back, again | prince caspian

twelve

"I don't expect the Telmarines to keep their word," Peter stated, his voice cutting through the tense hush that had settled between Caspian and me. The battlefield around us seemed to pause for a heartbeat, the clash of steel and the shouts of soldiers fading into the background.

With decisive authority, Peter sent Susan to her assigned position, her bow already in hand. My pulse quickened, but I remained at the frontline with the three boys, ready for whatever came next.

Susan hesitated for a moment before hugging Peter tightly. He winced, the pain from Miraz's cruel strike still sharp in his side.

"Sorry," she murmured, concern clouding her bright features.

"It's alright," Peter replied, brushing off the discomfort with a determined shake of his head before his focus returned to the fray.

"Be careful," Susan urged, her voice steady but threaded with worry, a silent plea that tugged at my chest.

"Keep smiling," Edmund called out suddenly, a mischievous glint in his eye that made us all pause.

I furrowed my brow, glancing at him. "Why?"

Edmund's grin widened. "Just... keep smiling."

A spark of realization lit in me. Raising my voice to rally the wavering troops, I echoed, "Just keep smiling!"

At my command, Susan sprinted to her designated position, arrows nocked and ready. Peter spun to face the ranks, raising his sword high with a wide, forced smile that masked the strain beneath his eyes. The soldiers' hesitance faltered, and then, as if catching the energy of our resolve, cheers began to swell—first tentative, then stronger, echoing across the battlefield like a rising tide.

Caspian moved quickly to support Peter, helping him to sit on a nearby rock and carefully removing the shield from his grasp. The boy's movements were precise, the worry in his eyes belying the calm he tried to project.

I knelt beside Peter, examining his injured hand. He flinched slightly, but when he opened his mouth to protest, my sharp glare silenced him.

"Seems to be misaligned," I stated firmly, my fingers steady as I held his wrist. "It'll sting a bit, but it'll help you in the fight."

Peter gritted his teeth and nodded, trusting me despite the discomfort. I glanced up at Caspian, whose gaze held a mixture of concern and quiet admiration.

"So... how dirty did that old hag Miraz fight?" I asked lightly, trying to inject a moment of levity.

Peter grimaced. "He played so dir—AHH!" The sudden sharp pain made him yelp, drawing both Caspian and Edmund to our side in an instant.

"What happened?" they asked in unison, eyes wide with concern.

"Just trying to help our High King prepare for his fight," I said with a teasing smirk, brushing a fleck of dirt from my dress. "If I hadn't distracted him, he'd be in worse pain."

Peter's lips twitched, clearly fighting back a grin despite the throbbing ache.

Then, with his usual bluntness, he asked, "What do you think happens back home if you die here?"

Startled, I spun and instinctively smacked the back of his head, a mirrored gesture to Edmund's earlier antics. Peter's eyes flashed irritation, but beneath it, I caught a flicker of amusement.

The battlefield rumbled around us, but for a fleeting moment, the tension eased. In that instant, I realized the small, human connections—the shared pain, the teasing, the care—were just as important as the swords and strategies that would decide the day.