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Peter knew a lot about anger. He knew it as a lanky boy in Finchley when his father told him that he had to leave, had to be a soldier in a war Peter was only just old enough to grasp some sort of understanding for. He knew it as a Son of Adam learning of his brother's betrayal. He knew it as a king fighting wars and seeing the gruesome things others were capable of first hand. He knew it as a brother seeing his siblings fight their own internal battles of being king and queens at an age they should not have borne such responsibilities. He knew it as a man losing loved ones in unfair ways. He knew it as a boy once again, getting thrown out of the life he had built back into a world that was so alien yet so familiar at the same time.
Anger had been a familiar companion to him, for as long as he remembered, but it had never stolen his breath, made his fingers shake and his knees weak quite as much, as when he was thrown back into the world he was longing for day and night and found it changed so much.
How cruel it was to give them back their home only for it to not be recognized as such anymore.
The sneering faces of the boys he had brawled with on the train station platform were still vivid in his mind when the magic began to spread throughout his whole body. His muscles were tight and he was as tense as he had been during this whole long year. When the magic came and the train station disappeared and left them at a white beach that was so undoubtedly Narnia, Peter felt the first breath of fresh air fill his body and he barked out a laugh.
Lucy was the first in the water and she pulled Susan with her. Edmund touched Peter’s shoulder as he followed his sisters into the sparkling blue of the ocean, and Peter found himself being pulled forward as well.
Peter couldn’t stop laughing and swallowed mouthfuls of salty seawater as Edmund and Susan took turns in pushing him down into the soft waves. The magic, that still sizzled in his chest like a warm sunbeam, just felt so right. When Edmund asked “Where do you think we are?” Peter felt the heartbreak before he understood. His heart first and foremost belonged to Narnia and it saw the change, felt it, before Peter even had the chance to think of an excuse.
Peter saw how the elated joy in the faces of his siblings changed to a bone deep sadness as soon as they recognized the ruins over the beach they had moments before played at, and felt the anger burned in his chest. It hurt so see how they only gave themselves moments to mourn their long dead friends before they once again masked their emotions as they had learned as the kings and queens of Narnia.
Then they found their tomb and Peter felt a weight getting lifted off his shoulders as he took his sword in his hand. It didn’t exactly feel easier to breathe, but it almost seemed like the magic of the land wanted to give him something familiar, welcoming him home. He observed the same thing happening to his siblings, they stood taller, their eyes were clearer. But still the anger remained.
With deep breaths Peter prepared himself to slip back into a role he once had, the one of the leader, the Magnificent King and he felt his siblings doing the same, eager to follow. It felt a bit like a game. Just as they had splashed on the beach underneath the ruins that were once their home, they now wore faces and mannerisms of characters, long dead to a world long gone.
Trumpkin brought a sense of familiarity and strangeness all in one. The dwarf's grumpy manner after being saved by Susan’s arrow made Peter grin broadly. Edmund's duel with Trumpkin made the young king seem to gather back his confidence, the sword just like a part of his body, the fight as natural as breathing.
Trumpkin told them everything he knew and why he was here to welcome the kings and queens of old. Peter once again felt the anger lick hotly when he thought about how the Narnians had been banished from their homes to live like savages in the woods. All semblance of peace was once again lost and he felt Lucy’s sadness like a punch in the gut when they learned of the mute animals and liveless trees.
By the end of Trumpkin’s retellings they made a plan and headed inland. They wandered through a world Peter once knew like the back of his hand but everything was just slightly off-kilter and felt wrong.
When Lucy said she saw Aslan, Peter wanted so desperately to believe her, was jealous of how easily Edmund was able to speak his mind, but the anger still burned and the hurt made it worse. Not only did he steal their home from them, he didn’t even face them. Peter wanted answers. What was the purpose of it all? Trumpkin had spoken of the prince, of his plan to give the Narnians back their freedom, but nowhere in Trumpkin’s rather sparse description had Peter heard what he was supposed to do.
In the Golden Age, as they learned their reign was called hundreds of years later, Peter always knew what his purpose was.
He was the Lord of Cair Paravel, which was now in ruins. He was the Emperor of the Lone Islands, but who knew how they would have changed in all those years. He was the Magnificent, but his teenage body was hardly the same as the broad chested golden man he was at the time of peace he had brought to those lands.
