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How am I ever supposed to be King?

This was one of the many thoughts that plagued Caspian's mind as he sat on the stone stairs in the How. In the hallowed shrine built as a monument of Aslan, he was only filled with doubts. Sitting at the base of the mural of Aslan, he kept feeling smaller and smaller. Having the Kings and Queens of Old guiding him through everything was a blessing and a terrible reminder. If he could barely do this with them, how was he ever going to lead alone? Plus, he didn't think was doing a great job even with their help, and he spent most of his time fighting with Peter, someone he had looked up to all his life.

And now, Peter was going to be fighting for him and his throne. Caspian had thought he should fight his Uncle himself since it was his throne they were fighting over, but that was the exact reasoning given on why he shouldn't. As Lucy had put it: "You're the future now. We'll all need you when the time is right."

All her words had done was send him further down a spiral of self-doubt and ridicule. Despite the small piece of himself reminding his cruel mind of the help he had provided in suggestions to their defense, something Edmund had even commended him for, he couldn't help the critical voice in his head telling him how useless he was.

And if he couldn't find a use for himself when literal legends were helping him, what could he do when—if he became King?

He buried his face in his hands. He hardly noticed that the water at his feet was soaking through his boots. Another reminder of his most recent failure with his encounter with the White Witch.

He couldn't get himself to move from his spot on the stairs, let alone feign an attempt at sleeping, as he knew he ought to. His mind spiraled about every possible outcome for tomorrow; leaving him jittery and wound tight. The duel wasn't until high noon, and he hardly could deal with the waiting. And the pressure.

Everyone would be looking to him, especially if the duel went array as Edmund suspected it might. But Caspian couldn't explain to Edmund that he didn't know what he was doing. He didn't think he'd be able to offer much if it came down to it. He'd just get in the way, which was starting to feel like it was the only thing he could do of late.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he heard some quiet footsteps entering the tomb. They were light, not the hard clacking of a centaur's hooves, but surely not as soft as a badgers. Caspian reluctantly raised his head, hastily wiping away a few stray tears that trailed down his cheeks. He tried to ready himself for that look of hope everyone seemed to be giving him lately. This admiration, this certainty that he was going to save them. It was overwhelming; he didn't know how much more he could see it.

Instead of any person who'd give him such an expression, Peter entered the tomb. His expression was hard to read; Caspian thought he might be annoyed, but then again, Peter also could be as exhausted as Caspian felt. He had the same white tunic and brown pants he wore earlier, and his blond hair was a bit disheveled, probably from whatever little sleep he had gotten.

Caspian's stomach dropped at the sight of him. He wasn't even sure where he stood with Peter. There had been this anger to him, usually directed at Caspian, and a desperation about him during the raid on his Uncle's castle that Caspian couldn't quite place the origin to. But ever since they had returned from the raid and encountered the White Witch with Uncle's army quite literally appearing on their doorstep not long after, Peter became calmer somehow. It terrified Caspian.

Which version of Peter would he be receiving? The calm and kindness Peter had been showing to Caspian had only been in front of others when they couldn't afford to look divided. Now that it was just the two of them, Caspian became very afraid of what Peter would say to him. He thought it'd be hard for him to feel worse about himself, but he was scared for that to be tested.

However, some of Caspian's fears were abetted when Peter said, "You know, a good night's rest is just as important as a sound battle strategy." There was no judgment in his voice. Actually, a trace of amusement was there instead. Peter made his way over to him, taking a seat on the rocky steps beside him. He chuckled lightheartedly as he added, "Don't worry, I was the same way for a long time." Caspian's skepticism must've been plain as Peter said, "Ask my siblings if you don't believe me. I'd be up all hours on the eve of a battle. It drove Oreius nuts." He looked to Caspian with this soft expression. "I had guessed you might be feeling the same as I once did."

He had sleepless nights before a battle too? Caspian asked himself. For one moment, he thought it was a bridge they could relate to each other with. Instead, his mind unhelpfully supplied, he overcame that, and I can't.

All he could do was notice the huge gaps between Peter and himself. And it was even worse that Peter, who should have been getting rest before the deadly duel he was fighting for Caspian, was now stuck looking after him.

"I'm sorry," Caspian blurted out. The smile faded from Peter's face. "You shouldn't have—You're fighting tomorrow—" he clasped his hands together, trying to steady himself.

