The High Queen II

I told you

The army trudged back into camp, weary and battered, their faces grim, but there was something heavier in the air—an undeniable tension. The battle had been hard-fought, and there were casualties to mourn, but there was no time for grief now. Peter and Caspian led the way, the two of them practically at odds with each other.

As they approached, Lucy rushed forward, her eyes wide with concern.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of worry and exhaustion.

Peter's jaw was tight, his gaze sharp as he turned to face her. "Ask him," he snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He jerked his thumb toward Caspian, his anger barely contained.

Susan, who had been quietly observing, stepped forward, her tone soft but commanding. "Peter..."

Caspian's eyes flashed with equal fury. "Me? You could have called it off. There was still time."

Peter didn't hesitate, firing back with venom. "No, there wasn't, thanks to you! If you'd kept to the plan, those soldiers might still be alive right now!"

Caspian's face reddened as his patience snapped. "And if you'd just stayed here like I suggested, they definitely would be!" he shouted, his voice rising with frustration.

Peter's eyes darkened, the weight of all that had gone wrong hanging over him. "You called us, remember?"

Caspian didn't back down. "My first mistake," he growled under his breath.

"No," Peter's voice was low, but the bitterness was unmistakable. "Your first mistake was thinking you could lead these people."

The words hung heavy between them, the unspoken rift between their leadership styles and their pasts coming to a head. Tensions had always been high between the two of them, but this...this was different. The war was only making it worse.

"Hey!" Caspian shouted, his voice laced with anger. "I am not the one who abandoned Narnia!"

Peter's lips curled in a sneer, his gaze fierce. "You invaded Narnia," he spat, stepping toward Caspian, his sword dangerously close to slipping from its sheath. "You have no more right to it than Miraz does! You, him, your father... Narnia's better off without the lot of you!"

Caspian's chest rose with each heavy breath, his hand gripping his sword so tightly that his knuckles were white. His eyes were a mixture of fury and pain as he met Peter's glare. Before anyone could intervene, his sword was in his hand, and the two men stood face to face, their weapons drawn, but neither made a move. Their anger filled the space between them, each word, each exchange of stares, heavy with everything that had led them to this moment.

The tension was palpable, the weight of their past and the tragedy unfolding around them pressing down on their shoulders.

But just as it seemed like the confrontation was about to escalate, a sharp voice cut through the air, breaking the simmering standoff.

"That's enough!" Edmund's voice rang out with unexpected authority. He had emerged from the Howe, having just returned with Aelwyn and Eleanor. His sharp gaze fell upon Peter and Caspian, and the tension between them was palpable. But Edmund was having none of it. His anger wasn't at their argument—it was the waste of time. "You both want to fight, then do it later. We have more important things to deal with right now."

Peter and Caspian exchanged a heated look, but neither lifted their sword again. Edmund's words had cut through the intensity like a blade, and with a mutual, begrudging understanding, they let the matter drop for the moment.

Without a word, Edmund turned and motioned for them to follow. They made their way toward Eleanor's room, the sounds of their footsteps echoing in the stone hall.

As they approached the door, Edmund felt his heart tighten. He had been with her since they arrived but upon hearing the troops return, he left her sleeping. He hadn't been able to shake the nagging worry in his gut—her condition had been dire when they'd left her, and even though they had made it back, he had no idea if she'd been able to heal properly.

But as they stepped into the room, his breath caught in his chest.

Eleanor was standing near the small window, one arm against the stone wall for support as she pulled a fresh tunic over her head. Her movements were slow and deliberate, and though she was pale—too pale—she looked far better than she had when they'd left her. The telltale sign of the healing cordial was evident: the colour was returning to her cheeks, and the deep fatigue in her eyes had softened into something more like cautious determination.

Still, the injury at her side was clearly still fresh, and her breaths were slightly shallow as she adjusted the tunic. Edmund's eyes narrowed in concern at the way her hand lingered over the bandages, as if she were trying to avoid acknowledging how much pain she was still in.

"Ellie..." Edmund's voice was quiet, his concern still heavy despite the small signs of recovery. He didn't approach her immediately, though his eyes never left her form, wary of her reaction.

Eleanor glanced up at him, giving him a tight, somewhat exhausted smile. "Don't worry, Ed," she said softly, though it was clear she was barely holding herself together. "I'm not going anywhere."

Lucy, who had entered behind Edmund, was the first to speak. Her voice, though gentle, held a note of concern as she approached Eleanor. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her gaze flickering to the bandages. "The cordial's working, but that wound—"

"It's okay Lu," Eleanor replied quickly, though her voice was strained. She tried to stand a little straighter, but the effort only made her wince. "I'll be fine."

Her gaze shifted from Lucy to Caspian and then to Peter, her eyes steady despite the pain etched across her face. "I told you I wouldn't abandon them again," she said simply, her voice soft but resolute.

With that, she turned and walked toward the door. Edmund, Susan, and Lucy followed her in silence, each casting concerned glances her way. As they left the room, an uncomfortable quiet settled over Peter and Caspian, lingering in the absence of her presence.

Peter's jaw was clenched, his hands twitching by his sides, still tightly wound with residual anger and regret. He cast a sideways glance at Caspian, and the hostility between them was palpable, each blaming the other in their own way. They didn't exchange words, just stared, their glares communicating every unspoken accusation.

Finally, Caspian broke the standoff, his expression hardening as he turned sharply and stormed out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the stone corridor. Peter stood alone, rooted to the spot, as the weight of the day's events and his own failings sank in.

He hadn't noticed how close he'd come to losing Eleanor, hadn't seen her pain amid the battle and tension. It was a bitter realization, leaving him feeling hollow and shaken, as if the ground he stood on had been pulled out from beneath him.

With a heavy sigh, Peter leaned against the wall, his thoughts swirling. He had almost lost her—and he hadn't even noticed.