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CAIR PARAVEL. SUMMER 1014
Peter’s mind lingered near the door to Nadora’s rooms even as his legs took him across the castle. The walk to his chambers was a long one, but it was necessary. It wasn’t often that he indulged in moments like that. He had never seriously courted anyone before, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t had a few awkward, stolen kisses to think back on. Granted, it wasn’t that he had anything official with Nadora—he didn’t know what it was, if he was honest—but his kiss with her, both of his kisses with her were nothing like what he’d experienced before.
They stayed with him as he wove through the castle on muscle memory alone. He certainly wasn’t watching the hallways or the doors as he walked—all Peter could think of was the bliss on Nadora’s face, the taste of her lingering on his lips, and the silky touch of her hair against his fingertips.
There was, he thought, something uniquely grounding about a well-matched kiss. Just one and suddenly, there was nothing more to compare, because all memory of any others expired from his mind. It was not that he considered his previous experiences to be good or bad—it was that he could not think of them at all. And a kiss like either of those he’d shared with Nadora tonight… They were rare, if his experience was anything to go by. And the more he let his thoughts focus on them, the more trouble he was going to get into.
Even once he reached his rooms, he could not pull free from their influence. He could still feel the heat of Nadora’s body pulled flush against his, and it made his brow sweat. It did not matter that the fireplace was empty, or that he’d opened the balcony doors to let in the crisp, night’s air. Peter only managed to cool down after shrugging out of his jacket and changing out of the day’s clothes entirely into a far looser pair of pants and an unfitted night shirt.
Then, in these clothes, he took a seat at his desk, hoping to calm and cool his thoughts with the reports he’d asked Jurien to collect for him. A change in topic, he thought, would help him focus. Because there was a time and place for the feelings he had for Nadora, and this wasn’t one of them—he wanted to go through these reports, and he should be able to do just that. He had enough self-discipline for that.
And for a while, it worked. Peter determined that he would not jump to conclusions when all they’d had were several enjoyable conversations, a few lingering glances and touches, and now these two kisses—one chaste and the other less so. The High King was more than capable of reeling in his own runaway thoughts about a slowly unfolding situation.
Case in point, he was managing just fine with the Ettins.
Weeks had gone by without any new word from Glassfeather about any potential movement from the north. Sightings had been sporadic, which was, all told, a likely sign that there wasn’t anything to worry about—the Ettins were difficult to miss, after all, given their size. But the simple existence of any rumor was unsettling. And Peter had had a gut feeling about the Ettinsmoor giants for months now. One that kept him on guard and curious, despite the limited evidence to fall back on.
Lucy said he was being paranoid, referencing the years of limited conflict they’d managed recently. And she was right, to an extent. Narnia was experiencing a well-deserved peace, and had been since the demise of the White Witch and her army. There had been some skirmishes here and there, and a number of internal conflicts among different Narnian communities. But nothing that constituted worry or concern like this. If anything, the larger concerns they’d faced in their reign were predominantly bureaucratic. Which was a different kind of nightmare altogether.
And yet, Peter wasn’t able to let go of his apprehensions regarding the giants of Ettinsmoor. Edmund, at least, humored him, and asked for updates regularly enough that Peter didn’t feel completely stupid for leaving Glassfeather and his troop stationed in the Owlwood for the past few months. Susan, for her part, made certain the soldiers returned to Cair Paravel on a rotational basis, at the very least. And that was that.
The difficulty now, he supposed, was in knowing when to call it quits. Which was why he wanted to review the reports received to this point. To discern if there was any pattern to these sightings, or any indication that his gut feeling was, in fact, correct. The last thing he needed was to waste resources on nothing more than a hunch. It worked out if the hunch was right, but only then. And this wasn’t a hunch he wanted to be right.
But there was no discernible pattern. The first sighting of the Ettins had been well over six months prior, with the second one seven weeks later, and another three weeks after that, at which point Peter had led a unit, alongside Glassfeather, north himself. In the time since, the gryphon and his unit had only one solid sighting to report of a giant seen along the northern-most edge the marsh, which bordered the giants’ home in the mountains. It was a useless sighting, if Peter was honest, and more like saying there were Narnians on Narnian land, than indicating the potential for incoming giants.
