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.
"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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