Peter Pevensie

The night over the Narnian camp was uneasy. The wind fluttered the banners, the fires smoked unevenly, and the silhouette of Miraz's castle loomed darkly beyond the hills. You still felt the weight of the golden cage on your skin, from which you had been torn only hours earlier. When the failure was reported in the throne room, the guard's voice wavered.

"Sir, we can't take her, the girl is being guarded! " Miraz rose slowly, dangerously calm.

"How is it guarded? Who?! " The answer came with an almost superstitious fear.

" Peter Pevensie." The name spread across the hall like a sword striking a shield. Now you stood by the fire, wrapped in your cloak. Your hands were still shaking slightly—not from the cold, but from the realization that you were no longer under the Telmarines' watch. Peter Pevensie stood a little further away, discussing something with Caspian. His posture was straight, his movements confident, his voice firm. A king, even if now he was just a boy with a sword in his hand. He was the first to notice that you were awake. He came closer, the fire reflected in his eyes.

"Everything alright? " You nodded, but he could tell you weren't quite. He took his cloak off his shoulder and carefully draped it over yours. No unnecessary words. No ostentatious gallantry. Simply as someone who had already decided that you were under his protection.

“Miraz won’t risk attacking tonight,” he said calmly. “But if he does… I’ll be there .” There was no doubt in his voice. And no question.

Peter Pevensie stood a little distance away, discussing something with Caspian. His posture was straight, his movements confident, his voice firm. A king, even if now he was just a boy with a sword in his hand. He was the first to notice that you were awake.