Their way to Aslan’s How was long and unknown and Peter tried his best to slip back into the role he used to have, wandering the same woods. But they weren’t the same woods anymore. Young silent trees surrounded them and Peter felt as if they were to swallow him up.
Funnily enough he never felt younger than he did now hundreds of years after his time and he was glad for the democracy with his siblings, to be able to discuss rather than decide.
Their walk was long, or just longer than expected and suddenly they found the prince and his people.
Lucy had disappeared sometimes in the night and when Peter awoke and found her gone he was astonished how much his body had already remembered. Peter nearly felt like the lord he once was. Getting up and looking for his sister was just like any other hunt, another search for magic and mysteries. Or that’s what he told himself. While it came naturally to him to step so quietly not even the trees would have heard him (if they were still alive that is) and how to find the most untraceable tracks, his heart was still unsure of what it was meant to be doing.
He got up quietly and easily tracked down, where Lucy had wandered off to.
Peter found her in the middle of a clearing, calling out to someone. The trees, he thought, or the treacherous lion. Then he saw movement to his left and his body reacted instinctively. He pressed boyish hands to the too young face of his sister and when she flinched he pulled her against his chest and hushed a warning to be quiet. He felt his sister relax knowing he was by her side and the trust he was unsure he deserved anymore, hurt Peter more than the anger against Aslan.
Peter tried to focus but his mind was fuzzy with uncertainty and anger and his heart too loud and he didn’t see the man coming until he was nearly upon him and the only thing Peter could do was to raise his sword and meet his attacker in the clanging of the blades. In seconds Peter’s mind cleared and that was all there was, his sword and the attacker, to win or to lose.
Peter saw nothing around him and the blood was now rushing in his ears as he raised his sword again and again - until.
“Peter”
Susan’s voice was piercing and Peter remembered a blue sky and endless meadows, not long after the White Witch had been defeated. His body was as young as it was now and he also was full of anger. Edmund had yelled at him that day. I know you can’t bear to look me in the eyes. I know you only see my betrayal. Peter’s anger had only known one answer and he had raised his sword against his brother. This was neither the first nor last time he did so.
Now as Susan called out to him again, the memory in his head cleared and his sister, the Gentle Queen, was not stopping him from fighting against his brother, but she was a thousand years too old in a body way too young and she was just as lost as him and by the fire in her eyes just as angry.
Peter blinked and Edmund, the Just, was replaced by a young man with dark eyes but much brighter hair than that of his brother. He was taller than Peter even if just by a bit and he was breathing hard. As Peter kept on blinking he saw Narnians coming out from the trees standing in a circle around the stranger and Peter felt breathless as he recognized the posture of a leader in the young man.
“Prince Caspian?”, he asked and felt a sense of triumph as he saw the young prince blink in surprise. Caspian turned and looked at Peter’s siblings, all of them standing by the clearing’s edge with weapons in hand. Susan’s bow out but not drawn, Lucy’s fingers clasped tightly around her dagger and Edmund, ever the shadow, just to the side, sword low but his shoulders were tense in a way that promised Peter he would be by his side as soon as danger seemed imminent.
Caspian’s voice was a lot deeper than Peter expected when he spoke. “High King Peter,” he called out in wonder and once again turned to Peter’s siblings. “Queen Lucy, Queen Susan” his voice was breathless with astonishment. “King Edmund,” he finished, eyes dark on the Just King and Peter felt something click.
“You are not what I expected” the young prince admitted, eyes still on Edmund’s face and Peter pushed down all of his overprotectiveness to not push Caspian away or stand in between him and his brother. He breathed in and sheath his sword, trying for nonchalance he answered “Well, neither are you”
Caspian turned back to him and suddenly a smile parted lips. He too put away his sword as he took deliberate steps in Peter’s direction, holding up his arm in greeting. Peter took it and was overwhelmed with the memory of how Lucy had laughed when she told them that Mr. Tummnus never knew how to shake a hand.
On their walk to Aslan’s How Peter learned that Caspian had all the proper education to speak in the way Peter was accustomed by the council in Cair Paravel, but still there was a childish joy and wonder when he spoke about the Narnians. Magic seemed a new and wondrous thing for the young prince and Peter caught a glimpse of mischief in Lucy’s eyes as she told him about the feasts they used to have with the forest folk or how they used to swim with mermaids. Caspian reacted with all the right sounds of amazement and oohed and aahed at all the right moments. Lucy was delighted by it.
