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"We fool ourselves," said Peter, "to think this can last."
Caspian looked up with a frown, pushing aside the parchments he'd been pouring over for the past few candle marks to more fully consider his clearly unhappy lover: perched on the edge of the window seat, his gaze was fixed firmly on the courtyard below (no doubt watching the soldiers performing their usual drills) and in his lap was Doctor Cornelius's book of Narnian fairy tales—which just happened to be opened to the tale of how the Four Kings and Queens of the Golden Age had followed the White Stag into the Lantern Waste and were never seen or heard from again. The young king grimaced. So, this was about the past. And the future. He'd rather hoped this wouldn't come up.
"Well, aren't we pessimistic this morning?" Caspian teased, praying that light words would be enough to diffuse the situation. "You weren't saying that last night, when you took me."
"Caspian!" Peter gasped, face flushing red as he turned to face him with wide eyes. The young king smirked, amused that the famed High King of Old Narnia could still blush so innocently at mere words. It wasn't as if he was a virgin. "This is serious!"
"Serious?" Caspian snorted in a very un-kingly manner. "Forgive me if I have trouble taking you seriously when you doubt my love."
"It's not your love I doubt—"
"—but rather Aslan's will," Caspian finished, shaking his head at Peter's astonishment. "Don't look so shocked, dear heart. Did you really think it hadn't occurred to me that Aslan might not permit you to stay? That you might be called back to your world without warning?"
"But if you already realize the futility of it all," Peter ground out, frustrated and lost and broken, "then why are we even having this conversation? It's hopeless."
Hopeless?
Caspian's eyes narrowed, lips pursing with building anger—but not for Peter. No, his ire was for someone else entirely: someone with a terrible habit of toying with people's lives and expecting to be thanked for it. Perhaps Aslan's intentions were good, but was not the road to evil paved with good intentions? Aslan may or may not be a god, but he was certainly not infallible, and Caspian knew better than most how damaged Narnia's beloved High King—and his brother and sisters—had been by the Lion's mechanisms. In his own way, he was almost as bad as the White Witch.
Still, Peter loved and respected Aslan.
He would have to choose his words carefully.
Cautiously, Caspian rounded the table separating him from his distraught love and placed a comforting hand on the boy's cheek, saddened and guilt-ridden at the salty tears shimmering in too-bright eyes. Perhaps he'd been wrong to keep the truth from him. He'd been nervous, yes, and unsure of Peter's reception to the news, but Caspian realized now that these things were no excuse for allowing the other boy to be burdened by such fear and uncertainty. "It saddens me that you think this way," said Caspian, soft and tender. "You know I love you, yes?"
Peter nodded.
"And you know your place is by my side: as ruler, as lover, and as a friend?"
Peter smiled weakly, and grasped the hand that still lingered on his wet cheek, kissing Caspian's fingers with all due reverence. "Always."
"Then," Caspian continued, taking a steadying breath. "I hope you'll forgive me for what I have done to keep you here."
Peter's eyes widened and Caspian ached when he pulled back, looking weary. "What have you done, Caspian?"
He hesitated.
"What have you done?"
"I..." Caspian's voice cracked. "I sought out Aslan. Shortly after my coronation."
"Aslan?"
"Yes," Caspian nodded curtly. "Aslan. You didn't think I'd made a deal with the White Witch, did you?" he said with a small laugh—and tried not to feel insulted when the joke fell flat and Peter refused to meet his eyes. "Well, anyway, I..." Could this be any more awkward? "I convinced him to let you stay." Okay, so maybe he was smoothing over the truth a little. It wasn't like he could come right out and say: sorry, Peter, I know you wouldn't approve, but I blackmailed your hairy friend into letting me keep you on threat of abdicating the kingship—which would, of course, lead to a civil war that Narnia could possibly never recover from.
"You did what?" Peter was furious. Eyes blazing, lips curled, fists clenched...
Caspian was suddenly very glad Peter didn't have his sword at his hip.
"How could you go behind my back like that? And not even tell me?"
Because he was a bit of a coward when it came to pissing the High King off? "I'm sorry," Caspian said. "I would have told you. Eventually." Probably at the very last moment, just as his siblings were being sent home and Peter started wondering why he wasn't going back. But he wasn't going to bring up that bit yet. The deal was for Peter. The other Pevensies would have to fend for themselves.
Peter sighed. "This is my life," he said. "You can't just make these sort of decisions on your own."
"I know." And he did. But Peter was too good to do the sort of convincing that had needed to be done. Well, that and Caspian was just a little more selfish when it came to Peter than might be considered healthy. He wasn't going to let his dear heart go. Period. Then, assuming his most repentant and piteous expression, he softly inquired: "Are you unhappy that Aslan is letting you stay?"
If so, that could be troublesome.
Peter stared at him, long and hard, before (finally!) he succumbed to the inevitable: "No," he chuckled, "and curse you for making it so hard to stay angry, even when I know I should." With that, Peter leaned up for a kiss, which Caspian was happy to supply him with.
Crisis adverted.
And as Caspian proceeded to remind Peter of just how much he was loved and wanted and show how very sorry he was, Peter asked with wonder: "So we're really going to have a happily ever after?"
"Yes, dear heart," Caspian swore.
They would have their happily ever after or the world would tremble beneath his fury.