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ANVARD. EARLY SPRING 1015
With the mountain’s altitude, and the brisk spring wind, it felt a bit early in the season for a full tournament, but Peter held the same resolve as he prepared for the melee now as he had the previous spring, for his own birthday tournament.
There were differences of course. The dirt floor of Anvard’s tournament grounds was hard and dense beneath his feet, with far less give than the grounds at Cair Paravel. And the cheers he heard outside were not from his people, but of Archenland’s; all eager to celebrate not just one royal birthday, but two.
Cor’s return to the kingdom that past summer had sparked joy among the people and their spirits had soared straight through the brief winter to now, as they celebrated their princes’ coming of age.
Despite the fact the event was in their honor, however, neither Cor or Corin had entered this particular event, and for that, Peter was grateful. It saved him from tradition, as he had every intention to end this melee as he had the last — opposite Nadora and no one else.
She had never responded to his letters, but Peter’s anxieties about their lack of communication had calmed since his last voyage to Archenland in the fall. In part, because he’d redirected his energies toward Narnia and the responsibilities that demanded his attention. And in part because as time went on, Peter realised he was not without news of Nadora entirely.
Narnia continued to receive formal reports from Galma as their diplomatic relationship continued, from which he learned that Naroda had attended to her own duties with vigor in the months since they’d last seen one another, both in Galma and in Anvard. And Edmund shared tidbits of news with him on occasion, from his various sources, including Corin, which was how Peter knew Nadora had planned to enter the melee.
They’d started conversing once, due to a tournament. Peter hoped that might be the case once more. And this time, this time he was determined to express himself truthfully.
He’d attempted to do so in his many letters, but without a response, he had no reason to believe Nadora had read any of them. He was also certain his words were more rambling in those letters, hastily written out of desperation. The silence on her end over the winter months had provided him perspective, and here, today, he hoped he might provide some semblance of resolution between Nadora and himself. Whether it became something else or not, he couldn't know. But he certainly hoped so.
As the horn sounded, Peter regripped his sword. His armor was borrowed from Anvard’s smithy, so he supposed he might look like any of the other Archen soldiers as he took one final breath before stepping out of his tent to enter the arena.
Once in the arena, amongst the other contestants, he took quick stock of the group of fifteen, most of then Archen soldiers. Among them, Nadora was the only female.
She stood almost directly opposite him, wearing the same armor as the previous spring — silver with bronze trims, unpolished but clean and properly fitted. With her face guard up, Peter could see her face in full, expression focused as she tracked slowly from one opponent to the next. When he became the focus of her attention, Peter raised the visor of his own helmet and met her gaze squarely.
Her eyes widened upon recognizing him, but otherwise, Nadora had no other observable reaction. In fact she returned to her assessment quickly and took no more or less time in gauging his form as she had the others amongst them, and moved on just the same.
Peter took a moment to look around himself, but not to survey the other soldiers. Instead, he took in the sight of the herald wrapping up his prelude to the audience, and reached back to secure his helmet properly.
The bright ringing horn call of the melee came shortly after, and Peter’s focus shifted wholly from Nadora to the first opponent who approached him.
In the year since her last tournament melee, Nadora had learned exactly one thing: to not underestimate herself.
When she first returned to Galma the previous summer, Nadora had been singularly focused on doing all she could at home, to step up where she hadn’t before, and to take on the responsibilities she should, as the Duke’s eldest child. After the Harvest Festival, however, she realized just how right her mother had been, to claim she was hiding, though if she were honest with herself, it wasn’t until Cor’s return was announced and she made the trip to Archenland with her family that Nadora realized exactly how far she’d overcorrected.
She’d expected to see Peter amongst Anvard’s walls. Lucy had been there as well, but they had not spoken. Even just seeing them across the long banquet hall had rekindled the burning ache in Nadora’s chest. Peter had been smiling and laughing as she interacted with the members of Anvard’s court, but besides Lucy’s brighter nature, Nadora saw a subtle passivity in his motions. Nadora had wanted to reach out to him, then, desperately so. But the moment she’d taken a step toward them, she’d seized up, recognizing herself in his motions.
It was a startling realization, but it’d woken her up.
In the months since, Nadora redirected her energy, properly this time and with help. Not just so she could tackle her responsibilities at home but also those in Archenland and across the sea as well. It had been a challenge, particularly given the shorter days and endless task, but she’d managed it with a true smile in the end.
She’d read Peter’s letters eventually and kept them with her as she traveled, but did not put down her own responses. Instead, she crafted her replies mentally. Rehearsing and rehearsing for the moment they reunited again.
She hadn’t anticipated it to be here, exactly. The tournament, yes — it seemed that all of the world had been invited to the various celebrations King Lune hosted since Cor’s return last summer. But the thought that they’d meet again as melee contestants hadn’t crossed her mind. And yet, upon seeing the king , Nadora realized she shouldn’t have been surprised. Their entire relationship, whatever the true nature of it, had begun in earnest upon tournament grounds and fractured upon a battlefield. This fight, nonlethal as it was, was a fitting setting.
Nadora focused on her opponents as they came and in time, the melee turned out just as their last one had, with only the two of them standing opposite each other.
This time, it had not come as a surprise. And finally, finally, Nadora felt ready.
Peter had shared all of his worries and apologies and hopes and uncertainties in his letters, and now, with each step and every swing of her sword, she finally responded. Not with a barrage of attacks, nor a monologue or declaration, but a dialogue. Each blow posed a question, and each parry a response. There were more questions than answers in their exchange at first, the dance more complicated as they went on. But neither lessened their resolve. The only victory today would be one of truth, not courtesy.
