Work Text:
CAIR PARAVEL. SPRING 1001
Promise me you’ll look after the others.
Peter felt it hadn’t quite meant as much then, when he’d told his mother he would do as she asked back on the train platform in England—not nearly as much as it seemed to mean now. It had been important, of course. But with the solid weight of the golden crown on his head and the grand room around them full to the brim with beavers and dryads and bears and lions and mice and birds and fauns and satyrs, his words felt so much heavier. A large undertaking for anyone, let alone for a boy of seventeen.
Peter had always been protective. Overbearing, if one were to have asked his brother just a week ago. But with the new responsibility of his title, Peter felt momentarily overwhelmed at the prospect of continuing to guard and defend a whole kingdom. The masses gathered tonight seemed to be too many already, and there were innumerable others who had not managed to make it to Cair Paravel for the coronation.
“You look like you could sit.”
Peter looked up at the voice, and up again, to meet not the broad chest but the face of the centaur who’d joined him.
“Oreius.”
“What troubles you, my king?”
He gave a careful smile, taking the seat on the bench that seemed to appear out of nowhere. “It’s nothing. I am just… It is a lot to get used to.”
It was as close to the truth as he could manage, in front of the general. It didn’t matter that upon horseback, Peter could face him as an equal. Here, standing upon his own two feet, Peter felt oh so small beside the warrior. He could barely see over Oreius’s lower, horse back. He hardly felt like a king.
The centaur considered the answer he’d given for a moment, before bending into a shallow bow, briefly, as if accepting an order. Then, just as quickly as he appeared, he retreated. Peter didn’t even have the time to call for him to stay—with the weight of his new kingship settling upon his shoulders, he thought the company, though unexpected, would have been nice.
As it was, Oreius seemed to understand better than Peter thought, for when he returned, Edmund trailed behind him.
“Peter? What’s the matter? Oreius said you needed me.”
He was surprised to take in the concern that streaked Edmund’s face. Jaw set and cheeks still slightly discolored, he looked too serious for his youth, too much like he was still at the fields below the cliffs at Beruna. Peter forced himself to look elsewhere, away from the result of his decisions, toward the centaur, whose neutral expression did not change before speaking.
“There is something to your kinship that will provide a support neither of you will find anywhere else. King Edmund has already proven so once. I suspect he will be able to do so again, as you will for him, when the need arises.”
Peter stared after the centaur as he left, more confused now than he had been before, but when he finally turned toward Edmund, he found his brother’s expression somewhat unnerving, more unsettling now than uncomfortable.
He’d seen it before, only twice. First, the morning Edmund had joined them at Aslan’s camp and explained to them how he couldn’t just leave the Narnians to face the White Witch on their own. And again after news of Aslan’s death reached them, when Edmund had insisted that Peter could do the impossible and lead them in Aslan’s stead.
There was such a steady conviction reflected in his dark eyes, Peter wondered if Edmund wasn’t the older of them, somehow. He certainly seemed more solemn of the two.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?”
“No,” Peter snapped back. Too quickly. “Of course not.”
“You are, but it’s alright,” he continued. “It’s going to be fine.”
He didn’t reply, but it didn’t matter. Edmund seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. Edmund had always been quick, but something in the short few days they’d been in Narnia had made him smarter. Or perhaps, Peter was simply more aware of it now.
“You don’t have to do it alone. It’s why Aslan crowned us all, I think. We can do this together.”
Edmund kept his voice low and level in a way that Peter felt he’d soon have to grow accustomed too. It had only been a matter of hours since they’d been crowned kings and queens, and somehow, Edmund already seemed fit for the task ahead.
Everything about their lives would change. Had already changed. They were now rulers of a people, an entire kingdom that stretched further than they had yet to see. Edmund may have been ready, but Peter certainly was not. He wasn’t sure if he could bear the burden.
“But he made me High King.”
When no reply came, Peter looked up and noticed his brother looking not at him, but out over the dancing Narnians, to their sisters. And there, in the clear picture of Susan, a graceful figure, and in the whirl of laughter that could only be Lucy, Peter saw it. A reminder of what hadn’t changed.