"I wanted to check on you," Peter reassured. After a few seconds, Caspian managed to look at him. Every part of his body language seemed relaxed and comfortable as if the two of them hadn't spent the last few days at odds with one another. "I can imagine how difficult this is for you."

For you, Peter's words molded through his mind over and over again. He was so much calmer now. He was being nice, and he even had a kind smile on his face.

When Caspian felt his next words push against his lips, he blurted out, "How're you so calm right now?"

"Experience," he answered not unkindly, though his even tone did little to stop the drop of Caspian's stomach at the reminder of his lacking. Then Peter paused. With a sigh, he added, "And years of practice."

There was a weight to those words. How many battles had he actually been in during his reign? How many times had he sat up worried and riddled with fear as Caspian was? Seeing him now, it seemed too hard to imagine.

Caspian had grown up hearing the stories of his great triumphs. He had never lost a battle. Even in his very first one, he had led the army against the White Witch, ending the 100 years of her tyranny. And that was just the start of his reign.

Next to that, how was Caspian ever supposed to compare? Peter and his siblings led Narnia into a Golden Age. What if he led them into another Dark Age? The Narnians deserved better than that.

They deserve better than me.

"There's a lot on your mind," Peter noticed, though his voice was void of any annoyance.

It was a fact, and they both knew it. But he didn't pry any further. He waited though. It took Caspian a moment to realize that he was being given a choice. They could talk about something else or end the conversation. He didn't have to confess to his turmoil. He didn't have to.

Yet he wanted to. Desperately and completely.

There was no one outside of Peter and his siblings he could talk to about this. Others could empathize, of course, probably even encourage him, but they'd never be able to grasp the weight of having an entire kingdom looking to him to lead.

Even though he and Peter had been on rocky terms, he thought this might be his only chance to really talk to him before tomorrow. And if Peter seemed at least open enough to talk, then Caspian knew he had to try.

Despite every part of him begging him to not do it, he admitted, "I can't do this. Any of this. I'm not like you or your siblings."

His voice was quiet and scratchy even to his own ears. He glanced at Peter and noticed the shift in his demeanor. His shoulders tensed, and a frown formed on his face. All Caspian wanted to do was retreat, but once he had started his confession, he couldn't stop himself from speaking anymore.

When Peter didn't offer any response, Caspian stared at his hands and continued, "I grew up hearing stories about your reign. All four of you are these legends that have done more for Narnia than I could ever hope to, and I think it's been a mistake to pick me."

Because all I'll do is let you all down, he silently added, yet he couldn't bear to admit those words aloud too.

There must've been something he had said that was wrong because Peter's expression shifted to one of sadness. Yet after a few seconds, it faded to thoughtfulness, as if the sadness hadn't been there at all.

"A lot has been put on your shoulders," Peter was careful with his words, yet no less steady. "Something I should've been helping you more with." He paused before he said, "You were meant to be King, and you can't cloud your mind with stories about me and my siblings. It's not really fair to do to do yourself."

"All of those stories actually happened though," Caspian replied, knowing how many times he had heard the tales. He started counting on his fingers as he listed off. "You defeated the Ettins in the North, fought against the Tisroc of Tashbaan, restored the Lone Islands, defeated the White Witch—"

"I didn't—" he interjected, sounding harsher than he probably intended if his apologetic expression was any indicator. Then his brows furrowed, as he seemed a bit frustrated. There was this heaviness to his voice as he fumbled to find the right words, much to Caspian's confusion until he said, "I never defeated the White Witch."

"But in the battle you fought her and killed her—" he started only for Peter to shake his head. Caspian had heard the story a thousand times. Peter led the charge against the White Witch after coming to Narnia from another world. Singlehandedly, he had killed the White Witch after Edmund had destroyed her wand. That was the story.

Wasn't it?

With a sigh, Peter explained, "I was thirteen when I fought her." He crossed his arms as if he was uncomfortable. "Hundreds of my soldiers were massacred that day. Edmund nearly lost his life, and I—I only lasted as long as I had because she had been toying with me—if it hadn't been for Aslan, I and everyone else on that battlefield would've died."

Caspian sat there dumbfounded. Aslan was mentioned in the stories, of course, but never that he had defeated the White Witch. He couldn't believe how different Peter's account was. He never realized how many people had lost their lives, or even that the White Witch had nearly won the battle. It was never told that way. That day was always told as this glorious victory. Almost as if the entire thing had been too easy for them to just overthrow the Witch.

