home, where I wanted to gojustredemptionOctober 21 2009, 02:36:31 UTC
"All right," he answered.
He looked towards his brother, unpointed, unimplying. Just a look. It was only simple fatigue in his voice more than worry, fretting, sadness. It was just too much traveling for one day. Three worlds in one day, and never mind everything that happened in the meantime--lost torch and all. That could exhaust anyone. He was glad of it all, of course, but fatigued.
He was perched at the foot of his bed: himself at one end, his crown at the other. (And how did it even get there in the first place? Somehow, some way, another bit or piece brought over and thought--better than losing things like always, like Susan's horn and his torch.) It seemed as good a place as any to sit in this room that was his and not his all at once.
So what was all this about? What lay under the question?
"And you?"
It only made sense to ask the question back, even if it seemed he knew the answer. But he knew the answer from some other time--a year ago for his brother, an afternoon ago for himself. Still, it was polite to ask.
home, where I wanted to gooshutupOctober 21 2009, 14:00:33 UTC
He can feel the piercing nature of Edmund's gaze without meeting it, but he meets it all the same, a half shrug enough to say what his words are less good at, but words are sometimes necessary. There are several things he could say here, all of which would be true and none of which are less than one another, but the blond keeps his time, glancing again at the silver of the crown beyond his brother's shoulder. What he will not say is that part of his being here at all has only been, from knocking to stepping in and lingering, only done to make sure his brother is still there at all. They have experienced the Just being present for no more than a day, and midnight is only minutes away, close enough that Peter fails to ignore it despite knowing that unlike the last time, only his brother's entrance to this world seems to have been noted. Last, there were many, more than he cared to count when the one that mattered was right in front of them, one of the first he imagined--first to arrive, first to leave as a feeling though time ruled that they were all the same.
"Glad that you've gotten back to us, though I know it wasn't any time for you," he nods slightly, leaning up off the door, arms folding across his chest, loose, as if they just need something else to do other than hang at his sides. You look tired, he thinks, which makes sense, and he plans to take his leave to accommodate that soon enough, but, turned to the side now, he casts a look at the Just again, locking his presence here if such a thing is possible and he knows it isn't but his will is there anyway. "I'll leave you to settling," resting, "...I," felt like saying hello again, "...am sure the others are eager to show you around when you're interested."
A more direct locking of blue to brown says he would be as glad as well, but it's not ever been the kind of thing Peter's really made a habit of saying aloud. His brother is one of the people who can tell, and back on English earth, possibly the only one who knows it well enough not to need a pointed stare in the first place, but world changing is disorienting and even Peter can note the difference in a look and a look's absence when one is tired. In short, it matters, the subtlety, and though they were never anything remotely like good at it when they were younger, it's true that over a decade growing up after their first adventure had them grown up in a way already has served them in closing invisible distances. Once a brother trying to be a father and perhaps--Peter has never asked--a younger brother wanting to be the older, they are now just brothers--more importantly, the same in many respects and it would not be a lie to say Peter considers Edmund the closest thing to one of his equals. High King and King have nothing to do with it in this case. It's about what's beneath gold or silver leaves.
home, where I wanted to gojustredemptionOctober 22 2009, 06:03:09 UTC
"I'm glad I've gotten back too."
And he does mean it, given how excited everyone seemed to have been at seeing him--again. It was a lucky chance to find himself here, despite all the tangles in that thought.
In talking a little, he feels as though he's waking up a bit from the stillness and drowsiness he'd fallen into after retreating to his room.
"I looked around a little already. I found the back porch, at least."
And Caspian found him on it, but that was nothing to mention. Just another conversation rather like this one: spaces and words and spaces and words. But that was all right. That was how it should have been.
But he understood what was under that look his brother gave him: this is our house, come and see it. And he would be glad of it, to see this house--their house. It was exploring, the same as always--they always found themselves in strange places and started off exploring, and he did like it. So he answered that look, quietly: but I haven't really seen much besides that.
Someone watching them would never understand how much they said to one another with minute movements of eyes and face. But it was almost as much as words, or more. The nature of brotherhood.
"And I found the pig."
Why did he find that pig so amusing? Just something about it, about having a pig in the house, about Caspian taking in a pig on someone else's behalf--if it were a talking pig, perhaps it would make more sense. Either way, there was something about a kept pig. But it was settling in his mind as another part of the house already.
"I can't believe you want to move as big as this place is already. Lucy showed me where the new house is--will be. I haven't even seen all of this house yet."