With all of Caspian’s princely charisma, Peter was astonished to learn that there was an insecurity to the man. With every decision he made, he looked for approval in the badger’s eyes. Sometimes he even turned to Peter, but, as Peter with amusement realized, there was a defiant sort of pride in the young prince’s eyes whenever he did so.
The prince seemed shy. Peter saw it in the way that he consciously squared his shoulders whenever someone asked him a question. He saw it in the way Caspian’s voice switched from authoritative back to the young adventurous prince whenever he got lost in thought. And he saw it in the way he stared at Edmund, just to avert his eyes quickly whenever the other looked back at him, or how his cheeks were dusted pink whenever he realized someone had seen him staring at the Just King.
Peter looked at Susan after he saw the prince blush for maybe the tenth time and saw a youthful mischief in her eyes he hadn’t seen in years. It made her look younger, like she belonged to the body Aslan had given back to her and Peter felt a breathless sort of joy he hadn’t felt in what seemed like years, spread out in his chest.
With every step they took and every word Caspian had told them about the Telmarines and his uncle Miraz, Peter felt himself calm down. Caspian finally gave him a purpose and it soothed him. Even if Aslan had once again only brought him back to be a weapon. It was the only thing he was useful for, so it seemed, to destroy, fight and win a war that was not his own.
In the last hours before they reached Aslan’s How Peter started talking strategies with Glenstorm. The centaur was, like all of his ancestors Peter once knew, a calm headed planner and for Peter it almost was the same as the war meetings in Cair Paravel’s stuffy council room.
From the corner of his eyes he saw Capian fall into step with Edmund and Peter’s heart squeezed tightly as he saw his brother laugh like he hadn’t seen him do so in too long. He remembered a time of peace and warm summer nights. Edmund’s hair had been the longest it ever was then and his lover's hands always found themselves entangled with it. But peace never stayed long in Narnia and Edmund’s laugh had disappeared just as fast.
The How was dark and stuffy and Peter saw how tired his sister’s were from the long walk, so he asked Caspian for a place for them to rest. Caspian stuttered in embarrassment as he showed them the cots. No place for Queen’s he said and Lucy laughed brightly as she told him about the dirty roads and wet caves she used to sleep in when the castle seemed too big, too cold. Susan tutted at her that she always liked the soil of the earth better than the soft silk of a bed to sleep on, but she too thanked Caspian and in all of her queenly manner said that the cot would be just right.
After he said his sister’s good night and checked for all the possible ways someone could force entry and found none that he knew his sister’s couldn’t handle themselves, Peter followed Caspian out and through one of the many dark tunnels. He wondered where Edmund had wandered off to.
In his mind he was still figuring out how the things Caspian had told him about Miraz and his craze for the throne could benefit them in freeing the Narnians. He was torn from his thoughts when he heard Edmund call his name. “You have to see this,” his brother called out to him once they made it close enough and Peter once again felt a piece of him slide back into place as he saw the familiar way his brother’s eyes gleamed with mischief and slyness. He was not the only one to feel himself coming back to himself the longer they were in Narnia so it seemed.
Peter stepped next to Edmund and looked at what his brother was pointing at. He laughed. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” Edmund was laughing as well. There was a mural of four figures standing next to each other on the dirty wall. He recognized the thrones as the ones standing in ruins now. Their features were easily enough to understand as the staples that stayed with them. Peter the blonde, broad chested High King, but he was a bit too tall next to his siblings. Susan had much lighter hair than her image. Edmund used to be next to Peter not Lucy and his face was too mean. Lucy resembled her mural self the least.
Peter stared at the lion sigil that towered over their image. It was easy to see how generations after they had vanished through the wardrobe had imagined the kings and queens of old to look, stand and stare, had tried to remember them in ways the stories lacked. What they should have looked like to accomplish all the wondrous things the books told they had.
In the mural-Lucy’s face he saw the stories of the Valiant Queen, heart of gold, love for every being, but it lacked the mischief, the humor. Susan’s image was beautiful in a way that made her look otherworldly but her eyes were dull, missing the intellect she harbored. It was easy to see how they created Edmund’s cold features of the stories of his betrayal, forgetting about the bravery and love his brother actually had for the creatures in his care.
