₁.₀ YES TO HEAVEN; peter pevensie

012.

Nobody is laughing when the news of what passed at night spread through the camp the next morning.

Birdie wonders whether Aslan knew of such cruel fate awaiting him. He must have, her mind keeps telling her, of course he must have known. Everything he's told her about the Deep Magic echoes in her ears, the sadness in his voice unmistakable as she recalls it now. How the White Witch said he'd made a promise to her, something they were all far to busy to notice, happy to hear that her claim on Edmund's blood has been renounced. It's easy to see, from the present, just how heavy a burden burden must have rested on his shoulders back then. The Great Lion or not... Birdie can't imagine what it must feel like to look into one's future and stare straight into the eyes of death.

Uncertainty is what makes her uneasy, but to do that would simply kill her. Her soul more so than her body, it would cease to exist just days before the her lips part in her last breath.

Yes, Birdie might fear death. Yet, as long as the ability to know her future for sure is beyond her, she can cling onto hope. It's not much, but it's something.

So she pities Aslan. A part of her wishes she had been kinder to him back in the woods, that she had not been so stubborn. But then she looks at Peter, and each time her eyes wander towards the boy's face she feels her jaw clenching.

Peter is... handsome. It took her by surprise when she actually first caught herself thinking about that. Birdie doesn't even know when it could have happened, but somewhere along the road she stopped seeing him solely it as the annoyingly stubborn boy who made her blood boil over and over again. It embarrasses her a little to admit that- No, scratch it, there's no reason for her to feel that way. It's just how it is, and perhaps she should be glad it is Peter who she finds herself gravitating towards, even though it's the first time, even though it might scare her a little. She can't deny that there's much fondness awakened each time her thoughts drift towards the boy standing beside her now.

And it pains her to see him like this, leaning forward with his palms flat on the table, his brows furrowed as his eyes scan the map. Birdie wishes she could just reach out, to smooth the lines of his creased forehead with her own fingertips... To tell him not to worry, to distract him, of only for a little bit.

How could Aslan just leave him like that? Inexperienced and alone, with half the world looking up to him with bated breath.

"That will be all, Oreius." Peter's posture straightens, yet his words come out in the form of a sigh. He's tired beyond imagination, and it's only early in the morning. God knows he's going to need all the strength he's left soon, when they march into the field to meet the Witch's army. "Thank you."

The centaur nods curtly. She watches him leave, and it strikes her far stronger than it did before just how close they are to the end of this strange journey. She can't ignore the fact that Oreius will spread the word about Peter's orders - orders, how fitting for a king after all! - and the whole camp will awake from its slumber in order to begin preparations.

Peter clears his throat. "We should go, too. It won't be long until our armour is brought."

Instinctively, Birdie takes a step towards him as soon as he pushes himself off the table. She doesn't even know why; after all, she's not the one who will be putting on a breastplate in mere minutes. In fact, it would probably be wise to just leave the two brothers so that they can do it undisturbed. But, in all honesty, she doesn't really sure what it is that she should occupy herself with.

"You know, I should probably go find Beaver. To, um, make sure he knows everything and all that." Birdie is surprised to hear Edmund speak. She thought he would want to be at Peter's side now, but she finds the younger boy already stepping away, a weird expression all over his features as he glances better the girl and his brother. "And you can talk. Or whatever."