#𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 ; abhominable—don't forget to spell it with an 'h'.

[petervel]

❛ stop  it . ❜

                                          @cairspian​  thought  i  wouldn’t  !

[petervel]

he  shouldn’t  be  here .     the thought plays repeatedly in peter’s mind in a manner that is more  warning  than benevolent litany as he breaches the surface of the sea with a  lung - swelling  gasp ,     the clear blue sky greeting its king of old from above like a familiar ,     beloved  friend .     land ,     mercifully ,     is within reach ,     and peter makes his way to shore ;     sheds his heavy blazer as though in preparation to take on a new ,     second skin ;     rolls up his sleeves with a resigned sigh .     are the others here ,     he wonders :     lucy ,     edmund ,     susan ?     why  is  he  here ?    

even after the slow ,     terrible passing of a year ,     peter remembers what he had thought were his final days in narnia     —     until around five minutes ago ,     at least     —     with astonishing clarity ;     is still painfully intimate with the unadulterated grief that had sprouted in his chest like the viral  side - effects  of a poison when the great lion had bared his teeth to tear apart his heart .     you  will  not  be  returning  to  narnia .     was this a mistake ,     then ?     

if nothing else ,     peter pevensie is realising that he’s growing awfully tired of saying his last goodbyes over   &   over again .     

he cannot bear to spare a thought for the fate of the king whom he had once loved ;     but peter’s heart betrays him when his mind’s eye flashes with moving pictures of gentle ,     brown eyes and the swooping curve of his lips when graced with the  affections  of  a  smile .     how many years has it been ?     will peter be seeing caspian ,     or laying  forget - me - nots  upon his majesty’s dusty ,     hallowed tomb ?

he isn’t terribly surprised by his distinct inability to recognise the island for what he had once known it to be     —     but what  does  render peter into a stunned silence is the appearance of an old ally at his feet ,     who seizes the leg of his trousers and pulls him into the shadows as he babbles about an abduction     ( he does not let himself think about what reepicheep’s presence  really  means )  .     

their plan is one of rescue :     lucy     —     and  eustace ,     oddly enough     —     are to be sold into slavery if left to their fate ,     and not ten minutes pass by the time peter is lowering a hood from his head in the main square ,     meeting lucy’s  star - beam  smile with an affectionate quirk of his lips before going  right  for the ringleader with a silver sword from drinian’s collection .     he’s a little rusty ,     but this has never given the high king cause to falter .

❛ never again will you sell another  living  being  in these lands , ❜     commands the former emperor of the lone islands as he brings the slaver to his knees and presses the tip of his sword to their throat ,     but peter falters when a flash of movement across the square ensnares his attention .     

          ❛ caspian . ❜     

it isn’t a word ;     it’s a prayer ,     a song peter knows by heart and carries with him always ,     an ancient call that echoes from ear to ear in the darkest moments of the  wicked  night before it lays down its arms and surrenders to the dawn .     peter lets his sword fall to the ground with a dull clatter ,     leaving the slaver to face a minotaur that approaches in his stead ,     and already ,     he  knows  a  dreadful  truth .     if he isn’t careful ,     he will never again have the strength to say goodbye .

                                  plotted  starter  for  @cairspian​ !

[petervel]

perhaps  he’s  only  sorry  that  he  got  caught .     perhaps ,     as it dawns ‘pon peter now that he has been pulled out of the battlefield   &   sequestered away within the safety of closed quarters ,     it had been easier for him to face this     ——     all of it :     the unsubtle whispers ,     the cruelty of children ,     the consequences of placing himself in the firing line to protect others     ——     when there wasn’t as much at stake .     sorry ,     is what he does not say .     i’m  sorry  that  the  rest  of  your  life  will  be  like  this .     

❛ haven’t changed your mind yet ,     then ? ❜     he asks quietly ,     squeezing an eye shut with a subtle wince as caspian uses the damp towel in their hands to pat carefully at the cut o’er his right brow .     ❛ i think you’ve drawn the short straw in this deal ,     caspian  maravilla     ——     i don’t know about you ,     but i’d take  giants  over the wankers at hendon any day of the week . ❜     what  do  you  get  in  return  for  all  of  this ?     is the question that hangs between them .     a  lifetime  in  hiding ?     a  long  fall  from  prince  to  pauper ?     perhaps it isn’t the falling that they should fear .     perhaps the real danger lies with the landing .