It's a pragmatic sort of thing to talk about, houses and places and greetings, especially when he suspects there's something far more on his brother's mind, but nothing said save in looks and eyes. But it serves.
home, where I wanted to gooshutupOctober 22 2009, 23:47:38 UTC
His mouth quirks, not entirely pleased and not displeased either at the mention of the pig that Caspian took in because he was asked and then convinced or something that it was a Talking Pig. Honestly. Peter doesn't believe it for a second, but it's only a pig and it is temporary. There is another reason or theory as well of course, that it's more trouble than it's worth to oust the creature prematurely. Possibly. Probably. The mention of moving catches a sharper glance, this one out of the corner of a blue eye, the blond having turned to look at one of the shelves in the room for no particular reason.
"There are a couple of reasons," or a few, "But it wouldn't be before Christmas, though it's coming along fairly well." He doesn't mention that friends with magic have thrown their lot in with helping them because such details are unnecessary at the moment, but he doubts his brother will be too surprised to find it as such. "It will go more smoothly now that you've come back," he does not imply but state, because he believes it to be true that the four of them do anything best when united. Caspian and Reepicheep, as well as what friends of the City have offered their assistance make even fixing such an immense villa seem doable despite winter inching ever closer. Shrugging a fraction, the High King rubs the back of his neck, not sheepish but with some level of understanding. This house is big already for them, in a way, the Pevensies at least who despite having lived in Cair Paravel for as long as they did, started with things far more modest.
Er, the eldest refrains from mentioning the thought that a certain Telmarine likely considers the new house-to-be more comfortable though still nothing like a castle. Time will tell and all that.
"In a way it's more of a project," he muses, which he knew before too. "Something we can all get our hands into, ours as family and others as our friends, and once you see it, you might agree that there's something about it that speaks of being lived in again." Peter finds it easier to talk with his brother, for all that they exchange in wordless glances, and sometimes it strikes him as strange until he remembers how long they've been in the process of growing up together. Though he is closest in age to Susan and has the softest place in his heart for Lucy, Edmund is the one who keeps him grounded, close to a sense of normality he can live with. Some of it has to do with their beginnings, how Ed changed but how Peter had to as well if anything was to make an actual shift, and it isn't that their relationship is perfect--far from it--but nothing is and that has never been one of Peter's expectations of anything, or anyone for that matter.
Too predictable, perhaps, blue eyes fall on silver crown again, longer this time as he is in no way trying to be subtle about his focus, though the silence spreads thin and fragile before he speaks again.
"We all have them," he doesn't bother to nod at it, knowing the Just is plenty observant enough to have noted his gaze. "Not all curses here are bad," a point to be made in the midst of all the harping that goes on about how terrible this place can be when the High King knows it first as a place he has been able to meet friends he would not have otherwise again. He cannot call that terrible, though some of the things that happen here certainly are. "And they're proof," he pauses at the side of the bed, eyes now on his brother whether or not he'll meet them, because it doesn't really matter either which way. They are, for most purposes, just sharing space and adjustment. It is welcome but not welcome back and it is hello but also glad to have found you again, and so many other simple things.
What he does not say, what he knows Edmund does not expect him to say, is no less true for it, the same thought he entered with while addressing such things as rooms, pigs, and new houses.
I missed you. I wanted to make sure you were still here.
Stay.
The way his eyes flicker down at the watch on his wrist may or may not be detected, but the time floods him with relief enough that a tension in his shoulders seems to lift.
He looked towards his brother, unpointed, unimplying. Just a look. It was only simple fatigue in his voice more than worry, fretting, sadness. It was just too much traveling for one day. Three worlds in one day, and never mind everything that happened in the meantime--lost torch and all. That could exhaust anyone. He was glad of it all, of course, but fatigued.
He was perched at the foot of his bed: himself at one end, his crown at the other. (And how did it even get there in the first place? Somehow, some way, another bit or piece brought over and thought--better than losing things like always, like Susan's horn and his torch.) It seemed as good a place as any to sit in this room that was his and not his all at once.
So what was all this about? What lay under the question?
"And you?"
It only made sense to ask the question back, even if it seemed he knew the answer. But he knew the answer from some other time--a year ago for his brother, an afternoon ago for himself. Still, it was polite to ask.
There was something hanging in the air.
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"Glad that you've gotten back to us, though I know it wasn't any time for you," he nods slightly, leaning up off the door, arms folding across his chest, loose, as if they just need something else to do other than hang at his sides. You look tired, he thinks, which makes sense, and he plans to take his leave to accommodate that soon enough, but, turned to the side now, he casts a look at the Just again, locking his presence here if such a thing is possible and he knows it isn't but his will is there anyway. "I'll leave you to settling," resting, "...I," felt like saying hello again, "...am sure the others are eager to show you around when you're interested."