The longer Peter stared at his own image the sicker he felt. This is how the High King was supposed to look, undeterred and strong. There was no room for the fear and sleepless nights that accompanied him throughout his reign. And then there was Aslan, the golden lion and Peter had to look away before he did something embarrassing like vomit or cry.
When he turned back Edmund was looking at him. Peter saw his own sadness mirrored in the way his smile was downturned and his eyes dark. Before either of them could say something Caspian, still turned to the mural, murmured, “I always loved the stories about you the most.” Caspian’s eyes were fixed on the image of Edmund and Peter saw his brother swallow in the corner of his eyes before he spoke. “What stories were you told?”
Caspian blushed as he turned back to face the real Edmund and Peter took a step back into the shadows. The other two didn’t seem to notice and Peter walked away just as he heard Caspian say, “Everything I heard about the old Narnia sounded like magic, but you always seemed the most entrancing.” Edmund’s answer was lost in the long dark corridors as Peter made his way back to the chamber that functioned as the council room.
Glenstorm was giving them a report on the weapon’s they had at hand and Peter tried to ignore the stabbing pain behind his left eye. They were talking about war for too long and he hadn’t had any sleep since they arrived at the How. He saw Edmund walking up and down on one end of the room. Susan sat next to Caspian looking intently at the map of an unfamiliar Narnia, while Lucy fell asleep on the cold stone floor. It didn’t look comfortable, but Lucy was always able to fall asleep in the most uncomfortable places. All of them looked exhausted.
The talk of war and the planning was nothing new to Peter. He knew what words to use to coax his council members to agree to a reckless endeavor, knew how to use his forces to win a war with the least amount of bloodshed in both parties. He was used to being understood by his advisers and his army. He knew how to hold speeches that lifted the spirits up high and made everyone believe in their inevitable win. But this was not the council room of Cair Paravel. This council was made up of creatures that never held a sword, never had the hope to fight for their freedom, never even dreamed of achieving it. Peter knew how to be the High King, the Magnificent, but that version of him was pointless here. Once again Peter asked himself why Aslan had brought him back. He was of no use to Caspian and the Narnians.
Through the short moments Peter was able to talk to Caspian and the many hours he observed him, Peter learned that Caspian was everything the shunned Narnians needed in a king. Next to the shyness he saw in the young prince when they first came across him, Peter also learned that he was brave and he had a lot of love and respect for the ragtag team of Narnians that soon became his closest advisers. Peter wasn’t able to avoid comparing Caspian to himself and his siblings. During their reign Narnia was a proud country and their kings and queens embodied that in all of their glory. They celebrated loudly, drank plenty, fought impulsively and through it all the kings and queens shone in beauty and abundance.
The Narnia now was nothing like the golden country of the lion. Its people were rough and full of anger. They perfected the way of disappearing in the shadows and their fight was slow and inexperienced. Peter was shocked by their bold language and rough life on more than one occasion and he found it harder and harder to see the pride and grace of the creatures he once knew. That didn’t mean he didn’t like it. If anything Peter relished in the brashness of it all, was delighted by the recklessness of each and everyone of them.
And in the middle of them all was Prince Caspian like a blinding beacon. The man was full of hope and hunger for adventure. Peter was in some way jealous of the easy way Caspian was able to speak to the Narnians. They were his friends first rather than his subjects. Still his inexperience was loudly noticeable. Caspian had an ignorance to himself that was obviously taught by people with less love in their hearts than the young prince and more than once Trufflehunter had to stop Nickabrick from trying to beat the pince with a stick. “Show some respect. He is your king,” the badger would say and Nickabrick would curse and walk away, telling everyone that was able to hear, that he would show respect once the prince had learned to as well.
Caspian certainly had all the qualities needed to become a great king, but he needed a helping hand to achieve that. His teacher surely had tried to teach him all the important things, but was still hindered by his status to really chide the young prince. The Narnians spoke their mind freely but Caspian was too entranced by the magic of it all to really listen. He would need someone he could see as a superior or at least equal to really listen and learn.
Peter was pulled out of his thoughts, when he realized how quiet the room had gotten. With a jolt he looked up, maybe someone had asked him a question and everyone was waiting for his answer, but when he looked at the room, all eyes were fixed on Caspian. The young prince had his brows furrowed and was seemingly lost in thought. After a few more seconds of tense silence Susan gave a little cough and Caspian jumped slightly in his skin. He flushed bright red as soon as he realized that everyone was looking at him. He stuttered an apology and Peter caught Edmund’s eye.
