Fearless • P. Pevensie

Just Before

I stand at a mirror.

I've never been one for much vanity. Though it's true, there are times where every young girl can admire her own beauty. But I'v always hated staring at my own image for too long.

The woman who stands before me is just that: a woman. Gone is much of her childish appearance. But also gone, is her doubt. Her protruding bones no longer make her look weak, emaciated. They rather make her appear threatening and stern. Truthfully, they accentuate her natural beauty.

Cuts and scars line her skin. None of which she thinks makes her and uglier than she would be if she did not have them.

Her father's pendant hangs from her neck. Once a coin worth quite a lot back in the land her father came from, now a decorative necklace she brandishes with pride. She's carried it with her through battle, and lived to tell the tale. She'll carry it with her for many years to come. That she's sure of.

She is dignity. She has power, though she does not exude it in the way that false leaders do. She wields it carefully, knowing that power can be a double-edged sword in the wrong hands.

She is me, and I am her.

I look so much like my mother. In every drawing I've seen of her, in every memory I have. Save for my eyes, though. I do have my father's eyes.

Peter's hands come around my waist, catching me off guard for only a moment before I realize what he's doing. He nuzzles his head into my neck affectionately, looking up at me in the mirror.

"You look beautiful, love." He reminds me. As he has, many times since the war.

"Don't I always?" I tease him with a smile.

"Of course you do." He agrees.

He kisses into my neck, wrapping his hands around me tightly as I close my eyes. Pure content washes over me as I feel him behind me. He loves me. He loves me more than words ever could explain. And I love him. With all the strength of a thousand suns, I do.

"Peter, we're being crowned today." I mumble to him.

"Mm-hmm." He tells me, tracing small figures on my stomach as he continues to hold me comfortingly.

"Peter." I smile. "We're going to be King and Queen together." I let out a bewildered sigh.

"Yes, we are." He pulls away, coming to stand beside me in the mirror.

"Doesn't that terrify you?" I ask him.

"Oh. Facing off against the White Witch and her armies, slaying beast after beast on the battlefield, that was nothing for you. But the knowledge that now you actually have to be Queen? That's terrifying to you?" He laughs.

I shake my head.

"What If I'm not a good Queen? What if I can never be a leader, like my parents were?" I ask him.

He sighs, staring at the mirror. He doesn't say anything for a few moments as he just gazes longingly into it's reflection.

"Look at us. Look at the clothes that hang from us. Your dress, God- your dress." I don't miss the way his eyes trace over me delicately, with so much love and desire. "The way your hair catches in the light. The confidence you wear. How great we look together. Look at it all. Tell me what you see?"

I huff. Of course he's pulling this card. He's difficult sometimes. Though, I love him. So all the difficulty is well worth it.

I cross my arms, taking a long, hard look in the mirror.

"I see soulmates. In one way or another, long before we met one another, we were bound together. We were always going to meet, Peter. It was our destiny." I tell him. "I see a fearless young King, who's proud to have the whole world on his shoulders. I see a kind, sometimes overprotective young Queen. I see the Knight and Dame of Narnia, as appointed by Aslan himself. I see us. And all we were ever meant to be." I nod at our reflections.