Peter rubbed his eyes, reading through that very report again. It did not say anything more or less than it had in the last six weeks since he’d first read it. And he was beginning to think that Lucy was right. He had been too eager, and been overly concerned about a potential threat when he hadn’t had any reason to. He couldn’t see a clear throughline between the reports at all. The vast majority of them claimed nothing, and the select few that did indicate some sort of movement, all confirmed different things—the Giants could very well still be on their own land, beyond the Northern Marsh, or they could have meandered into the bog with intentions of venturing further into Narnia without proper invitation, or they could simply be traveling across their boundaries without clear intention.
There were a number of options, and Peter could not confirm nor deny a single one of thems, even as he laid the reports out side by side. And thus, perhaps it was time to accept that the reason he could not find the dots and connect them, was that there were no dots to connect.
Then again, it was possible that the length of the day and the exhaustion of the past week with Prince Rabadash were now catching up to him. Forcing his thoughts to blur and his focus to run off. Or perhaps it was the distraction of the evening’s private moments with Nadora that did it. Whatever the reason, Peter's lack of clarity with the Giants was meandering and muddled, and led him to drift into unconsciousness a mere half hour after he started reviewing the reports
When be woke, it was to a firm knocking sound that he traced back to the door. The reports were still on his desk, though he did notice they were a bit scattered as he picked his head up and straightened in his seat.
The desk lamp was still burning, but the candle had burned low, illuminating the space dimly around him as he stood and peered out to the balcony. The sun was not yet up, but he guessed it would not be long until sunrise—an hour, perhaps; an hour and a half at most.
With a sigh, he turned to the door, where the knocking repeated itself. Three solid, echoing thumps.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
He pulled the door open to reveal a very serious, very stern looking centaur.
“Oreius?” Peter asked, brows furrowing. “What is it?”
“Apologies, sire. But Glassfeather’s report just came in, and we thought it urgent.”
“Urgent?”
“As many as a dozen Ettins have been spotted trailing down the mountainside toward the Northern Marsh.”
Peter blinked once, then again as Oreius continued.
“They appear to be prepared for battle.”
Peter managed only an hour with the council early that morning, listening to the others discuss the situation with the Ettins and whether or not they were looking to attack Narnia. But there was no consensus.
Some thought as he did, that they should continue to make contact first. Others wondered what else the giants could possibly be doing. The group was geared up for battle as they made their way down alongside the Northern Marsh toward the Owlwood. What was that but an all-out declaration?
Eventually, the conversation became inconsequential.
Truth was, even if he wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, Peter had been anticipating something from the giants for months now and knowing that they were approaching was sign enough that they needed to be prepared for the worst.
So, after an hour, he turned to Oreius with a silent query.
The general nodded without hesitation, and Peter turned to Edmund, Susan, and Lucy next. They knew as well as he did what needed to be done, even without the full support of their council. They knew what he would choose, what he asked now, and each one nodded their understanding in turn. With their blessing, it mattered little to him if the rest of his council wanted to continue arguing.
“We’re wasting time,” Peter announced drawing himself up out of his seat with both hands placed on the table, palms flat upon its surface. “The point is, we don’t know what they’re planning. So the call shouldn’t be whether or not we prepare to receive them but rather how we receive them. Shall we hold a vote, then?”
He paused, briefly, taking in their scattered nods as approval.
“Those in favor of waiting for their envoy?”
Several limbs rose, including Lucy’s.
“Those who vote to march north?”
Again, Peter counted succinctly, noting that a couple of their advisors had refrained from voicing their opinion at all. Not that it mattered.
“Right,” nodding his thanks for the group, he turned to Oreius at his left. “Send word to Glassfeather, and then meet me in the armory.”
The centaur nodded in a short, shallow bow, and vacated his place at the table.
“We’ll take three commands,” Peter declared, before dismissing the rest of the council. “Susan, be smart with who you take to Calormen. We can’t afford any disagreements with them.”