Later, Nadora would acknowledge that realization as the one to sway her. The one to break down the wall around her heart and allow her to surrender.
In the moment, however, it was Peter who fell against her advance. Nadora’s footwork had been quicker and firmer, and as she stood over him, chest heaving in deep breaths, she was glad in the knowledge that she truly had said all she had to say.
Their fight was quick and slow, all at once. Each swipe and swing, each turn and step, everything held so much more meaning than Peter had ever expected of a duel. She drove the conversation with her questions and attacks, but he was steadfast in response, matching them with his own to pull more answers and determination from them both, than questions and doubt. Physically, they gave up their helmets at some point, first Nadora, then Peter, continuing their dialogue without respite until finally, she had him flat on his back, sword tip to his chest.
What do you want? she asked finally, standing above him.
He blinked up at her, wondering if it had ever been clearer. It didn’t matter how complicated and difficult their lives already were; nor how their titles might demand they be apart from time to time. He didn’t have a solution that allowed them to keep everything they already had and have each other. And maybe he never would. But he certainly wouldn’t know if they didn’t try.
“You,” he answered aloud, and lifted both hands to present her palms to him.
The crowd around them was as deafening as the horn call ending the melee entirely, but he was only focused on her face, her stare long and steady.
Finally, she withdrew her sword and extended a hand down to him.
It was only after he was upright that he remembered where they were. Nadora was pulled away before he could embrace her, taken to be announced as the winner by the herald, and Peter took a breath before retreating from the arena entirely, pulling at the buckles of his armor as he went.
“Nadora.”
Peter stood at the entrance of her tent when she turned, all of his armor gone, though it seemed he’d found a clean tunic.
“May I come in?”
She nodded. Having expected him, she’d denied her brothers’ help after escaping the crowds. She hadn’t wanted their prying looks or questions about Peter. But now, without the pretense of weapons and a fight to stand between them, she wasn’t certain it had been a smart idea.
Peter crossed the small space to stand before her and tentatively lifted his hands, stopping just short of her own where she’d stalled in unbuckling her breastplate. He waited until she nodded and dropped her arms before touching her.
He loosened each strap gently, singularly focused on each buckle. Slowly, he freed her from her armor piece by piece in silence. Her chest plate and shoulder guards, her shin guards and vambraces. Finally, when she was down to her just her chainmail Peter took a slight step back and looked up at her.
“I told you once that being High King came first, before all else. That my duty to Narnia was all I had, all I could ever have,” he said softly. “I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’m sorry, for not listening to you that day. If I had, I’d have understood sooner.”
“Understood what?”
“Everything,” he said, reaching for her hands. The warmth of his hands enveloped hers so quickly, so thoroughly, it was shocking. “Myself. That I’m more than just High King, and all the responsibilities that come with that. That I’m allowed more than that.”
Nadora tightened her grip slightly on his hands, and watched his eyes brighten as he squeezed back.
“You taught me that, you know. I just took too long in learning it.”
“It’s all right. I took just as long in learning my own lesson,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve been running all my life, it seems. From my own responsibilities at first, but from so much more — anything I didn’t want at the time; everything I did want but didn’t believe I could have. You helped with that, you and your letters.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “I apologize, I fear I wa—”
“No. I’m sorry. I should have responded sooner. But your letters, especially the ones from this winter… I suppose they helped me understand, just as you say I helped you,” she exhaled a soft chuckle. “I always thought of my title and the requests of my people as a burden, a constant reminder of everything I’d once failed and would continue to fail. And sometimes, I think it may help me still to think that way. But I’ve found more value, these past months, in seeing it was encouragement. Trust that I can succeed. Faith that I will. And most of all, the acceptance that all will be okay, regardless the outcome.”
“Quite the pair we turned out to be.”
She laughed. Quite the pair, indeed.
He smiled gently and brought his hand up to brush her cheek with his knuckle before tilting her face up toward him by the chin. He was still smiling, but there was a solemness to his expression too, a seriousness that had her insides twist.
“Nadora.”
“Yes?”
“You asked me earlier, what I wanted. Did you hear my answer?”
“I did.”
“And what about you?” His gaze was unwavering and his expression open. In the reflection of his eyes, she saw her own face, her own vulnerability. “What do you want?”
Nadora had anticipated the question from the moment he’d given his answer from the dirt. But it wasn’t until now — after they’d truly spoken, after they’d caught up to where the other was — that she knew her answer.
She reached her arm around the back of his neck and leaned up onto her toes, pulling him down to met his lips with her own.
Their previous kisses had been vastly different from one another. One was chaste, careful of the implications that would come of the act itself; the other had been a deeper indulgence, reckless and done despite the concerns. This one was neither.
This time, Nadora understood all they were opening the door to, and all that they might face by pursuing a courtship, whatever it became.
“I don’t know what it’d look like,” she said, once they’d pulled apart. “Or how we’ll make it work, exactly…” Despite all they’d come to learn about themselves, the truth had not changed. They each had their own responsibilities, and their titles remained.
“We’ll figure it out,” Peter said softly, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. “Wherever we are, whether at Cair Paravel or Galma, or even the deck of your ship, or separated by the whole of the Eastern Ocean — We’ll figure it out, together.”
Nadora tucked her head against Peter’s chest, humming in agreement.
It would be an adventure, she decided. Perhaps even more challenging than all the others. More dangerous, even. But tucked in Peter’s arms, Nadora felt safer and more certain of herself than she ever had before, despite the remaining uncertainties.