.
The room was filled with differed people, many Calormen, dark, tall and well built, and foreigners even, proud and noble. They were engulfed in dark colors too. Involuntarily Susan shivered. The dark colors seemed to strangle her and suddenly she longed for the bright Narnians, her own people, who were like her in so many ways.
She felt a light pressure on her arm and looked up to see Rabadash glancing down at her, eyebrows raised.
'My lady, would you care to dance with me?'
She tried to smile and nodded politely, placing her arm on his high shoulder. Music filtered around them and purplish lights flew around the ball room. Susan glanced up nervously.
Her heart contradicted and she felt everyone watch her, with leering, smirking faces. She couldn't breathe and for one instant she felt faint.
Aslan help me please. What is happening to me?
But she didn't have time to dwell on it. Because at that moment the lights went out and the room turned shadowy and dark.
Aslan…
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And so! The war has finally begun.
L. Potter