“We’ll be fine,” She responded, exchanging a glance with Edmund, who nodded. “Do what you need to.”
Satisfied, Peter turned to Lucy. The youngest queen looked briefly hopeful, looking up at him.
He always hated this part.
“I’m sorry, Lu. I'm afraid you’ll have to stay.”
“But—”
He raised a hand. “I know. But Ed needs to meet with the Tisroc, and it’s Su the prince has invited. I’m sorry. It’s just the way the sticks fall this time.”
She slumped in her seat, but not so far as to look petulant. On the whole, Lucy had become much better, over the years, at handling her disappointment at needing to stay on at the castle while the rest of them were away. Peter loved her dearly and understood her desire to do something more, to be involved, but the truth was, he was glad circumstances were keeping her from the battlefield this time around.
“Don’t think I won’t march out there if Oreius or any of the others sends word. The Cair can sit empty for a few days if it means we all survive and come home.”
Peter sighed. He couldn’t disagree with Lucy’s logic there. He’d do exactly the same, and he expected the same of Edmund of Susan too, if it were them. So, he gave her a tight-lipped nod.
“One last thing,” he asked, voice a bit quieter as the others departed. “Can you make sure Nadora and the others have a proper send off? Offer our apologies, but let them know it would probably be best for them not to linger. There’s no telling when we’ll all be back.”
She held his gaze a moment, and he thought she might decline. To tell him he shouldn’t be such a coward. Instead, she nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you.”
He met Oreius in the armory a half hour later to review their standing.
Truth was, Peter wished they’d managed contact with the Ettins, at least once. They’d tried, of course, but to no avail. Over the years, they’d written all kinds of notes and missives to the giants—left at the northern edge of the marsh, typically or even once, hand delivered to a giant who had appeared to be much younger then the typical. But none of their requests for a meeting had been returned.
At first, Edmund had wondered whether they were literate—but it didn’t matter. There hadn’t been any other sort of messages from the giants at all.
He’d try to maintain peace, negotiate something wherever possible. He owed his kingdom that much. But Peter had a gut feeling it would not be quite so easy.
“Sire, will we have enough numbers?” Oreius stood just inside the door to the armory now, waiting as Peter surveyed the weapons lining the walls. He would have to stop by the vaults after this. Retrieve Rhindon and his shield.
Peter raked a hand through his hair, blowing out a harsh exhale. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know.”
Ninety men seemed, on one hand, excessive. But Peter knew it still might not be enough. Twelve giants only felt small in number. In truth, it was nothing to scoff at. Worse yet, it had been several years since Narnia had faced any real battle. The disagreements and skirmishes they’d faced over the past few years were scraps by comparison.
“It’ll have to be,” he said finally.
They couldn’t afford to take anyone else—patrol units would have to continue their rounds, Susan and Edmund would take their guards as well as whoever else they saw fit, and it wasn’t as if he wanted to leave Lucy to fend for herself, no matter how eager she might be to do it.
“We can regroup when we join Glassfeather and his scouts in the Owlwood. We’ll set up camp at the north edge of the forest.”
Peter turned to look at Oreius then, wondering if the centaur might have some other opinion.
Instead, he found Nadora standing in the doorway.
For a moment, he simple stood there, staring. Then, he blinked and looked up at his general. “Would you check with Morwen and Sir Torienne? See if their men, or yours, need anything?”
Oreius dipped his head in understanding and turned without another word.
Nadora stepped neatly aside, formally entering the armory, to allow him by, but Peter turned back to the halberds lining the wall.
“Peter?”
As ever, Nadora’s voice was firm, and Peter wanted to curse in reply. With Oreius, he could let his composure slip—even just a little—and neither would acknowledge it. It would be as if he’d never been more sure of himself. But with Nadora, Peter never really felt in control.
Still, he had his tactics. Years of practice and habit standing up in front of men and women alike who thought him reckless and foolish in his youth. So he swallowed back his hesitation and set his jaw before speaking to her.
“I’m sure you’ve heard by now. About the Ettins. And about Prince Rabadash’s invitation.”
When she said nothing back to him in his brief pause, Peter continued on.
