Chapter Text
CAIR PARAVEL. LATE SPRING/EARLY SUMMER 1014
The days after bidding their parents a formal farewell in the lower city’s port were long and slow for Nadora.
They were a departure from her usual routine, unplanned as they were, but she supposed that was the beauty of their tenure here at Cair Paravel. For now, nothing was planned, and she had every intention to take advantage of the situation.
The first few days, Nadora spent much of her time wandering the castle, exchanging quick quiet words with the court staff, before staying up well into the night with Lucy, pouring over their half-finished sea charts. She'd see her brothers too, when they weren't trailing after Edmund or the other knights. Somehow, it seemed, the boys had secured themselves a spot in the Narnian’s pre-dawn training session. Corin, too, had joined them—based on the chatter she heard in the halls.
She was certain a more formal pattern to their days at Cair Paravel would emerge once Narnia’s court shifted away from hosting the tournament guests—which encompassed dozens—toward hosting their much smaller group of guests. Eventually, a schedule of sorts would be proposed. That was the way of court life—someone was playing host at all times, sometimes even when there were no guests. Where Nadora might have not cared for such things in Galma, she didn’t mind the prospect of a hunt or a short outing into the fields beyond Narnia’s capitol. Something to fill their days as the Narnian’s guests. Something to help satiate her curiosity about this kingdom.
Until such a schedule was established, however, Nadora was left to her own devices, discovering the castle if a much more neutral state.
Truth was, Cair Paravel, in itself, was unlike anything she’d seen before—grand and elaborate in its architecture, she adored its cliffside facade. And with the tournament, the elegance of the palace had been exquisite. Staff were removing the decor in various parts of the castle now, working their way in from the outer grounds toward the central halls inside.
The tournament stands and tents were clear, leaving behind a clear open field. Banners of gold and red and white, which had previously lined the paths between the southern entrance of the castle and the town below, had been removed as well. But even as the decorations changed, Nadora found herself still rather floored by the castle.
When the Galman party had first pulled into Port Splendor, Nadora had been the first to step off the Singing Swallow , almost embarrassingly eager to get to the impressive columns. Before they reached the shallower waters of the mainland coast, the castle itself had been almost impossible to pick out. But as they had drifted in closer, she’d found herself staring at the cliffside, trying to find the little nooks and crannies where the rock ended and Cair Paravel truly began.
The outer halls of the castle were stripped bare of tournament decor, but it was in the quiet, eastern half of the castle that Nadora’s appreciation truly blossomed.
With its impossibly high ceilings, arched columns, endless murals, and walls lined with intricate carvings, the castle interior was somehow even more breathtaking than the outside. The marble and wood was grand and ornate, polished to a shine or draped delicately in floral vines or lace and ribbon. While some rooms and hallways offered a clarity one might only find on a long walk in a brisk wind, there were others that that made Nadora feel as though she were not indoors at all for all the greenery situated about. Despite it all, however, a single thread of ease connected each part of the castle. It took her some time place exactly where that safety originated, but as she finally encountered the easternmost outer corridor of the castle, overlooking the very same cliffside she’d been so enthralled by, Nadora finally made her discovery.
Every part of the castle—well traveled or not—was warm and welcoming; even the armory and the stairwell down to the larder, which she had considered previously to be solely cold and harsh places. At Cair Paravel, each room and door, every painting and tapestry hung upon the walls, each added to the comfort Nadora felt—something akin to the warmth of a fur-lined coat, perhaps.
Today, her wanderings brought her to the furthest point east within the castle—an open walkway, overlooking the cove below. And even here, with the ocean’s breeze, Nadora was warm.
The colonnade itself was deserted, and Nadora savoured the privacy of this moment, thinking ahead to the rest of the summer and what it might bring her way. For several long moments, she was content to simply lean against the bannister and look out over the sea she loved so much. There was a twinge of salt on the ocean breeze that cooled her skin, more than she might have expected this far above the water but a welcome scent regardless.
Before long, however, she noted that it was not just the sound of sea birds or the muted crash of waves reaching her ears, but also a conversation she was likely not meant to hear.
“Still nothing?”
Where Peter’s voice was easy to recognize, Nadora wasn’t certain as to who he was speaking with—perhaps a floor above?
“No, your majesty.”
“Glassfeather’s usually not late with his reports…” the king noted, concern so obvious, Nadora could almost picture the winkle in his forehead.
Furrowing her own brow, Nadora took a moment to focus on the voices above. They were muffled a bit, by the clomp of hooves, and Nadora reckoned it was a satyr or centaur or faun with the king now.
