A/N Thank you for being here, chapter after comments and likes give this story life.

All rights to the world and characters of Narnia belong to C.S. Lewis and his estate.

Chapter 25 - The Return to Cair Paravel

Peter's POV

The gates of Cair Paravel loomed ahead, the castle bathed in the soft glow of the fading sun. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and something fresher—rain, perhaps, or the promise of it. But the company paid no mind to the beauty of their homecoming.

They were exhausted. Bloodied. Scarred in ways that went beyond what could be seen.

Peter rode at the front, his grip firm on the reins, his body aching with each movement. Behind him, the company followed—Eleanor and Lucy flanking James, whose grip on his horse was steadier than it had been when they first set off. Edmund and Susan rode in the center, scanning their surroundings, ever watchful. Erasmus, still pale, sat atop his horse with practiced discipline, though Peter knew he was barely holding himself upright. Casio and Diácano brought up the rear with the remaining soldiers.

As they passed through the gates, a line of attendants and guards were already waiting for them. Among them stood Queen Calantha.

She was dressed as regally as ever, her golden hair pinned back, her gown untouched by the dirt of battle. But Peter saw it—the brief flicker of relief, followed almost immediately by something sharper when her gaze landed on Erasmus.

She did not rush forward. Did not cry out. She simply breathed in.

A mask of control slid over her face, but Peter knew this was not the composed queen of courtly meetings. This was a woman who had waited helplessly for news of the people she loved.

Erasmus dismounted, his movements slow but deliberate. Peter half-expected Calantha to speak—to question him, to demand why he had returned in this state. But she said nothing.

Instead, she reached for his arm. Just for a moment. Just long enough to steady him.

Then she turned to Peter.

"You've returned," she said, voice even. "And you bring heavy news, I expect."

Peter exhaled. "We need to speak."

Her gaze flicked past him, to James, whose clothes were still stained with blood. Her expression remained unreadable. "Yes. We do."

She nodded toward two guards. "Take him inside."

James stiffened. "I can walk on my own."

Peter didn't argue. He dismounted, shaking off the aches in his limbs, and gestured for the others to follow. "Then do it."

James held his chin high as he stepped forward. But Peter noticed it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his breath hitched when he moved too quickly. The adrenaline was wearing off. Reality was settling in.

Peter turned to Casio. "See that the wounded are tended to."

Casio nodded, already issuing quiet orders to the attendants.

Peter took one last look at the castle's entrance before stepping inside.

They weren't home yet.

Edmund's POV

James sat stiffly in the chamber, arms crossed, his jaw set. The candlelight flickered against the stone walls, throwing restless shadows across his face. He looked tired. Not just physically—but in a way that settled deep into his bones.

Peter stood across from him, arms folded. Silent. Waiting.

The tension in the room felt suffocating.

James huffed. "Are you going to yell at me or not?"

Peter's jaw clenched. "Do you want me to?"

James shrugged, but it wasn't as careless as he wanted it to seem. "Might as well get it over with."

Peter exhaled sharply. "Do you have any idea how close you came to dying?"

James didn't flinch. "Yes."

Peter took a step forward. "You could have gotten yourself killed." Another step. "You could have gotten us all killed."

James lifted his chin. "But I didn't."

"That's not the point," Peter snapped.

Edmund watched the fight unfold, saying nothing. He had argued with Peter before. He knew how this would go—and so did James.

Peter took a breath, steadier this time. "You had no right to be there. You disobeyed orders. You forced us into a situation we weren't prepared for."

James' hands curled into fists. "If you weren't prepared for it, then why did I survive?"

Silence. Sharp. Unforgiving.

Edmund almost admired his audacity. But admiration was different from agreement.

Peter's voice was lower when he spoke again. "Because we saved you."

James said nothing.

And there it was—the flicker of guilt. The realization beneath all his arrogance.

Peter's tone sharpened. "How did you find out about the mission?"

James hesitated. The first true sign of uncertainty. "I figured it out."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "You're reckless, not stupid. Someone told you."

Edmund leaned forward, voice calmer but firm. "Who was it, James?"

James shifted, his fingers tightening against the arm of the chair. His usual defiance flickered—just for a moment.

Then, finally—

"Bavra. The faun."

Edmund's stomach dropped. Peter's expression darkened.

"He let something slip when I was in the stables. I don't think he meant to, but…" He exhaled. "I put the pieces together."

Edmund exchanged a look with Peter. This wasn't just about James' recklessness anymore. This was about a traitor in their midst.

Peter straightened, his voice like steel. "We'll deal with Bavra later. But understand this, James—if you ever act this recklessly again, there won't be a next time. Not for you."

James didn't argue.

And for once, he looked like he understood.

Outside the chamber, Eleanor waited. Not pacing, not anxious. Just waiting.

Edmund lingered for a moment before stepping out.

Because the truth was—none of them knew what came next.