“I’ll be leaving just as soon as Susan and Edmund can gather their party for Calormen.” His throat felt scratchy, tight even. “I apologize for having to cut your stay at the castle short. For you and your brothers.”
“Peter.”
“Corin, too. However, with so many of us depart—”
“Peter, look at me.”
Lucy would have been right to call him a coward, really. He could almost hear her voice now. Steeling his heart and his spine, Peter turned.
The anger and concern were clear on her face. But worse was the steady look of consternation in her eyes.
Peter had seen a wide range of color and emotion in those eyes over the last several weeks, each one as vibrant and full as the last. But now, her eyes, typically bright and pale, were turning strangely murky, and he felt unstable to see them trained on him.
Nadora had a knack for seeing right through him, and every time, she did it better than the last.
“Peter, about last night…I think maybe we sho—”
“I can’t,” he said, before realizing he hadn’t meant to say anything at all.
“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”
Peter closed his eyes briefly, but said nothing.
“You can’t what? Talk about it? Pursue it?”
“I don’t have time. I’m to march north with ninety men, likely before the end of the day. There’s too many things to check, and I need to be able to think straight to do them all. But I can’t when you’re…” Peter sighed, shoving a his hand roughly through his hair as he threw a silent plea out into the world, to the sky, to Aslan. “The council thinks we—”
“What do you think?”
Bewildered, he finally looked at her again, and when he did, a part of him willed time to stop. A part of him knew to hold onto this moment.
Peter tried to memorize the steadiness of her gaze, of the open worry she had for him. But the longer he stood there, the longer his silence dragged on, the more that worry washed out, replaced with a darker, heavier consternation.
They were like burgeoning storm clouds, and eventually, Peter folded under the pressure. As much as he wished to keep looking at her, to see nothing but Nadora, he could not weather the look she gave him.
Finally turning away, Peter busied himself with a cursory look over a nearby rack of short-swords. He would have to pick out a spare blade—it wasn’t likely that he would use it, but it would be good to have. A practice he’d picked up from Edmund, over the years.
“I have to go,” he answered, finally. “I need to do this.”
“I never said you shouldn’t, did I?” She was needling him. He could feel it, in her voice, in the stare he felt upon his back. And he deserved it. “I'm simply asking, what about what you want?”
“A king is nothing if he doesn't protect his people. They trust me to protect them. To provide for them. And it is my responsibility to see that they are safe and I do not wish to fail them.”
“I see,” she said slowly. “But what about what you want? Do you even want to go?”
“I…” He swallowed hard, knowing what she asked had nothing to do with council decisions or battle. It was about something larger than this battle, something separate and something intertwined with it all at once. It was about her, and it was about him. About their kiss the night before, and about the stories they’d shared over the last few weeks, and about all the other memories he wished to create and share with her…
But there wasn’t time. Not now, certainly, but perhaps not ever. He had a duty to uphold, one he did not wish to forsake. And Nadora had made it more than clear that her dreams did not align with the title she already stood to inherit, much less with the role of queen, should they pursue a relationship together. No.
“I am High King of Narnia,” Peter said after a long moment. “What I want isn’t important.”
“Isn’t important?”
Her voice was low, and he was sure there was a thread of sadness woven through the incredulity, but it still cut through him. The sharpness of it made him turn and face her, properly.
“Is that what you really think? That all you are is your throne, your title?”
For just a second, he held his breath, lips pressed together to keep the truth from falling through. He didn’t want to be upset, but it was difficult. Peter knew the answer he needed to give, the answer he would give. It was just… Nadora made it difficult for him to think, let alone speak. Her words had ghosted across the space between them and sunk wholly, deeply into his skin. They’d only just gotten to know each other these past weeks, and yet, somehow, Nadora managed to affect him in a way not even his siblings could. Somehow, she’d managed to find the exact point of contention Peter held with himself, regularly, about his own status as a king. It had been his concern from the very beginning, his own self-doubt and worth.
That Nadora could pick it out, so simply, made him want to curl in on himself.