“I suppose we could send Morwen…” Peter mused softly. But almost as soon as he’d voiced the thought it seemed he disposed of it altogether. “No, no. We’ll wait on Glassfeather. He’s thorough, and I’m sure there’s a reason for his tardiness.”
“Of course, your majesty.”
“Oreius, please.” Ah—Oreius. The centaur wasn’t an easy figure to forget, and Nadora was glad to have his likeness in mind to help fill in the picture of the conversation overhead.
But whatever Peter’s plea was for the centaur, it wasn’t voiced. Instead, Peter let out a flustered sigh, as though it were a request he’d made several times before in vain.
“I’m certain we’ll hear soon, sire,” Oreius said reassuringly. “It’s a short distance to Owlwood, after all.”
“True…” Peter agreed, though he seemed less positive than perhaps the centaur had hoped. “But that’s what worries me. The Ettins might be slow, but even at their slowest, they out pace us…”
Nadora’s eyebrows shot up, knowing for certain now that she shouldn’t be eavesdropping.
Ettins? On the move? She hadn’t heard of that happening in years, and certainly not so far from the mountains they called home. They were a generally private kind, choosing to keep largely to themselves for no other reason than practicality. Every story Nadora knew of them left a specific lasting impression. Not only did Giants trust very few outside their own kind, but they were also quite easy to offend and difficult to please.
So startled by the thought of the Ettins, Nadora jumped when another voice joined the two, suddenly, without announcement.
“Pete, good. You’d better come quickly.”
“Ed? What is it?”
“There’s news from Calormen,” the younger king’s tone was clipped. “Seems serious.”
There was a shuffle of footwork then, and a half grunt from Oreius before silence stretched out above her.
Suddenly left to her own thoughts on the conversation, Nadora took a moment to parse through all she’d heard.
Ettins to the north. Calormen from the south. It was quite something.
As it was, Oreius seemed to be more level-headed in the conversation—cautious, perhaps, but certain. He gave away no true thought on the matter, but rather allowed Peter the space to share his own opinions. And as the initial shock over the giants died down some, Nadora’s thoughts settled around the curiosity that Peter piqued in her.
Of the Narnian monarchs, she had spent the most time with Lucy, followed by Edmund. Susan and Peter were the least familiar to her, at least personally, but every interaction she’d had thus far with Peter had been… well, more complicated than it might seem to an external observer.
There was no doubt he was a devoted and beloved king. His people cared for him beyond what was typical for a leader, Nadora thought. And he returned the favor. But it was as she’d noted before—despite Narnia’s peace and prosperity, Peter seemed worried still.
It wasn’t that the threat of Ettins wasn’t serious, or the mysterious message from Calormen. More than that, it was that Nadora hadn’t a clue whether either kingdom posed a threat to Narnia. Lucy hadn’t said a word on the matter, not even a vague flustered comment on “diplomatic headaches” or “border concerns”, as she had done in the past for concerns far less serious than giants.
Of course, it was possible she was imagining things. Nadora wasn’t actually meant to have heard this conversation, after all, and she had no evidence of an invasion from the north or a crossing from the south—through Archenland no less. But a part of her wondered if maybe there was something more weighing on Peter.
For how little time she’d spent with him privately thus far, the king left a lasting impression. Well-liked by his people, his reputation as a caring, protective, and fair king preceded him, reaching beyond well beyond Narnia’s borders.
But there was something about him that struck a chord with her.
Surprised her.
It wasn’t just the way he had acted during the melee, either. As bright and welcoming as his expression had been over the past few days, there was no denying the weariness he carried with him.
It was the same exhaustion Nadora often noted on both her father’s face and on King Lune’s, and she knew it went beyond the responsibility expected for men of their position, burdened by the safety and prosperity of entire nations.
For her father, it was a weathered look, with an unquestionable resignation, where the corners of King Lune’s expression deepened from year to year. Their expressions and the concern they hid was one of the many reasons Nadora herself had refrained from taking on more of her own expected duties as the next Lady of Galma.
She did not want that level of responsibility, daunting and impossible as it was.
But Peter had siblings with whom he shared that particular burden. Siblings who proved to be just as effective, dedicated, and loved as he was. Not to mention, they were all so young…
The kind of fatigue Nadora saw in Peter wasn’t something borne from sudden news or changing circumstances. It was old and worn, compounded over time. And like the worry lines on King Lune’s face—they crept up on a person. Clearly, something had weighed on Peter for much longer than any recent news could have.
And regardless of Nadora’s usual lack of interest in matters such as this—of duty and responsibility—the question nagged at her.