                                plotted  starter  for  @cairspian​ !

[petervel]

@cairspian​ :     are  you  so  eager  to  be  eaten ?

for  a  moment ,     peter  forgets  all  about  their  game .     he has masks to wear ,     a role to play     ⸺     but ocean blues seek out the tranquil solace of the hunter’s irises ,     black as the fathoms that run deep below his own calm waters ,     and peter  comes  to  life  ‘neath the darkling’s attentions .     [  their  darkness  is  a  part  of  you ,     just  as  much  as  the  fractals  of  sunlight  that  pass  through  the  surface  above .     you  would  dive  down  into  their  eyeless  depths   &   let  your  lungs  have  their  fill  of  the  darkling ,     if  you  could .     maybe  you  will .  ]     

the thick furs of caspian’s cape envelop the space around the two of them ,     reducing the wintry forest   &   its open air to  mere  inches  of room to breathe ,     and peter lets them crowd him against the rough bark that encircles the trunk of a thick pine tree ,     delighted smile playing  near - imperceptibly  ‘cross pale features as deft fingers reach to pull them closer ,     closer .     [  they  can  do  anything  they’d  like ,     now  that  they’ve  found  you .     it’s  all  you  want .     it’s  only  fair .  ]

❛ only  by  you , ❜     peter murmurs ,     gaze dropping ‘neath the gentle curves of caspian’s dark eyes as a thumb lifts to snag at the pillowy centre of their bottom lip .     ❛ i  wouldn’t  mind ,     if  you  wanted  to  swallow  me  whole . ❜

[petervel]

❛ there  you  are . ❜    it’s been dangerously easy ,     he thinks ,     to fall back into old habits even  thirteen  hundred  years  later ;     as he slows to an idling halt a few footfalls away from the seated prince ,     peter notices that the knuckles on his left hand are bleached  bone - white  with their deathly grip ‘pon rhindon’s  lion’s - head  pommel ,     as if he is still naught but a child ,     utterly entangled in the belief that it is  a  safety  net  he  will  never  need  to  use .     he really should know better by now .  

                     in the silence ,     he inhales ,     exhales ,     and finally lets go .  

❛ i think we got off on the wrong foot , ❜     he says ,     voice low     —     yet inexplicably clear ,     even o’er the chattering din of blacksmiths   &   beasts within the  fire - lit  walls of the how .     perhaps it’s something in the air ;     something that teaches him to invoke the nobility and commanding grace of a  king  once more .

❛ let me make it up to you :   how about another spar ?   something a little more amiable ,   this time. ❜     he tears a page from deep within edmund’s book of diplomacy as he tips his head     —     to almost anyone else ,     it would appear that the high king ,     ever  the  warrior ,     is merely restless to greet whatever adventure will next rise from beyond the horizon yonder     —     but what peter really means to do is direct caspian’s attention toward the small crowd of narnians who watch their  every  move   ( mostly fauns and talking beasts at present ,     but it’s been a rotating roster of spectators from the moment caspian had first disarmed him in the forest )  .  

they do not know who to follow ,     he thinks     —     and in keeping his distance ,     peter hasn’t exactly helped dissipate this terrible tension between the two of them .     still ,     while the narnians have been watching them ,     he’s  been  watching  caspian :     ‘cross the how ,     on the training grounds ,     in his moments of peace within the eye of this perpetual storm .     he’s a dreamer .     he  could  be  a  king .     already ,     peter believes in the choice narnia has made ;     he believes in what they can achieve together .     but he also knows that everything will fall apart if they aren’t careful     —     so as he idles in front of the other ,     he offers out a hand to help caspian stand .     it isn’t exactly a white flag ,     but  it’s  a  start .

                    plotted  starter  for  @cairspian​ !