He’d been so focused on everything that was new, on all that had happened in the last few days, the last couple hours, that he nearly missed it. Lucy was just as free and wild. Susan just as cautious even in her glee.
And Edmund?
The smile on his face was the same as it had always been. Slight and a bit hidden, but undeniably bright against his darker features. It warmed Peter’s heart, and he understood, just a little then, what Oreius had meant by the bond they shared and the reliance they would grow into having in one another.
“I don’t think a single one of us is ready, Pete, but I’m not really that worried.”
“You’re not?”
“I trust Aslan, and I trust you,” he answered, before laughing softly. Short but honest and warm. “But don’t think I’m going to listen to you more now just because you’re High King.”
Peter chuckled, bumping the younger boy’s shoulder.
This. No matter what else came with ruling a kingdom, he could and would do with more of this.
“Hey, Ed?” he asked, once they’d both settled. There was something else. “About before...”
“It’s done, Peter.”
“I know, but I have… I need to say this.”
Blue eyes found brown, and Peter was momentarily gutted to see that the steady warmth his brother’s eyes had held was vanishing, quite literally, right before him.
“Because if it wasn’t for you, then she…” He took a breath. “Edmund, I am your big brother. And I was… I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, before. That I treated you the way I did. It wasn’t fair or right. And I shouldn’t… that’s not how a king should have acted.”
It wasn’t until he finally got the words out that Peter realized Edmund had frozen. Everything about him was still. The drumming of his fingers, the gentle sway of his feet hanging above the marble floor, even the hardening of his gaze. It had all stopped. Half his fingers were resting against his thigh, the others hovering above. His feet still hung above the floor but the soles were flat, parallel to the floor as if he were moments from jumping down. His eyes, half steeled against something only he seemed to be able to see.
Peter wondered if time around him had stopped. He might have believed it, if not for the music and the noise of the party around them echoing in the far reaches of his hearing, muffled by how loud Edmund’s silence rang around them.
Then, as quickly as he seized up, Edmund settled into motion again—fingers drumming, toes dropping. He gave a single nod, eyes closed, and when he opened them again, there was another of his rare smiles. This one more practiced, particularly recently. It was not quite so wide, not quite so noticeable, but Peter had been staring so intently at his face, he couldn’t have missed it.
Edmund had become so serious in the time since he’d rejoined them, and too little of his dry humor had resurfaced, such that Peter worried at what his brother had endured with the White Witch. He thought he knew, or at least could hazard a fairly good guess, but he didn’t think it was safe to rely on assumptions about that sort of thing.
“Are you apologizing for not being a good brother or for not being a good king?” Edmund asked, voice soft but steady. Not an accusation, but a point of consideration.
“I… I just…”
Edmund shook his head, allowing his smile to widen a touch. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just curious.”
“What?" Peter managed, somehow, to close his stammering mouth. "Why not?”
“It does not matter to me that you’re High King,” Edmund clarified, voice returning to that level tone. “Maybe to the rest of Narnia, it’s important. But not to me.”
Peter stared at him, feeling too new to his crown and authority to really be offended, and yet, still confused at his brother’s clear disregard for their new titles.
“You’re my brother first, Peter, and my king second.”
There was a slight shine in Edmund’s eyes, but there was nothing but conviction in his declaration, so Peter allowed it to cover the expanse of his anxiety and worry over what was to come for them.
It was an oath of its own. Understated, but for Edmund, that alone made it just as important as Peter’s own promise had been, a world away to their mother. In fact, he trusted the validity of both to the same extent and knew, just as their mother had needed to hear his words on the train platform, he needed to hear Edmund’s words here.
It really was a wonder that his brother understood, but Peter had a feeling that throughout their reign, no matter how long or short it may be, he would be relying on his brother often, to do exactly as he had tonight.
Eventually, Peter would learn to be there for him in return—as Oreius had said, they would become each other’s support in a way others couldn’t.
They would learn to become kings together, for the benefit of all Narnians for the rest of their reign. But for himself, for tonight, Peter was just glad to still have the chance of growing as brothers.