A more direct locking of blue to brown says he would be as glad as well, but it's not ever been the kind of thing Peter's really made a habit of saying aloud. His brother is one of the people who can tell, and back on English earth, possibly the only one who knows it well enough not to need a pointed stare in the first place, but world changing is disorienting and even Peter can note the difference in a look and a look's absence when one is tired. In short, it matters, the subtlety, and though they were never anything remotely like good at it when they were younger, it's true that over a decade growing up after their first adventure had them grown up in a way already has served them in closing invisible distances. Once a brother trying to be a father and perhaps--Peter has never asked--a younger brother wanting to be the older, they are now just brothers--more importantly, the same in many respects and it would not be a lie to say Peter considers Edmund the closest thing to one of his equals. High King and King have nothing to do with it in this case. It's about what's beneath gold or silver leaves.
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And he does mean it, given how excited everyone seemed to have been at seeing him--again. It was a lucky chance to find himself here, despite all the tangles in that thought.
In talking a little, he feels as though he's waking up a bit from the stillness and drowsiness he'd fallen into after retreating to his room.
"I looked around a little already. I found the back porch, at least."
And Caspian found him on it, but that was nothing to mention. Just another conversation rather like this one: spaces and words and spaces and words. But that was all right. That was how it should have been.
But he understood what was under that look his brother gave him: this is our house, come and see it. And he would be glad of it, to see this house--their house. It was exploring, the same as always--they always found themselves in strange places and started off exploring, and he did like it. So he answered that look, quietly: but I haven't really seen much besides that.
Someone watching them would never understand how much they said to one another with minute movements of eyes and face. But it was almost as much as words, or more. The nature of brotherhood.
"And I found the pig."
Why did he find that pig so amusing? Just something about it, about having a pig in the house, about Caspian taking in a pig on someone else's behalf--if it were a talking pig, perhaps it would make more sense. Either way, there was something about a kept pig. But it was settling in his mind as another part of the house already.
"I can't believe you want to move as big as this place is already. Lucy showed me where the new house is--will be. I haven't even seen all of this house yet."
It's a pragmatic sort of thing to talk about, houses and places and greetings, especially when he suspects there's something far more on his brother's mind, but nothing said save in looks and eyes. But it serves.
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"There are a couple of reasons," or a few, "But it wouldn't be before Christmas, though it's coming along fairly well." He doesn't mention that friends with magic have thrown their lot in with helping them because such details are unnecessary at the moment, but he doubts his brother will be too surprised to find it as such. "It will go more smoothly now that you've come back," he does not imply but state, because he believes it to be true that the four of them do anything best when united. Caspian and Reepicheep, as well as what friends of the City have offered their assistance make even fixing such an immense villa seem doable despite winter inching ever closer. Shrugging a fraction, the High King rubs the back of his neck, not sheepish but with some level of understanding. This house is big already for them, in a way, the Pevensies at least who despite having lived in Cair Paravel for as long as they did, started with things far more modest.
Er, the eldest refrains from mentioning the thought that a certain Telmarine likely considers the new house-to-be more comfortable though still nothing like a castle. Time will tell and all that.
"In a way it's more of a project," he muses, which he knew before too. "Something we can all get our hands into, ours as family and others as our friends, and once you see it, you might agree that there's something about it that speaks of being lived in again." Peter finds it easier to talk with his brother, for all that they exchange in wordless glances, and sometimes it strikes him as strange until he remembers how long they've been in the process of growing up together. Though he is closest in age to Susan and has the softest place in his heart for Lucy, Edmund is the one who keeps him grounded, close to a sense of normality he can live with. Some of it has to do with their beginnings, how Ed changed but how Peter had to as well if anything was to make an actual shift, and it isn't that their relationship is perfect--far from it--but nothing is and that has never been one of Peter's expectations of anything, or anyone for that matter.
Too predictable, perhaps, blue eyes fall on silver crown again, longer this time as he is in no way trying to be subtle about his focus, though the silence spreads thin and fragile before he speaks again.
"We all have them," he doesn't bother to nod at it, knowing the Just is plenty observant enough to have noted his gaze. "Not all curses here are bad," a point to be made in the midst of all the harping that goes on about how terrible this place can be when the High King knows it first as a place he has been able to meet friends he would not have otherwise again. He cannot call that terrible, though some of the things that happen here certainly are. "And they're proof," he pauses at the side of the bed, eyes now on his brother whether or not he'll meet them, because it doesn't really matter either which way. They are, for most purposes, just sharing space and adjustment. It is welcome but not welcome back and it is hello but also glad to have found you again, and so many other simple things.
What he does not say, what he knows Edmund does not expect him to say, is no less true for it, the same thought he entered with while addressing such things as rooms, pigs, and new houses.
I missed you. I wanted to make sure you were still here.
Stay.
The way his eyes flicker down at the watch on his wrist may or may not be detected, but the time floods him with relief enough that a tension in his shoulders seems to lift.
A quarter past midnight...
The Just remains.
And almost, Peter smiles.
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