[petervel]

he  isn’t  one  for  celebrations .     not after war ,     after death ;     it’s probably why ed had pushed a wine goblet into his hands the moment that the opulent splendour of caspian’s coronation ceremony had burgeoned into the more familiar ,     uninhibited throes of a narnian celebration   &   his   ‘ high king ’   veneer finally began to slip amidst the chaos .     still ,     he sequesters himself away from the main revelry rather than relying on the wine to keep him from introspection .     deep down ,     peter pevensie still thinks about studying medicine .     he does not need the great lion to tell him what he already  feels ,    deep within the pit of his belly ,     though he knows the conversation will soon come all the same .     he will not be returning to this place again .

but it is caspian’s day ;     caspian’s  era ,     and as the king approaches his hiding place ‘neath the covers of the darkened courtyard ,     peter realises he cannot bear to taint the sweetness of this fair eve with bitter talk of goodbyes .     ❛ hullo ,     your  majesty , ❜     he says instead ,     eyeing the familiar adornment ‘pon the other’s head with a wry smile .     ‘ you are narnia’s to keep , ’     he had whispered only hours ago as he had bequeathed his crown to caspian with a voice that was not entirely his own .     ‘ put your faith in her ,     and she will not lead you astray . ’     caspian will make a fine king ,     he thinks .

somewhere beyond their line of sight ,     the fauns’ lively music decrescendos into a gentler ,     slower melody ,     and peter sets aside his cup before rising gracefully   &   holding out his hand with a subtle bow .     ❛ may i ? ❜     he isn’t one for celebrations ;      but  he’d  rather  dance  than  talk .

still ,     the strong wine is slowly working to unravel the knots in his tongue ,     and once he is in caspian’s arms ,     his resolve is quick to shaken .     ❛ tell me a secret , ❜     he whispers .     give  me  your  heart ,     he thinks selfishly .     ❛ something to hold for you .     something you have never before given away . ❜     something peter can tuck between his ribs and carry back with him to england ,     even as everything else is  left  behind .

                                  plotted  starter  for  @cairspian​ !

[petervel]

❛ narnia,   narnia . . .   ah.   king edmund the just ? ❜   well,   peter  did  know this would happen,   at least   —   still,   he’s almost a little guilty as he peers down at the list in the guard’s hands ;   though no more than edmund himself,   who’d argued with peter for over forty minutes in his bid to prove himself capable of being the  first pevensie  to visit hyrule   ( stubbornly blind all the while,   of course,   to the fact that the entirety of their exchange had taken place while edmund sat in bed,   his face even paler than usual )  .

❛ er   —   no,   sorry, ❜   he starts ;   though in some ways,   he isn’t sorry at all.   hyrule   —   like narnia   —   is a  far cry  from london,   and he cannot help but feel as if he’s tumbled through the doors of yet another wardrobe to engage in this visit :   every breath,   it seems,   is pure magic.   it’s certain,   then.   ed’s going to be absolutely  furious  about having missed this.   ❛ peter of narnia.   edmund is unwell ;   i’m attending in his stead. ❜

❛ peter of . . . ❜   at last,   the guard’s eyes widen in recognition,   and peter smiles graciously   ( if not a little self - consciously )  .   ❛ welcome to hyrule,   high king peter.   right this way,   if you please. ❜   peter is ushered into the castle as he conveys his thanks,   and in the moments before he passes out of earshot,   the guard speaks once more   —   but not to him.   ❛ narnia sure is trying to  impress  the princess. ❜   though he raises a brow rather surreptitiously,   he knows better than to comment.

in any case,   distraction comes rather easily once he walks into the ballroom and immediately comes face to face with said princess.   ❛ your highness, ❜   peter begins,   dipping into a polite bow at the waist.   ❛ happy birthday.   i have something for you   —   i’ve heard you enjoy reading. ❜   he lifts the package in his hands,   wrapped in brown paper and  intricately braided  threads of twine that at this point look more like a work of art than mere fetters ;   he can’t exactly take full responsibility for the idea,   but he knows that no library is complete without a compendium of narnian fairy tales   ( leather - bound and dusted with gold foil,   naturally )  .   even if zelda is too old for such stories,   he thinks,   one day they will be old enough to enjoy them again.

                                     plotted  starter  for  @hyliacursed​ .