Instead, however, Peter forced himself to stay composed. He let his eyes fall shut softly and hid the frustration of his heart behind a smoother expression. A calmer one, better suited for a king of his stature. He believed in his words, as much as they hurt, and he would not speak them with malice. It was not his place to discount the faith of his people.
When he was calm enough, he opened his eyes again and met hers, and this time, he did not waver.
“My duty is to my crown, my throne, and my title. It is to my kingdom and its people,” he stated simply, cleanly. “So that they might live safely and freely, as they so desire.”
As much as he believed what he said, the words hung in the air between them without their usual gravitas, as though they were a burdensome truth he could not grasp, let alone convince another to believe.
Nadora, certainly, did not believe them, because she asked him, clearly. “Do you really believe that you don’t deserve the same liberties you grant your people by fighting and protecting them?”
She’d only wanted to talk to Peter and have him tell her, directly, what was happening and why they needed to leave. But Narnia’s official business was none of her business. She’d realized that soon enough to shift tactics and ask after what Peter wanted. And it had felt shallow at the time, to realize it. To stand there, heart pounding so hard it likely would have drowned out any answer Peter gave her anyway. But then he reverted back to who he'd been before they crossed swords in the melee, before they spent the evening discussing the allure of the ocean and the stars above it, before they'd kissed and started… whatever it was they'd started.
He'd been High King before, and he'd become High King again, now. And she might have taken it. She might have accepted that this was simply not the right time. But she hadn't been lying the night before. She did know him, not High King of Narnia, but Peter. And a bit of Peter still stood in front of her now. She just had to reach him.
“Is that what you really think?” Nadora wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. Perhaps both would be suitable. “That all you are is your crown, your throne, your title?”
She locked eyes with his in attempt to hold him there. To force him to acknowledge their exchange for what it was But then he closed his eyes entirely and smoothed out his face.
When he opened his eyes again, he spoke plainly.
“My duty is to my crown, my throne, and my title. It is to my kingdom and its people. So that they might live safely and freely, as they so desire.”
Nadora didn’t believe him. She could tell that he believed himself. Or, at the very least, he wanted to. But that wasn’t enough to convince her.
“Do you really believe that you don’t deserve the same liberties you grant your people by fighting and protecting them?”
The change in his expression was instant. She’d taken it a step too far.
Expression flat and firm, now, Peter addressed her calmly. Obligated and practiced, his tone was presentable, used in courteousness and finality. Nadora did the same, herself, whenever she found herself among courtiers and statesmen.
“Unfortunately, the matter with the Ettins cannot be ignored any longer, so I apologize for having to cut your stay at the castle short, Lady Nadora. If you could—”
“Wait, Peter—” The crack in her voice was lost to the shuffle of his feet against the stone floor as he moved past her, to the door. “Please, wait. Just…” She panicked. “Just let me go with you. To face the Ettins.”
It was a pitiful offer and her hand missed his arm by a mile, but he did stop. Back turned to her, Peter stood frozen, waiting. There was a stiff tension in the line of his shoulders that she desperately wanted to ease.
“I appreciate the offer, but—”
“No. Peter. We’ve peace between our kingdoms…”
His fingers slowly curled into the palm of his hand, hanging at his side, and then straightened out again, and Nadora felt it, between one slow, steady breath and its exhale—a fervent need to reach out and slip her hand into his. To give him something to hold onto.
But then he spoke, clearly and deliberately, in the detached tone she’d heard him use before in Prince Rabadash’s company, but never once before with her. “You’re right.”
He was smiling, she could hear it in his voice even if she couldn’t see it. But it couldn’t have been the same full smile as she had seen the night before. This one sounded cautious and shallow. The stoic, dignified smile of King Peter.
“We do have peace, but Galma isn’t required to pledge troops or aid. Your people are not yet involved in this fight, and I do not want to draw them into a situation when they do not need to be at risk.” There was no way to argue here, not against Narnia’s High King. “Besides that, Edmund might just kill me if I change the terms he and your father have worked so hard to set, especially if I do so without his approval. And he’s got plenty to worry about now as it is.”