“I think we all need a break,” Peter then said and looked at everyone except Caspian, who had slumped back into his seat. “We’re all exhausted. Let us get some sleep and fresh air and return to it after a few hours.”
Glenstorm bowed his head and left the room as did all of the other Narnians. Susan kneeled next to Lucy to wake her softly. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable, Lu,” she said as soon as her sister opened her eyes.
Peter still felt Edmund’s stare as he stood up slowly and looked over at Caspian’s slumped body. “You should sleep too, Caspian,” Peter said in a low voice and left the room.
The cold wind blew into Peter’s face as soon as he stepped out of the How and looked over the barren grassland surrounding it. To his astonishment he realized that it was only the early evening. The sun was low in the sky and the world around him seemed peaceful. He breathed in deeply. Slowly he lifted his arms over his head and started stretching. The headache was still throbbing behind his eyes and he sighed deeply as he massaged his temples. Steps behind him made him stop, but Peter didn’t turn around. He knew who was standing behind him, learned the sound of those steps by heart in dark forests and cold castle corridors.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on him,” Edmund said after a few seconds, while Peter continued to stretch. “I haven’t been doing anything.” Peter’s voice was a bit angier than he wanted, the tiredness in his bones letting the words sound harsher. Edmund stood next to him and turned to his brother. “Exactly,” he answered and Peter huffed out a laugh.
“I’m not exactly sure what’s going on with you, brother, but you need to step up a bit more. They’re all counting on you to lead.”
“No, they don’t,” Peter interrupted his brother and sat down on the edge of the platform. He was so endlessly tired. “They need the insight of the Magnificent King, the High King who has won countless battles.”
“But that is you.” Edmund sat down next to him and when Peter looked at his brother he saw a slight worry in his eyes.
Peter sighed. “Am I? I’m not too sure anymore. I feel like someone has pulled the rug from under my feet. I don’t know this world anymore, my body is not the one it used to be and I don’t have my council. I don’t know how to plan a fight with people that have never even held a sword.”
Peter looked away when Edmund laughed humorlessly. His brother knew how to sound mean. “You’re just feeling sorry for yourself. Is that it? As soon as you don’t have your golden crown and beautiful castle you're without power? Do you hear yourself? I know you! I know how good you are at planning and winning fights that seem doomed to fail.”
Peter still didn’t look up so Edmund sighed and said softer than before, “you’re more than what Aslan gave you.”
Peter laughed wetly. “I’m not sure what I’m doing here, what we all are doing here,” he said after a moment of silence. “It once again feels like when he fell out of the wardrobe, like this isn’t our home anymore.”
“It isn’t.” Edmund’s words hurt. “We are also not the same we were a year, thousand years ago, but that doesn’t mean we don’t belong. It doesn’t mean we don’t have a purpose.”
Peter let his brother’s words sink in for a moment and breathed in deeply. “When did you get this wise, little brother,” he asked with a wry smile and Edmund huffed out a laugh. “I always was, idiot.” They laughed quietly and then sat in silence, watching the sun go down.
After a few more moments, Peter stood up. “I’m going to try to catch some sleep. I’ll speak to Caspian later.” Edmund nodded but stayed sitting on the edge.
“See you later, Ed,” Peter said and turned back into the How.
With every step into the dark maze, Peter tried to leave something of Aslan behind. Tried to strip himself free of all the golden warmth of the big lion. Aslan’s kindness always felt like a prison and Peter really wanted to free himself from it.
The first thing he thought of was how only because of Aslan they were even allowed to be here in Narnia, but it was also Aslan that tore them away from it all and didn’t let them return until they were needed again. There was Peter’s win over the White Witch. Aslan had been the one that defeated her in the end, though. Peter always felt bad that the Narnians liked to give him all the credit for the end of the endless cold. And still, in his dreams he saw her cold stare as he fought against her, unsure, untrained and so, so afraid. He remembers Edmund attacking her, destroying her cursed wand and getting hurt so much, Peter still sometimes was unsure how he survived that. And wasn’t it Peter’s army that defeated her underlings? Then he thought of his siblings' safety, but not Aslan but Peter, their big brother, had made sure of that in the long years after the White Witch. He remembered the fear and sadness his siblings battled through and how he was always there to catch them would they fall. There was nothing Peter took more seriously than his sibling’s safety and he never needed any help with that.