[petervel]

peter  pevensie  is  dragging  his  heart  ten  paces  behind  him ,     as if he was once pious in his belief that the physical distance would save it from ruin within the callous clutches of the lion’s terrible paws     ( it performed no such miracle ,     when the moment came ;     but of course ,     he     ——     high  king ,     exiled soldier ,     hopelessly  devoted  fool     ——     had long before set aside any illusions he had once harboured about the infallibility of a stiff upper lip ,     like the decisive abandonment of childish protections   &   playthings )  .     

vaguely ,     he realises that susan is speaking     ——     but peter’s own words twist into  bitter  and  ugly  things in his chest ,     and he keeps them locked away behind his teeth like poison vials on a shelf .     neither anger nor panic ,     he knows ,     will change aslan’s mind .     and yet ,     it continues to build in his lungs ,     in his airways ,     until he is convinced that this leaden weight will pull him down to the bottom of the sea and cradle his head in its hands ‘til he drowns :     don’t  send  me  back  there .     don’t  send  me  away  from  him .    

still ,     he has enough presence of mind to mirror his sister when both she   &   aslan slow to a halt ‘neath the shelter of the courtyard ,     and when his eyes lift away from the cobblestones under his boots to survey the sudden disturbance of this terrible peace ,     he falters :     for a moment ,     the rest of the world seems meaningless in the wake of the new king’s gaze ,     warmed into a gentle  honey - brown  by the dappled sunlight overhead   ( never before has anyone looked at him with such unabated  longing ,     he realises )  .     caspian is a tether in a storm ;     dry land after weeks of nothing but sea and sky ,     and peter pevensie doesn’t know how he is supposed to let go .     ‘ everyone  has  assembled , ’     caspian hedges ,     and they know that this is the end .

❛ go ahead , ❜     he tells susan ,     gesturing after aslan   —   who walks on with a slow flick of his tail ,     but only after a meaningful glance at peter that  twists  his  stomach  into  knots     ——     with an almost imperceptible tip of his head .     ❛ i’ll catch up . ❜     he waits until both lion   &    queen are out of sight before moving   ( slowly ;     each step is an exercise in  self - control )     to close the terrible distance between himself and the remaining soul in the courtyard .     how long had he been awake ?     had they been looking for peter ?     as he takes caspian’s hand and squeezes it with a smile that does not quite reach his turbulent eyes ,     a small voice in the back of his head laments for all that he had never dared permit himself to want .     more  time .     more  time .     more  time .     ❛ can  we  talk ? ❜

                              plotted  starter  for  @cairspian​ !

[petervel]

the  dream  always  starts  like  this .     it’s caspian’s face first ,     warm   &   familiar ;     meticulously disarming peter until each and every one of his walls have crumbled into blunt shards at his feet .     he reaches out through the darkness ,     cradling peter’s face in his hands ,     and the  near - constant ,     roaring  ache of the hole in the high king’s chest ebbs ,     stunned into silence by the caresses of affection stamped onto his cheeks like an unspoken vow     ⸺     night  after  night  after  night ,     touch alone brings peter to his knees   &   forces him to unravel the truth that he cannot bear to acknowledge within his waking hours :     he would do anything ,     everything ,     to linger on in caspian’s orbit forever .

(  but  not  like  this ;     not  as  a  distant ,     dead  star ,     long  gone  from  the  sky  he  relies  ‘pon  for  comfort  in  the  blackest  hours  of  the  night .     you  are  nothing  but  an  echo  of  the  light  he  once  saw  within  your  eyes     ⸺     but  you  would  give  anything ,     be  anything ,     to  earn  your  place  beside  him  again .     all  you’ve  ever  wanted  is  to  stay  by  his  side .  )

but he disappears ;     he always does ,     in the end .     what happens next is a lottery that shifts with the  mercurial  tides  each evening :     tonight ,     the great lion himself appears before peter ,     hackles raised .     of  course  he  isn’t  safe ,     peter thinks distantly ,     as if peering into a memory to uncover a  long - forgotten  truth .     no - one  can  tame  him     ⸺     you  least  of  all .     ❛ you cannot stay here , ❜     aslan tells him ,     golden eyes unreadable and  near - green .      ❛ let  him  go .     before it destroys you and narnia both . ❜     ❛ i’m so sorry ,     aslan , ❜     peter whispers ,     ❛ i’m  trying  ⸺  ❜     but it isn’t enough .     it’s never enough .    ❛ your  return  has  endangered  them  all ,     my  son .     no  matter  the  choice  you  make ,     ruin  will  follow . ❜

                    when he wakes ,     his cheeks are wet .

peter knows what should come next .     he should roll over   &   let sleep take him once more     ⸺     better yet ,     he should escape out onto the deck and seek solace within the arms of the stars above until he can pretend the  choice  that stands before him is naught but wind in his ears ;     the choice with no right direction ,      even if there is a choice at all .     aslan is right     ⸺     he  will  destroy  everything .