Peter turned his head, then—just a fraction, as though it was all he was allowing himself—and Nadora caught just the corner of his eyes and a hint of blue. They shimmered a bit, especially against the metal and stone of the room around them.
“Thank you, but this is not your fight.” He waited for a fraction of a second longer, but before Nadora could respond, Peter departed once more.
In the silence of the now empty room, Nadora exhaled harshly.
“I’m such an idiot…” she murmured as her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. Understanding finally settled. This was a truth Peter carried with him. This was what pulled him away from the somewhat awkward, but wholly bright and lighthearted man she’d gotten to know over the past few weeks and toward the king he was expected to be, steeled to emotion and personal desire. As though, without these things, he might find the peace he was so desperate to maintain for his people.
However, as she stared at the space he once occupied in the armory, Nadora worried more for the king than she did the kingdom. She knew now, if nothing else, how Peter felt about his responsibility to Narnia, and it broke her heart to recognize herself in him.
Nadora had always struggled with her own opinions and beliefs about the obligation she held to her tiny island nation. But she’d never expected to see those same worries in Peter—the man who, until now, had never given any indication to the creeping doubt that often accompanied authority.
Knowing now, exactly how he felt and what he faced, Nadora took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, pulling together the first threads of a plan.
It was entirely possible that Peter believed he was undeserving of his crown. She hoped that wasn’t true. But whether it was or was not, Peter did feel the need to earn the things that came with his crown—the love of his people. Their trust and loyalty. Their appreciation.
Peter desired, more than anything else it seemed, to prove he was worth their admiration.
Only, he didn’t see what Nadora saw. He didn’t see the loyalty and trust he inspired in his people, or the love and care he encouraged in others. He didn’t have to earn anything more—he already had what he so desperately craved.
‘Somehow, ’ she thought stubbornly, ‘I’m going to show him.’
The day was too busy for Peter to think about much else besides preparations. He found Oreius again, and confirmed their supplies before plotting out a course through the Owlwood that would have them meet Glassfeather in two day’s time with extra supplies and three full commands to face the giants.
Susan found him late in the afternoon with a pitcher of water and lunch, sat with him while he ate and drank it all, and then left him to continue finalizing arrangements and checking with Edmund about their numbers and other plans.
A single thought that held his attention from the moment he stepped out of the armory that morning all the way through to the second he left Susan, Edmund, and Lucy in the stables to mount Garren and leave the grounds—this was what he was meant to be doing, this was what it meant to have a duty to his title as king of Narnia.
After leaving the grounds, however, it was less so the thought itself that haunted him. Instead, it was how he’d said it and to whom.
It wasn’t a lie. Peter did have a responsibility to his people. They relied on him to protect them and provide for them. And Peter had long since accepted this responsibility. Had even taken pride in being asked to shoulder it.
But none of that meant that the weight was easy to carry.
He knew he could talk to Susan and Edmund and Lucy about it, lean on them where appropriate. But he was the oldest, and he had always been responsible for them too. That didn’t change simply because they’d been given their crowns and their titles and their kingdom. If anything, his desire to protect and care for his siblings had become even more pronounced. He wasn’t just a king of Narnia. He was High King, king over all other kings and queens, save Aslan.
It wasn’t a distinction he thought about often. Not actively anyways. Everyone else in Cair Paravel knew it—the staff, the other knights, his siblings, council members—and, generally speaking, none of them held him to any higher standards than they did his brother or his sisters. It simply wasn’t the way they operated.
Except in the cases when it was.
Looking behind him as they road out from Cair Paravel, he took in the sight of three commands trailing behind him. He could make the ride to the nearest edge of the Owlwood and return within a day. But three commands took considerable more time. As a whole, they were not as nimble or quick Was it right to bring this many men? Was it right to march north at all?
Peter wondered, briefly, if Susan or Edmund or Lucy would have made this call, if he hadn’t. Or, more curiously, whether he would have felt such a strong need to put his foot down if he felt that someone else could or would have in his stead. Maybe, if he truly felt that his responsibility could truly be shared with someone else, he wouldn’t question it so much.
“Sire?”
