Daughter of Nowhere || A Narnia (Prince Caspian) Story

11: Unwanted Guest

The Telmarine troops had arrived just as they were done piling soil onto Nikabrik's bloodless body. Caspian and the rest had watched in dismay as his uncle arranged the black-clad soldiers before the Narnians, displaying the full strength of their superior army. The only gaps in their infantry were filled by war machines of all kinds. It was a naked threat: We have come, and we can destroy you.

But Caspian wouldn't let that happen. Not while he still drew breath.

"Peter, it should be me." Caspian strode after the High King in the curving tunnels, a headache throbbing against his temples. "This is my fight."

Peter scoffed, but not with animosity. Grief had erased whatever snideness he used to show Caspian. "I think we've already tried that." He filled his lungs with air before expelling them. Caspian gave him a dry glare.

"Look," Peter went on. "If there's ever going to be peace between Narnia and Telmar, you need to be the one who brings it."

"How can I if you don't let me?"

Peter shook his head; his eyes were blue hollows of gloom. "Not like this. If I don't make it..." He sucked in a breath. "Narnia's future is in your hands."

Caspian stared at Peter. It was the High King's idea to present a challenge to Miraz, a duel in which the reward was total surrender. A fight to the death. All this so that they could buy Lucy more time to find Aslan's army. While a duel would certainly delay the attack, giving them time to find necessary reinforcements, it was a plan that depended on so much sheer, dumb luck. If Lucy failed to find Aslan's army, if Miraz refused, or went against his word...

"And what about your future?" Caspian asked quietly. He watched Peter's expression crack, wavering.

If I don't make it, he'd said. Peter was a year older than him, but in that moment, Caspian thought he looked younger than he'd ever seen him. Vulnerable. Worried.

Maybe even afraid.

Peter turned. "I was thinking about a career in medicine," he said in a voice so low Caspian wondered if he was supposed to hear it at all.

"My liege," Reepicheep said from inside the chamber, and Peter drew himself up immediately. Whatever he was thinking before, there was no trace of it on his face now.

"Yes?"

Beside Reepicheep, Trumpkin was busy laying out Peter's armor on a table, while Bultitude the bear lumbered into the room, a paw folded to his mouth. Ina was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Her watchful eyes roamed over Peter and Caspian. He shook his head at her ever so slightly: Peter won't be persuaded.

Reepicheep spoke, his tiny fingers steepling together. "My life is yours to command, but... I had thought perhaps I might be the one to present the challenge."

Caspian snorted before he could stop himself; Trumpkin sniggered under his breath.

But Peter simply smiled. "As you know, my good Reepicheep, many humans are afraid of mice. And it really wouldn't be fair to Miraz to have anything in his sight that might further dilute his courage."

This was Peter, Caspian realised. Not High King Peter, the Magnificent, the one who established the Golden Age of Narnia. Not the boy Peter, who, just yesterday, was torn by the guilt of his horrible decision. Not even the brother Peter, who chided his siblings and held a sparkle in his eyes for them. This was just Peter—mortal, breakable, yet unfailingly kind—the one who loved his friends more than he loved himself.

Reepicheep beamed at just Peter. "You're right, my liege. Your Highness is as honorable as he is brave."

Peter returned his grin. Then he said to Caspian, "Tell Xanthos I want him, Ed, and Bultitude to present my challenge."