While Peter turned around corners blindly, unsure where he was even heading to, his anger bubbled up hot in his chest and Peter thought of Cair Paravel, of his throne and of his crown.
He stopped abruptly. Aslan had put him, had put all of them on the thrones in Cair Paravel. He gave them the right, the power to lead, to rule. He showed them to the Narnians and said, “Here are your kings and queens.” It was so, because Aslan said so.
Peter closed his eyes and let his head hang as he once again started to massage his burning temples. He breathed the murky air of the How in deep and tried to let the anger wash by. He was of no use angry. He needed a clear head to help strategize their win. Caspian and the Narnians had no need for Peter’s emotions. They needed the strong level headed Magnificent King of old.
He was still trying to organize his thoughts as Peter heard a fearful shout from somewhere deeper in the cave. Without giving it a second thought Peter ran towards it.
A couple of hours ago when Peter had stepped into the room Aslan’s stone table was in for the first time, he had felt a cold shiver go down his spine. The How was dark everywhere, but this room seemed to swallow light even more. He had tried to avoid this room ever since.
The uncomfortable feeling from before was nothing against the immense dread he felt as he careened into the room now. There was a fire burning along the walls and the flames let the multiple depictions of the great lion seem to grow and loom over the room. While the flames flickered tall, the room was filled with an icy cold and Peter felt his heart speed up. He knew this cold.
Peter’s eyes focused on the people standing in the middle of the room. Caspian’s back was turned to him and Peter saw in the hunch of his shoulders, how scared Caspian was, how small he was trying to make himself. The hooded figures dancing around Caspian sang in a language Peter was too distracted to even try to understand. Next to the roaring blood in his ears Peter only heard the sweet promise of her voice. He already knew which promises she would make to the young prince. He knew what it felt like to hear of power and coldness and fear and being unable to decline. Her magic was so beautiful in the most terrible way and Peter wanted her as far away as possible from Caspian’s trembling form.
Peter had stopped for only a few seconds when he entered the room and from the corner of his eyes he saw figures running down the corridors towards him. Without so much as a second thought Peter flung himself between Caspian and the White Witch.
Jadis pulled her icy hand back for a moment as her eyes widened. “Get away from him,” Peter yelled, raising his sword against her frozen throat and there was no authority in him, no broad-chested golden king, just a terrified boy that just watched his brother get fatally stabbed. Jadis smiled and Peter felt weak in the knees.
“Peter.” Her voice was freezing and beautiful like the song of a sword cutting through flesh. His fingers itched around the shaft of his sword and he raised it higher. “You're playing king again, aren’t you,” and she tutted at him like a disappointed mother would. Peter hadn’t felt this small since he sat in the halls of Cair Paravel for the first time.
“But you know,” she started and with that her icy body formed itself a bit more as she once again stretched out a hand. “I could make you king. You know how much power I could give. I would give you the strength to defeat all of your enemies in seconds. None of them would stand a chance.” Her smile was haunting and Peter tried so very hard not to listen to her words.
Faintly he heard his sisters and other Narnians storm into the room and Lucy’s shout of fear cut through his already freezing heart. Peter could not turn around, could not tell his siblings or Caspian to stay away. He could only look into the clear eyes of the White Witch and feel dread creep up throughout his body.
He suddenly was reminded of the first months after the hundred years long winter was finally over. He remembered the cold dark corridors of Cair Paravel, his stiff bed sheets that rubbed against his skin throughout all the sleepless nights. He remembered the breathless shout Edmund would make whenever he was torn from one of his freezing nightmares full of stone figures and lost friends. Lucy would usually make them tea in the middle of the night and talk about the big lion and Peter remembered the shame he felt when his feelings towards Aslan started to change, when the wonder and miracles started to feel like pressure and abandonment. He remembered Susan’s tears in the middle of the night. Bloodshot eyes and cold detachment.
Peter had felt powerless then and he felt defeated now. He had seen the carefully hidden disappointment in his companions' eyes whenever he didn’t know an answer to a problem. He knew that they expected more for him, that he was lacking in power. The era of the Magnificent King was over and Peter did not belong in this world anymore.