perhaps this ,     in the end     ⸺     his clear sight of the ruin at the end of each path     ⸺     is what shatters the pillars that hold his strength .     ' what  are  you  doing ? ’     chides the small ,     insistent voice at the back of his mind that has always shouldered the burden of  responsibility   &   wins out against his heart more often than not     ⸺     ‘ you  heard  him .     you  don’t  belong  here , ’     it insists     ⸺     but he carries on with his odyssey all the same ,     treacherous legs carrying peter from his plush hammock below deck to caspian’s quarters at the back of the ship .     a hand lifts to curl ‘round the knob at the entrance to the stern cabin ,     and after far too little deliberation ,     he pushes the  right - hand  door open with a gentle  click .     ❛ caspian ? ❜     peter whispers into the darkness ,     idling in the threshold as if it is the only line in the sand that he cannot bring himself to breach .

he can go no further .     but neither can he let go .

                                        plotted  starter  for  @cairspian​ !

[petervel]

@ecfigaes :     sparring  with  oreius .

he shifts on unsteady feet in the dark ,     fingers tightening around the grip of his sword as he wills himself to just  shut up and listen   ( it’s a simple enough sentiment ,     until theory becomes practice ) .     the gentle breeze whispers indecipherable secrets in his ears ,     kissing at his rosy cheeks ,     and the little king stumbles as he  swipes  blindly ,     blade protecting him from naught but the cool air around them .     ❛ er . . .     oreius ? ❜     peter tries ,     lifting a hand from rhindon to instead flutter over the blindfold like a ghost ;     though he does not dare remove it .     ❛ i don’t think i’m getting the hang of this . ❜

[petervel]

he  doesn’t  sleep  anymore .     not now that he is a stranger in his home ;     in his own body .     ( how  many  years  will  it  take ,     peter pevensie ,     for you to once again recognise the face that stares out at you from within the looking glass ?     ten ?     fifteen ?     or will your only reminder of your time in that bewitching ,     bloody dream be the presence of something ancient in your eyes ,     as  turbulent  and  restless  as the eastern sea in a storm ?     who are you ,     little soldier ,     without your sword   &   battle scars ? )     mum often berates him for it when she finds him dozing with his head cradled in his arms at the dining table each grey morn ,     questioning whether he plans to  carry  on  like this once his father comes home ,     once he’s back at school :     he will never tell her that a part of him     —     the part that is nearly older than his own mother     —     would die before allowing anyone to trap him within the four walls of hendon house for two more years .

he’s doing it again ;     haunting this somnolent house in finchley ,     wandering the halls with all the soundless grace of a ghost   ( this energy ,     this restless ,     agonising  energy ,     must go  somewhere )  .     only now ,     after an entire month ,     has the true grief begun to bloom within peter’s chest like a festering  weed  that he knows he’ll never be able to claw out from between his ribs     —     perhaps they aren’t going back ,     after all .     and perhaps he isn’t the only conscious mourner ,     even at this hour .     it’s quiet ,     but peter   ( ever the eldest ,     ever the protector )   hears lucy’s tears like a  heartbeat  in  a  hurricane ,     and he does not think twice before redirecting his aimless course .     ❛ lu ? ❜     he whispers ,     rapping twice on her bedroom door with two fingers before nudging it open ,     by just a fraction .

                                      plotted  starter  for  @valiynt​ !

[petervel]

@jstking :     plotted  starter .

peter’s armed with a sort of knowledge     that elder brothers often know how to use best as he props a shoulder up against the doorway of edmund’s study ,     an uncharacteristically impish smile spreading ‘cross his features like the rapid bloom of narnian roses in spring .     ❛ welcome home ,     brother .     tell me :     did your  business  in the western woods this morn happen to have anything to do with a certain  lady  remilia ? ❜     he’s too intrigued to bother being coy about it ;     the trees really do make short work of messages when it comes to their kings   &   queens .