The news from Calormen was more of a declaration of imminent arrival than anything threatening. Still, Peter and his siblings were less enthused by the Calormenes’ unexpected visit than they had been by Nadora and the boys staying on at Cair Paravel.
Still, Susan was determined to prove they would be good hosts to all their guests. There were hunts and lavish suppers amongst the larger group, as well as quieter moments with pairings and trios where it made sense. Peter had joined a handful of these events where he could, all while monitoring reports and holding court, but on the day before the Calormenes were meant to finally reach Narnia shores, he was pleased for find his entire day clear—save for a seaside excursion.
To those outside Narnia, and even those within their borders, Lucy was the sailor. The one most readily available to take to the sea. But Peter enjoyed the water just as much—more so than either Edmund or Susan, at least. Lucy had hypothesized a few reasons for it, most of which emphasized their relation and the ways in which the two of them seemed of a kind, where their brother and sister were of another. And certainly, Peter and Lucy had certain similarities that made them easily distinguishable from Susan and Edmund—as was the case the other way around.
Peter never quite confirmed her theories, he didn’t want to encourage that sort of thought amongst his siblings, but the truth was, Peter loved sailing for the same reasons Lucy did.
It was refreshing and open-ended, providing unlimited opportunity and possibility, which wasn’t always a luxury Peter had. And the rarity of the experience only made it that much more special.
He was never in charge upon the Hyaline , or any Narnian vessel for that matter. Chain of command began with Lucy, who often deferred to an older captain or the shipwright out of respect. And Peter wasn’t one to challenge any of their opinions. Instead, he worked the ropes and mucked the deck and set about the same tasks as the rest of the crew.
Even with their guests, he spent the day topside, securing lines, following orders, and taking in the view. As one of the only occasions he had for an unobstructed view of the sky, Peter soaked it in at every chance.
The day was refreshing and open-ended, and Peter’s mood remained light through their return to Splendor Cove and the subsequent feast they enjoyed on shore, where castle staff had set up long tables and blankets for their group.
Through the long evening hours, the sun painted the sky in a deep streaks of pinks and oranges, reds and yellows just above the horizon, until finally, it fell below the edge of the world, pulling the cover of night down after it. Lantern posts lit their party, and for a while, Peter was content to take in the moment, to cement this evening’s festivities in his mind. Conversation had long since passed the need for his input—Corin, with his ever inquisitive mind, was no longer focused enough for discussion but rather chasing the other boyos up and down the shoreline. Susan was deep in conversation with her Lady Asena, apprising her friend of the days events as the latter had not joined them aboard the Hyaline.
After a moment, however, his mind drifted back to Nadora, who was not in their immediate vicinity. He hadn’t noticed when she’d left, and turned to scan the shore for her. When he found her, sitting up in the grassy brush, closer to the castle than their picnic set-up, Peter took was on his feet before he could think, abandoning the cushion and leftover food to head in her direction.
Nadora, satiated from the evening’s feast and contently sore from the physical demands of sailing all day, sat in the brush where the sand gave way to rock and dirt and early spring weeds. She could still see Ilias and Corin down the beach, just barely catching their laughter over the continued chatter of the rest of their group.
The light cast by torches staked into the sand up and down their party tables gave her enough light to be aware of her surroundings still, but it was times like these that Nadora favoured most. Times long after dusk when the evening’s shadows crept in close and prepared to engulf the world. Times when the light of the constellations shined so bright overhead that their reflection danced across the rippling surface of the ocean below. Times when the sea quieted so intensely it seemed like death, unmoving and silent.
With her rear seated in the sand and her legs stretched out, she settled in for a short respite from the rambunctious energies of the evening, leaned back upon her elbows and shut her eyes. The tension in her shoulders felt nice for the moment. Her muscles stretched long and fell loose—counter to their tense state earlier whilst helping Lucy and her crew work the mainmast—and the cool evening air was neither chilling nor stifling, soft and soothing to her skin.
It wasn’t long before the quiet of the night around her was interrupted. The sound of shifting sand and gentle, rustling fabric grew until a figure stood before her, silhouette a glow in the new light of a lone, lit torch.
“Is everything all right?” Peter asked.
She tilted her head for a moment, before realizing his implication. “Oh, yes. Just needed a moment’s quiet.”
“Ah,” he replied. “I didn’t mean to inter—”
“No,” she said hurriedly. “Not at all. It’s the boys, really.”
She loved them dearly, but it had been a long day with them running about the deck. Even on the Hyaline, which was larger than most of Galma’s ships, she’d felt a touch crowded with their constant need to be underfoot.