He blinked, and turned to his right to see Oreius walking beside him.
“Is there something on your mind?”
Peter sighed. Oreius always seemed to know just when to say something.
He rubbed at his face, as if trying to smooth out the worry and self doubt. When it didn’t work, he eyed the centaur once more.
If there was anyone outside his siblings that he could trust with his own self-doubt, it was Oreius. Jurien and the council were well-meaning, but speaking with them about concerns he had, about anything, always seemed to result in more confusion. They were action- and solution-oriented individuals. And in many cases, that was exactly what was needed. But Oreius? Peter had never once brought something to him and felt foolish for it afterward.
“Is this the right thing to do?” he asked.
Oreius was quiet for a moment, and when Peter looked over at him, he could see the centaur’s eyes closed in deliberation. He wasn’t sure what to think, exactly, but he waited. Oreius hadn’t ever left a question unanswered before, even questions Peter did not audibly pose. There was no reason he’d start now, with this question.
Finally, he said, “It is normal to have second thoughts, to be afraid. It simply means there is something you do not wish to lose. Fear can be a powerful motivator, so long as it does not cloud your mind entirely. Sink too far into your fears and apprehensions of what might happen, and you start to lose sight of everything you have now.”
“Yes, but what if—”
“No matter what’s happens, the men we have behind us and the support we have waiting for us at home, they trust in us all. Do you believe them all to be wrong?”
Peter shook his head, because that was preposterous. They couldn’t all be wrong.
“Then perhaps, it may help to lean on the trust they have in you. Just for awhile, until you have enough trust in yourself.”
Logically, Oreius’s guidance was sound. It made sense. And yet it still somehow clashed with everything he felt compelled to do or think. Trust meant falling blindly, and the unknown was never easy to grasp. That, he supposed, was the difficulty.
“If it was not difficult,” Oreius supplied, as though he could read Peter’s thoughts. “Then, it would not make you a stronger, better person.”
He sighed. This concept was one he was intimately familiar with. It was the same principle that he’d focused on when first learning to handle weapons, or ride horses, or fight hand-to-hand. As difficult as it was to put in that effort and work, he’d come out better for it in the end. He knew what Oreius said was not wrong. And yet, it was exhausting, all the same.
“Just once, can’t it be easy?”
“It is easy, sire. Practice and repetition make it easy.”
“I meant, easy from the start.”
“I’m afraid not, at least regarding matters of worth such as this.”
He groaned. It was exactly the response Peter was expecting, and not at all the one he wanted. Discipline, he’d discovered, was highly overrated.
“Are you all right, my lord?”
“No. But I will be.” He let the frustration fall from his shoulders, and held a relaxed expression long enough to see the worry fade from the centaur’s face. “Thank you.”
When they settled in for the night, Peter guessed that they’re nearly to the Owlwood, which puts them ahead of schedule, if only by a few hours. Depending on how far they got the next day, which was promising to be warmer than the last, they’d reach the far edge of the Owlwood just before sundown. Right on time to meet Glassfeather. Until then, they could all do with more rest.
It was about an hour after he attempted to turn in for the night that Peter simply gave up. It had been so long since the last time he’d taken soldiers out to a fight that he’d forgotten how difficult it was to sleep, that first night away from Cair Paravel. It didn’t help that this time, unlike usual, he did not have Edmund with him. The girls would likely have listened to him ramble himself into exhaustion. But Ed would already have been awake.
Pulling a blanket tight around his shoulders, Peter wove his way through the scattered Narnians to the north side of the camp.
He nodded to the knight on watch, but didn’t linger to strike up a conversation. Instead, he walked past him, out into the open, just far enough to feel the world get bigger around him.
If it were daylight, he could expect to see the Owlwood’s treeline directly ahead of him. In the morning, he was certain it would look like nothing more than a lengthy but short, squat hedge, all stretched out. Tonight, it had no form. The scattered fires behind him, burning softly gave him a touch of low, backlighting. But unless he turned to it, Peter could only see the night.
In it, there were no shapes to make out. No impending challenges or fight to worry about. Just the sounds of the night, some whiffs of campfire, and a brisk air dancing across his skin.