[petervel]

EDMUND :   why not just tell me ??     /     @multimess​.   accepting.

a deep,   ancient sigh spills from peter’s chest ;   an overflow of the grief that he’s been holding close to his chest like a losing hand of cards from the moment he   &   susan  were taken aside and told that they would not be coming home again.  now that edmund’s lament for his torch has finally faltered in its ability to hide the truths that feel twisted   &   sour in his mouth,   he notices that the air is different here.   stifling.   the tie that he’d fastened around his neck  weeks  ago now feels as if it may strangle him,   and with each passing moment that the train solemnly carries on down the tracks,   peter feels more and more likely to  scream  cry  collapse.   (  but he would never :   not in front of his siblings,   not if he can help it.  )

❛ i would have, ❜   he begins carefully,   acutely aware that this conversation is far from private.   ❛ su   &   i just didn’t get the chance.   it’s hardly as if we could’ve all sat down for tea  &  biscuits before  — ❜   he will not speak the lion’s name.   not now.    ❛  —  before we were sent back to london,   in any case. ❜

he’s quick to turn to the hushed solitude of his bag   —   pawing through latin and linguistic textbooks in an attempt to look sufficiently busy   —   but even as the minutes tick by,   peter still feels his brother’s eyes linger on him,   and his faux surrender comes in the form of a fond,   terribly absent,   smile.   there is a hollow,   he realises,   where his heart should be.   ❛ look   —   don’t worry about us,   ed.   you  &   lu  still have time left :   that’s the bit that matters. ❜

[petervel]

“  are you alright? ”   the certain danger caspian exposes himself to in speaking these words does not totally evade him      ——    beings reduced to mere mythologies,     he knows that a person like him,     (  this man caspian has brought to the forbidden sandy beaches in an effort to save him from drowning in the middle of a seastorm,   )     is likely to be completely unaware of his species’ entire existence,     which is a particularly nasty recipe for disaster if you’re also the prince of your underwater world in a one-sided permanent conflict with the dwellers of the land.

still,     a part of him had always hoped to find someone as fascinated about  the other  like he is,     even if he is meant to safely deposit the troubled human on the shore  &  take his leave immediately     (  he couldn’t bear to watch something - someone perish in his sea,   )     he feels a pitiful tug at his heart that keeps him in place,     laying across from him,     clothes wet  &  clinging from the water.     he was given an opportunity to see them up close,    to get to know the way they speak,    how they walk,    even —— though this one’s not a very cogent sample size, it won't end badly, will it?     “  do you...     need anything? ”

he’s  dead .     he  must  be     ——     he’s well accustomed to hearing the twin fates of men tossed overboard in a storm by now ;     he knows what waits for him deep within the fathoms below .     there had even been a face ,     a  voice . . .     an  angel ,     he’d decided :     come to escort him o’er the threshold of davy jones’ locker .

but when peter wakes ,     expelling sea salt   &   smoke from his lungs with a desperate stream of gasping ,     choked coughs ,     he feels solid ground cradling his head ;     wet sand shifting ‘neath his open palm as he rolls off his back and hunches over in a bid to chase down the wind he’d lost during his time spent beneath the ocean’s surface .     he’s on the shoreline .     and ,     as the prince realises once he’s pulled himself into a seated position ,     he isn’t alone .

are  you  alright ?     the voice asks ,     and his lips part in breathless wonder .

❛ you . . . ❜     you’re real .     you’re beautiful .     you’re  a  mer .     ❛ you saved my life , ❜     peter finally decides ,     bright blue eyes sweeping languidly down the length of the stranger’s body   ( he hopes it isn’t terribly rude to  stare ,     but peter can do naught but give himself over to  childlike  enthrallment  as he watches their tailfin lap restlessly at the oncoming waves )   before settling on his brilliantly dark     ——     and perhaps equally curious     ——     gaze .     how many times ,     he wonders ,     had his mother sat by his bedside and read tales of the merfolk to lull peter to sleep ?     how many times had he dreamed about what now lies before him ?     ❛ you’ve already done more than enough for me .     thank  you . ❜

with  a  surprising  degree  of  grace ,     the prince dares to scoot just a little closer     ——     keeping his movements slow in an attempt to prove that he means no harm     ——     but he does not try to make any sort of contact beyond that between their unwavering eyes .     ❛ i’m peter . ❜

                 →     mermaid  madness  from  @cairspian !