Peter, to her surprise, chuckled. “Well, in that case, might I join you?”
“Not at all. Please.”
Nadora shuffled over, despite there being plenty of space for Peter in the stretch of soft dirt she was using for a seat. As she re-settled, a little more upright now than she had been before, the king buried the long handle of his lit torch into the dirt nearby and sat leisurely beside her.
For a time they sat in the quiet, and Nadora found that the peace she’d felt earlier had not dissipated in the least with Peter’s company. Perhaps it was the safety of that peace that allowed her to do it, but she took that time to look upon him unabashedly.
His attention was still turned to the beach where Corin, Ilias, and Halloran ran in and out of the shadows, laughing and slipping in the sand at every other turn. Peter’s profile was well defined in the warm, amber torch light. Well-defined but not sharp or angry—decidedly different from recent days.
His jaw was relaxed and lips just barely parted, and his gaze, though steady and observant, did not appear wary or narrowed. Instead, the king sat with one long leg stretched out to match her own and the other bent to hold up the arm he’d threw over his knee. He was the picture of nonchalance and ease. Comfort, even, and all it did was make her wonder what it was he was thinking.
“I’m surprised they still have energy.”
The sudden comment, conveniently timed in response to her silent query, caused Nadora to start and blink out of her reverie.
Luckily, Peter had yet to turn to her, and, after chastising her own heart for jumping, she replied. “Surely you remember being their age? Having all that boundless energy?”
“Of course, but…” He trailed off for a moment, and Nadora frowned at his tone. It was light enough, but guarded, too. Like he wasn’t sure he should continue. “I suppose I don’t remember having quite so much free time.”
Oh.
Nadora’s expression softened, and for a moment—a sudden, brief moment, she though to reach out and touch him. To set a reassuring hand upon his shoulder or grip his arm lightly in understanding.
She went so far as to flex her fingers open, before resettling her hand back in her lap.
They had crossed blades together, and they had danced together already. It was not as though the feeling of his skin upon hers was a foreign one. They were not exactly unfamiliar in each other’s company either. He sat close enough now that his body radiated a heat she felt even with the modest space between them. And they’d circled and passed each other ample times together—most recently just that day, in rather close quarters whilst tending to various parts of the ship’s rigging. But direct contact in the way she’d just considered was different. There was a line drawn between them, and to reach across it to where he stood…Nadora still felt that it was not safe or proper.
Suddenly, Peter sighed and faced her, and she deduced that his eyelight must be better than her own, his gaze found hers immediately.
“That’s just what it means to be the oldest, though isn’t it?”
For a second, she wasn’t sure she understood. His implication was clear, of course—there were more responsibilities for an older sibling. And with three others to look after, she understood innately what Peter meant… and yet. Something in the way he’d spoken and the way he looked at her had Nadora wondering if there was not some other parallel he was drawing between them.
Before she could ask, he continued, chuckling, “Then again, I did spend most of today at Lucy’s beck and call. I guess it’s not entirely accurate to say I’m always the one in charge…”
There was a brightness to his eyes, glinting as they caught the light of their torch. His hair, which had been like sunshine during the day, looked darker now. Still golden, but warmer and softer than the shining yellow it had been earlier, the glow seemed to make his smile gentler and his laugh rounder, though it was still quiet.
Taking him in, Nadora couldn’t help but grin. “Well, the way Lucy tells it, you don’t know the first thing there is to sailing.”
Despite the clear insult, Peter only laughed louder, and the sound seemed to fill a strange, unexpected cavity in her chest. “I don’t, really,” he admitted. “Anytime we sail, I just do as I’m told. It’s been that way from the start. And I suspect that’s the way it will always be.”
“You don’t seem particularly bothered by it.” It was interesting, uncovering these layers to Narnia’s High King.
“Why should I be?” he asked, shrugging. “The crew trusts her. That’s enough, isn’t it?”
One moment, she thought him burdened by the weight of responsibility—even if just in being the eldest of four siblings. The next, he appeared more than willing to simply play his part like any other crew member. To be no more or less than anyone else.
“Besides, it’s nice to not have to think sometimes. To not have to make the decision, but rather, simply do, instead.”
Nadora hummed in response, unable to fault him for the admission. She’d felt the same herself, early in her journey toward captaincy and ambassadorship. She’d been adamant at the start that she be treated as any other crew member. And while it had taken some time for the request to be acknowledged in an appropriate manner, it had been accepted. She too had benefited from the lack of expected authority. The freedom from responsibility. Even just briefly.