But maybe he could again. If he had the power she promised he could get back to the way he was before. Narnia could once again shine in gold and ice. Faintly he heard alarm bells go off in his head. His whole body was screaming at him not to listen to her but Jadis said his name again, sweetly and cold like a lullaby in a snowstorm and Peter felt his hand holding the sword lower slowly.
“Just one word and I’ll make you king.”
Suddenly Peter felt like the world had shifted and he gasped out a breath right when the White Witch raised up in her icy prison and screamed, loud, piercing and haunting. Peter felt his soul freeze over and then the ice wall splintered and broke into a thousand pieces.
Everything was silent. Peter lowered his arms that he had raised to protect his face from the flying ice and blinked the confusion away.
There Edmund, the Just, the Betrayer stood, sword held high. Peter felt hot shame, anger and sadness wash over him all at once. His brother had fought and won once again against his biggest nightmare, had killed the last piece of Jadis who had held him captive for a thousand years. He was no longer that stupid brave boy who had jumped between his (not yet) king and the witch to make an uneven fight fair, to give his life for the people he betrayed for sweets. The room suddenly felt a million degrees too hot and Peter blinked the sweat from his eyes.
Before him stood his brother, brave and ever the king he was and always will be and Peter felt so ashamed.
Edmund breathed heavily and in the unnerving silence he spoke. “Get a hold of yourself,” he said and Peter felt it like a punch. “You are a king, for Aslan’s sake.”
And with that he stepped over the melting ice and left the room without looking at anyone else. Peter followed him with his eyes and caught Lucy’s shocked and fearful gaze. He was too ashamed to look at Susan, afraid of what her dark eyes would show him.
Slowly his sisters and the Narnians left the room of the stone table one by one and Peter finally felt like he was returning to himself. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out for a couple of minutes. When he felt calm enough he opened his eyes again and was met by Caspian’s unreadable expression.
They both stared at each other as a bond was forged from shame and powerlessness. Peter opened his mouth but before he could even think of what to say, Caspian spoke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what Nikabrik was doing until it was already too late.” The young prince lowered his head and Peter felt anger lick at his heart again. He looked behind Caspian where Nikabrik’s body lay bleeding under one of Aslan’s stone figures. It seemed as if he got the help of the hag and werewolf to create this treasonable ritual to revive the witch. All three of them had paid with their life for this betrayal. Peter tore his gaze from their corpses and looked back at the young man before him.
“Don’t lower your head. You are a king,” he hissed and when Caspian looked at him bewildered Peter heard Edmund’s words from before clear in his head. Get a hold of yourself. You are a king, for Aslan’s sake. He had meant both of them and with a sudden clarity Peter finally understood his purpose.
He ran his hand over his face and cursed the lion again. Why could he never just tell them upfront what he needed them to do instead of leaving them in the shadows and looking at them with big disappointed eyes if they did not figure it out themselves?
Peter took a deep breath and let his hand fall heavily onto Caspian’s shoulder. “Listen to me,” he said and his voice was rough. “This is not my fight. These people are not mine to lead. I have no power winning a war that is not mine to win either. But what I can do is believe that there is someone who can, someone who will win and free Narnia.”
Caspian looked at him with big shocked eyes and Peter forced himself to continue. “I believe in your power. I believe you will be, already are, the king Narnia needs. I will fight alongside you. I will give you my heart and strength, my sword and my council. And once you have won I want to see what you will do as Narnia's king. I believe that you will give this country its beauty and freedom back and that it will be so much better than our reign ever was. I believe you will be the king that I never could be and I’m looking forward to seeing you grow and learn.”
Caspian was breathing heavily and his eyes shone with unshed tears.
“If you’ll allow it, I will stay with you until the end and longer, as your brother and friend.”
Caspian pulled Peter in a rough embrace and Peter allowed himself for the first time since the train station had disappeared around them to relax. He felt the tiredness spread throughout his whole body but his heart was finally calm.
Peter remembered that Caspian had been alone through most of his life. His parents died young and he had no one to guide him with love and understanding. Peter was not even sure if Caspian had friends his own age. Peter could only imagine how lonely a single throne could be.
Peter’s throne no longer existed, the reign of the kings and queens of old was long gone and Peter still felt the sadness of having lost the one place he had called home like a burning sensation. Peter was no longer the Magnificent King, but he was something and he could still be of use to Caspian and this new and brash Narnia and Peter was so glad to be here.
fin (for now)