The High Queen II

A different side of her

The steady rhythm of hoofbeats echoed along the forest path, a soothing cadence that matched the gentle sway of the horses beneath their riders. Caspian rode near the center of the group, his grip on the reins loose as his gaze wandered, not to the road ahead but to the figure just a few paces in front of him. Ellie.

He barely recognized her.

During the war, she had been a vision of unyielding determination. Clad in armor, her every step had been calculated, her every expression guarded. Her piercing focus had been a shield, concealing fear and doubt beneath layers of duty. But now, as the golden sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the ground, Ellie looked... different.

Her hair, warm like soft sand, cascaded freely down her back, catching the sunlight like a golden halo. It framed her face, softer now, her features no longer etched with the weight of impending battle. She sat comfortably in the saddle, her posture relaxed, her shoulders no longer weighed down by the burden of command. There was a lightness about her now, as though the shadow of war had lifted, leaving behind someone freer, brighter.

She laughed, the sound warm and melodic, carrying over the quiet chatter of the group. Caspian found himself captivated, the corners of his own lips tugging upward despite himself. That laugh—so genuine, so full of life—felt like something he hadn't heard in far too long.

"Do try not to fall off your horse, Ed," Ellie quipped, her voice laced with mock seriousness. "It'd be such a shame if the great King Edmund the Just ended up face-first in a puddle."

Edmund groaned, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "Should I remind you who fell off during training?"

"Should I remind you who shoved me off during training?" she shot back, her grin mischievous.

The exchange earned a round of chuckles from the group, but Caspian's attention remained fixed on Ellie. She gestured animatedly as she spoke, her hands moving with each word, her laughter spilling out in bursts. She was radiant.

Peter, riding just beside her, shook his head with an exasperated chuckle. "You're both impossible," he muttered, though there was no mistaking the fondness in his tone.

Ellie turned toward her brother with an arched brow, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Oh, don't act so high and mighty, Peter. Need I remind you of the time you tripped over your own sword during a duel?"

Peter groaned, his cheeks flushing as Edmund barked a laugh. "That was one time, Ellie," he grumbled.

"One time too many," she teased, her smile widening as Peter muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

Caspian couldn't help but marvel at the scene unfolding before him. High King Peter and High Queen Ellie—figures of legend, rulers of Narnia—bickering like children. Yet even in their jesting, there was a palpable bond, an unshakable trust that only siblings could share.

Ellie glanced over her shoulder then, catching Caspian's gaze. For a moment, everything else faded—the sunlight filtering through the trees, the steady clop of hooves, the banter of their companions. Her green eyes met his, soft and vibrant, a mirror of the joy that now seemed to radiate from her.

Her smile changed, softening into something quieter, almost shy. The sight of it struck him with the same force as any sword. He held her gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile of his own. The war was over, and here she was—alive, laughing, so achingly alive.

She turned back to Edmund, her voice lifting as she teased him about something else. Caspian's heart swelled, the weight of everything they had endured slowly giving way to something lighter.