“I understand. It’s nice to not have to decide,” she said. “Not that I wouldn’t, if needed, of course. But, not needing to is…” Nadora couldn’t find an appropriate word, but Peter was nodding anyways.
“It’s freeing.”
“Yes!” she exclaimed. “It’s what I love most about sailing. Even now, when the crew does want my direction. It still feels free.”
Peter hadn’t meant to say what he had. To confess so much of his private desire for freedom. Yet it had slipped out regardless. And Nadora’s immediate validation was… well, it calmed his need to correct himself.
It also hinted at more to her stance upon her own responsibilities and duties that he kept his own thoughts to himself as she spoke of her sailing experiences.
Peter knew more about her now than he had during the tournament. In particular, he knew that she, like Lucy, did not care much for the stuffy, regulated nature of court life. Her chosen path as an ambassador and ship captain were evidence of that, and Lucy had spoken about Nadora enough over the years that Peter—now that he’d managed to put her name to her face—was able to connect the details about her distaste toward the needs and requirements of the position that waiting for her in Galma’s court. And still, Peter was surprise.
Nadora spoke of her her life at sea in an entirely different way than Lucy did.
Lucy, like Peter, used the sea as an escape—knowing full well that while she was welcome to her voyages and expeditions, her place was at Cair Paravel, upon Narnia’s throne. Of course, none of his siblings felt disdain toward their role as kings and queens. So Lucy did not view her crown as an obligation or requirement.
But because the sea was an escape, Lucy’s energy upon a ship—upon any water— was frantic and loud. She took in and expelled all her exuberance in the way only Lucy could—all at once, toward whatever whim she had. Lucy would climb the masts and leap into the waves without a second thought toward appropriateness or safety, simply because her chief imperative while sailing was to have fun.
Nadora, however, seemed far more relaxed. Peter listened to her speak of her life freely—referencing her life on her ship as easily and respectfully as she did her life and duties as an ambassador Archenland and aid to Corin. As though her ventures from one to the other were more akin to the push and pull of the waves, where Lucy’s adventures were more sudden and unexpected, like a storm might be.
“...can’t tell her, of course, but between you and me, I might rather you on my ship than Lucy.”
Peter blinked and tilted his head. “Is that right?”
Nadora ducked her head, hiding half her face outside of the their torch’s circle of light. “Yes. Lucy can be a bit …over-enthusiastic.”
It was the most forthcoming Nadora had been in his presence, and while he did not disagree—Lucy was absolutely rambunctious as time—Peter was surprised. “And you wouldn’t condone that level of recklessness?”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “No, no, I don’t mean to say she’s reckless. Lucy’s a fine sailor. More than fine. And I’ve been known to be reckless myself… I just…”
Peter watched Nadora’s expression expectantly as it narrowed, and was rewarded when the crease in her narrowed brow smoothed out and a coy smile stretched across her face. “I suppose when it comes to my own ship, I’d rather I was the reckless one.”
He chuckled in response, prompting Nadora to laugh herself, and in this moment, as he had earlier, Peter did his utmost to secure his memory of this experience into his mind. It seemed worthy of it, important enough.
“I’m surprised.”
“Surprised?”
He nodded, “As much as I understand Lucy’s love for sailing, and all the factors that drive her need to be on the water as often as she is, we’ve never seen it the same, no matter how aligned she thinks she might be on the matter.”
“No?” Nadora prompted.
Peter shook his head, turning to look out to where Lucy had been roped into whatever game the boys were playing in the sand. “It’s like we were saying. It’s freeing to sail, to be on open water and have nothing but the waves and wind to guide you if that’s what you want. That much, I know. I know, too, that it’s part of what Lucy loves about the sea. It’s just, sometimes I fear there’s also a part of her that needs to be on the water. Needs to be somewhere that won’t… demand something of her.” Peter loved his sister, and he knew she understood her duty. He also knew where her devotion lay, and where she might go, if allowed. “But I don’t think the ocean is quite so malleable or forgiving, as to simply never ask for anything in return.”
Nadora was silent for a moment, but Peter didn’t nudge her for a reply. Instead, he looked back at her with a sheepish smile.
“Please don’t tell Lucy.”
Her expression had been unreadable at first, but at his request, Nadora’s eyes softened and her lips, previously parted, closed, and she nodded. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Peter’s smile grew, and, like a mirror, Nadora’s did as well.
“You’re keeping a secret for me, after all.” Her tone was teasing, but Peter surprised himself with a laugh. “Fair’s fair, is it not?”
“Yes. Fair is fair.”