[petervel]

he’s  still  playing  chess  with  the  memories  in  his  head ;     still trying to rearrange the events of the last two hours into a story that makes sense .     they’d been on a skiff ;     he   &   lucy     ⸺     of this ,     peter is certain   (  when her name had been drawn from the  nightmare  lottery ,     peter had found a way in beside her ,     burning maps   &   intelligence from west ravka until the lieutenant had decided that the only way to suffocate this fire was with  darkness  ) .     

the rest ,     admittedly ,     will not come easily .     he remembers the markers ;     the volcra .     lucy’s  screams .     and then     ⸺     nothing .     nothing  but  light .     and yet     ⸺     as he’s led to the threshold of the general’s tent ,     unanswered questions quickly gathering dust ‘pon his tongue ,     peter is quick to realise that he may very well be the only occupant of the camp without a theory .     sun  summoner ,     are the words that the wind catch   &   carry out to his ears through the fluttering tent flaps :     already ,     he knows he’s in trouble .     

❛ please ,     just     ⸺     let me see my sister first , ❜     he mutters ,     glancing between the guards by his side with an increasing sense of desperation .     ❛ she . . .     she  was  hurt .     on the skiff .     i need to know that she’s alright . ❜     but the grisha to his left only shakes their head .     ❛ she’s in surgery .     it won’t do either of you any good to see her now . ❜     she’s  alive ,     then .     peter will have to live with that     ⸺     for now .

the tent is still ;     dimly - lit     ⸺     even as peter is brought to a halt     ⸺     but he’d have to be blind to miss the black kefta that cuts  void - like  edges  into the smoky darkness   (  if peter were indeed the sun ,    he  would  be  swallowed  ) .     he’s well aware that only one grisha in ravka is permitted to wear this colour .     

❛ i’m not what you think i am , ❜     he says finally ,     eyes tethered helplessly to the silent silhouette that faces the war table at the back of the tent ,     ❛ and if i were ,     i can’t imagine why you would let your men haul me around like an  animal . ❜     at that ,     he jerks his right arm out of a corporalki’s grasp     ⸺     though the second heartrender only tightens their hold in response ,     and peter’s subsequent surrender manifests as a  near - imperceptible  dip of his head ,     eyes dropping to the plush carpeting beneath his boots for little longer than a heartbeat .     as if the opulence has reminded him where he stands among the elites of the second army ,     his next words are quiet .     deferent ,     almost .     ❛ there’s been a mistake . . .     general .    i  didn’t  do  anything . ❜

that  feeling ,     the  one  caught  in  your  throat :     is  it  fear ,     or  fascination ?

                                 plotted  starter  for  @cairspian​ !

[petervel]

❛ —  so ,     what  you’re  trying  to  tell  me     is that you aren’t the duke of monroth ,     you haven’t a  penny  to your name ,     and     —     though you haven’t sold a  single  play in the entire span of your exceedingly short career     —     you’re asking the company to put its future in your hands   &   perform . . .    ‘ bohemian  rhapsody ’     during our next season ;     with you in a starring role ,     at that . ❜     it isn’t a question .     

a quiet ,     resigned sigh rises from within the weary depths of peter’s chest   &   tumbles out of his parted lips as he sets aside the playscript ,     shoulders slumping imperceptibly .     he can ,     at the very least ,     afford to drop the  act  now .     

(  ‘ he  was  in  the  audience  when  you  stood  in  as  arthur , ’     zidler had explained ,     looping an arm around peter’s shoulders before he could roll his eyes   &   walk away     —     he was an  assistant ,     for christ’s sake ;     not an actor     —     as if preparing to let him in on a secret ,     ‘ and what good fortune this happy accident has brought !     he has requested to meet with you  as  a  benefactor ,     provided that you continue performing ;     i believe he’s rather  fond  of you .     it could help us ,     peter .     not just the theatre ,     but  your  family .     the duke can be exceedingly generous     —     with the right motivation . ’  )

right motivation ,     indeed .     he’s in his best suit ,     the only one of his father’s that they hadn’t been forced to sell after his death ;     zidler had even let him open the bottle of wine they’d been saving for an  exceedingly  special occasion     —     certainly no occasion along these lines ,     he’s sure     —     but of course ,     the beautiful ,     charming ,     achingly  kind  man in front of him is a penniless writer .     of  course .     life ,     peter thinks ,     has a peculiar habit of being exceedingly  terrible  like that .     and cruel ,     he realises with a rising ,     prickling fear :     the duke will be here soon .     the  real  one  .     

❛ i don’t have the time for this .     get  out . ❜

                                   plotted  starter  for  @cairspian​ !