He took a breath, closed his eyes and let himself sink into the darkness for a few moments. There was something about being in the dark that made a person feel… weightless. Able to do anything. Restricted by nothing. There were more unknowns, of course. And there was always the possibility of those unknowns being threats. But the opposite was true, too. The dark didn’t just hold dangerous things. It held a lot of good, too.
Finally, Peter settled down into the patchy grass and leaned his head back, so that when he opened his eyes, he was looking straight up at the summer night sky. The summer constellations were easy to pick out, but he was less focused on the imaginary lines tying each of the stars together as he was the shape of those stars themselves. Not unlike the dark, they helped keep everything in perspective for him. Looking at the sky like this, he felt infinitesimally small. And so did all his current worries. It was grounding, and calming. The only other thing he’d experienced that made him feel even halfway as peaceful was…
Peter shook his head and dropped his gaze back forward, but it was too late. It didn’t matter where he looked now, all he could see were Nadora’s eyes. Everywhere he looked, a different set of eyes, but each and every one of them, hers.
There was that light, pale silver, so simple and open.
Then that heavier gray, still clear and solid, that shouted confidence and wit at him.
And that hazy, smokey tint he’d dreamt about the night before.
But by far the most prevalent were the dark, murky shade that reminded him of their exchange in the armory. Of her stormy accusations, sharp and numbing all at once.
Those eyes were the ones he could not escape. Those were the ones he felt watching him, all the way from Cair Paravel.
Which was where she was.
Peter tried to take comfort in that.
Maybe she’d even made the arrangements to leave already, for Galma or to sea, which he would not complain about—the further she was from him and the Ettins, the better.
Peter had not lied. To himself or to Nadora. He did not want Galma involved with the giants of Ettinsmoor. And maybe he was wrong for lumping Nadora in with Galma, but the truth was, he didn’t want her anywhere near this entire encounter either. He was already having a hard time trusting his own gut instincts. Nadora only complicated those feelings. She complicated every thing, and he needed clarity if he was going to lead his men into the marsh and bring them all home safely. He needed clarity if he was going to be able to do anything right with this campaign. He knew that much.
And yet, all he could do was trace the outline of her eyes into the sky with his thoughts, and then line of her nose and the shape of her lips until he was no longer running from her at all, but seeking her out entirely.
“I am an idiot,” he muttered.
He could hear Edmund’s voice, agreeing with him, echoing in his head. And for a moment, he wanted him here. But then he thought of how Lucy would laugh and tell him that feeling something did not make him an idiot. It was what he did with those feelings that mattered.
The problem was, he didn’t know what the right choice was, here. Was he fond of Nadora? Without a doubt. If he wasn’t, he would not care so much about where she was or be so frustrated about what to do or not do. But what was he supposed to do with that information?
It wasn’t like having feelings for someone suddenly made him feel differently about his duties, especially not when those duties involved potential battle and injury. So he’d been right not to take her offer of aid from Galma—all of this was too much to ask them to take on.
What about what you want?
In the quiet of the evening, alone and away from listening ears, the answer was simple.
He wanted to feel less weight upon his shoulders from time to time. To be able to trust himself more with fewer difficulties. To be reassured by others’ faith in him, instead of doubt his own by comparison.
But how could he ask someone else, anyone else, to hold him up when he was meant to be that pillar of strength himself? He had a hard enough time doing it with his siblings, and they’d proven themselves fully capable years ago, several times over. And still, here he was, marching north to face the giants, without them.
Peter sighed. At this point, he’d have to simply let his feelings go. At the very least, he’d have to set them aside until this matter with the Ettins was over. Draw a thick, distinct line between his duty and his desire, and then focus on the actions he could take.
He’d been incapable of compartmentalizing earlier, but Peter was devoted to his kingdom and his people. This much, he knew about himself without a single doubt. Whether there was room in his heart for anyone or anything else, Narnia came first.
If he focused on that, maybe the squeezing pressure in his chest would lessen and they'd come home again in one piece. Then, and only then, could he safely revisit what he felt for Nadora.