₁.₀ YES TO HEAVEN; peter pevensie

022.

Peter feels a little bit more like his former self.

He's got next to none sleep last night, and this morning was quite an eventful one, so he should be tripping over his own feet with exhaustion weighing him down; and yet his back is straight and his chin held high, the energy in his step unfaltering as they move through the forest and towards what he understands should be some kind of a base, occupied by the Narnians willing to fight against the Telmarine regime.

His old ways seem to be coming back to him, ever so slowly, but still. Walking at the very front of the party alongside his siblings, hearing the soft chatter behind his back and feeling his sword resting securely against his hip... For the first time in what seems like forever, he feels like the king he once used to be. Like the king he is ready to be once again.

Like he is home, where he belongs.

He barely even remembers the humiliation that aroused from being nearly defeated by Caspian. Now that the Narnians are aware of their identity, the dynamics among them have changed somehow; he can tell it by the way they keep gazing at him and his siblings and by the deep respect rooted in their voices, that they have been given leadership. Not all of it, perhaps, for, no matter how annoying Peter finds it, Caspian still has a better recognition of the current situation, and to completely cast him aside for his own pride would be foolish.

Still, he thinks as the forest begins to grow thinner, the prince is a Telmarine. There is not a single doubt in Peter's mind that the Narnians would rather see one of their own taking initiative; and what are they, him and his siblings, if not that exactly?

The spaces between trees grow larger and larger as they keep walking, while the undergrowth becomes sparser. Soon enough, there is so much light in front of them that Peter squints his eyes initially, lifting one hand to shield his vision from being taken over by the brightness once they step into a large cleaning at last. In the distance, across a field of long grass swaying softly in the wind, much like waves in an ocean would, he sees a hilly mound standing tall. The structure, although somehow primitive, especially compared to Cair Paravel, appears to him like the most advantageous of strongholds at the moment.

After all, all that's left of their once striking castle are ruins now, pitiful piles of stone, forgotten high upon the cliff. Perhaps what they need in order to win this next war are no soaring towers and great halls, but something more inconspicuous.

He tries his best not to think about the fact that, somewhere not at all that far away, there is the place where the Tree of Protection once lifted its mighty crown towards the sun. There's a part of him that wishes to break away from the party and go looking for it, but Peter knows better than to subject himself to more pain. It's not only that he fears he wouldn't bear to see what must be left of it now - what terrifies him more is that the land he used to know like the back of his hand might have changed so much in their absence that he wouldn't even be able to find the right spot.

He's almost thankful to have Lucy tug at his sleeve, turning his attention away from those thoughts as his youngest sister motions towards a stone archway in front of them. He sees the look of utter amazement on her face as they pass underneath it, and he knows his own features must look not so very different. They all are, he supposes, impressed by the sight of Alan's How, their eyes opened wider than usual and their lips parted slightly.

The solemn atmosphere accompanying their arrival increases as two rows of centaurs form opposing lines along the stone pathway leading inside the hill, their swords glistening in the sun as they are held high in a tribute that does wonders to Peter's self-esteem.

He nearly misses the fact that, at some point, Caspian remains behind their back. He wonders whether it's intentional on his part, or results from the fact that the Telmarine prince is yet to become accustomed to being treated this way.