back, again | prince capian

five

"If I can rally your troops, can you handle the guards?" Peter asked a centaur, his voice steady but tinged with urgency.

Lucy and I exchanged glances, our unspoken concern mirrored in each other's eyes. I scanned the gathering, noting the half-hearted murmurs and doubtful expressions rippling across the assembled Narnian crowd. Lucy looked apprehensive, and I couldn't shake off my own doubts either.

To me, war had never equated to freedom; it was merely a desperate gambit for those who cared enough to protect what mattered. Yet Peter seemed convinced that war was the only path forward.

I turned back to the centaur, whose piercing gaze was locked onto Peter.

"Or die trying, my liege," he replied, his expression unyielding.

"That's exactly what worries me," Lucy interjected, her brow creased with concern.

All heads swung toward her, anticipation hanging in the air.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Peter asked, irritation creeping into his tone.

Lucy looked at me, silently urging me to take the lead; I nodded in agreement and opened my mouth to respond.

"You're framing this as if there are only two options," she said, her voice brave yet measured.

"Dying here or dying out there," she concluded, voice unwavering.

"I'm not sure you've grasped the situation fully," Peter retorted, a flash of anger sparking in his eyes.

"No, you're the one who's not listening," I shot back, the words escaping with unexpected fierceness.

This wasn't the moment to hold my tongue; I had a voice, and I intended to use it. Yet Peter wasn't providing any openings for us to express ourselves. It was time to take a stand.

Peter directed his fierce gaze at me, eyes like steel, but I held steady under the weight of his scrutiny. "Or have you forgotten who actually defeated the White Witch, High King Peter?" I challenged, rising to my feet, determined to assert my presence.

Lucy stood as well and reached for my hand, lending her unspoken support.

"Just because you wear a title doesn't mean you're invincible," he snapped back, defiance laced through his words.

"And just because you're High King doesn't give you the authority to silence those who disagree," I retorted, determined to provoke him further with every word.

"I think we've waited long enough for Aslan," he declared, his tone final as he turned on his heel, signaling the end of the discussion.

Despite my disagreement, I resolved to follow them; participating felt more productive than waiting silently.

As the meeting concluded, we all filed out from Aslan's tomb, a heavy silence enveloping us.

Lucy immediately guided me toward my tent, urging me to sit straight in front of the mirror.

"Hold still!" she ordered as she began to style my hair, and I shot her a look through the reflection. She pretended not to notice as she worked.

I decided to remain quiet, allowing her to weave my hair into something beautiful.

"Are you really going?" Lucy asked, breaking the quiet.

I nodded, my determination firm.

"Even though you disagree?" she pressed, a hint of concern in her voice.

"It's beautiful," I said, admiring the handiwork she created. "Thank you."

I affectionately touched my styled hair, gratitude in my eyes.