"History tends to leave out the important pieces," Peter said. "The kind of ones that make that day one of the worst in my life."

Peter wore his sadness plainly on his face now. Caspian could admit that he never gave it much thought what it would have been like to be thirteen and facing the White Witch. He had known Peter was young at the time, but never grasped the reality of it. Caspian had only been near her for a few moments, and she had been absolutely terrifying. And considering how close Peter and Edmund were, it must've been truly awful to see Edmund nearly die that day too.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't realize—"

"There's nothing to forgive," he reassured gently. He uncrossed his arms as he leaned back and rested his elbows on the stair behind him. "I suppose most of the stories you've heard are like that. But those missing pieces still happened, and most of the time, those are the moments that matter the most." He ran his hand through his hair as he admitted, "Caspian, I've made a lot of mistakes. Some were small, but plenty were huge."

"But you're the High King." Caspian tried to explain. Peter couldn't have made that many if he led Narnia into its Golden Age, right?

"I wasn't always," Peter pointed out. "I was once thirteen and given a throne before I knew much of being a leader or even a King. I needed a lot of help. I was just as lost as you must feel." He chuckled lightly, which eased some of tension from Caspian, as he added, "If you didn't have some doubts about yourself and being King, I think I'd be more alarmed."

Caspian tried to picture it: a younger version of Peter, stuck with the same fears Caspian had now. He could kind of see it. He had seen a lot of Peter's anger and desperation since meeting him, but even then, there was no doubt that he was a great leader and an honorable King.

He seemed to notice that Caspian was struggling, for he even smiled and reassured, "It take time to believe in why you were chosen to lead, to trust the help around you, and to truly understand that you will be enough."

"I won't be," Caspian disagreed harshly, feeling his own frustration bubbling in his chest. Why didn't he understand? "I'm not you—"

"No one's asking you to be," Peter cut him off, his voice no less kind. "Not to be me, any of my siblings, nor anyone else for that matter. "You just have to be yourself."

"Aren't you scared I won't be enough? That all your effort will be wasted on me? Or that tomorrow will go horribly wrong because you trusted in me?" Caspian's worst fears spilled out before he could ever hope to stop them.

To this, he shrugged in response before he said, "I'm not scared for Narnia's future. I know we can win tomorrow."

With the mounting odds stacked against this, he replied, "I don't know how you're so sure."

Peter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he turned more towards Caspian. With far more confidence than Caspian ever thought he could feel, Peter said, "Because I know that no matter what happens to me, Narnia is in good hands."

At first, Caspian assumed he was referring to siblings taking control of the situation, but based on Peter's expression, he soon realized: he means me.

A pang of guilt swallowed him. Peter was doing all this for Caspian to have a chance at ruling because he believed he was Narnia's best chance. He could die tomorrow for Caspian's throne, for a chance to let him protect Narnia as Peter and his siblings had done before him. It wasn't worth the risk. He wasn't worth it.

"Peter—"

"I know you don't feel it, but you're Narnia's future," Peter replied gingerly, as if he knew how difficult it was for Caspian to believe it.

Caspian wasn't sure how to feel. His doubts were still there, but Peter's words were so final, so confident.

You're Narnia's future. It played over and over again in his mind. Maybe, he could be the person Narnia needed if Peter believed in him.

"And I'm sorry it took me so long to see it. I should've been helping you see that from the beginning," Peter admitted with regret plain in his voice. "It had far less to do with you than it did my own faults."

"I'm sorry too," Caspian answered, feeling tears pricking against his eyes. "For everything. I wanted to prove myself and I didn't want to listen. I should've acted better too."

To his apology, Peter gave him a gentle smile and even patted his arm as if to reassure him that this now was behind them.

For a few moments, he felt it. He felt eased and calm. The two of them just stayed in silence. Caspian found that he wasn't confronted by the same anxieties anymore. About leading. About having Peter even being in the same room as him. It was a nice change.

However, it wasn't long before fear crept in. It was nice being beside Peter almost as if they were friends, and he suddenly and desperately didn't want to lose it. There was so much he wanted to know about Peter, so many lessons he thought could learn from him. With their egos aside, this was there chance to become close.

But with the duel tomorrow, there were so many possible outcomes. Peter might not be worried, but Caspian was. Peter was a knight and a King, he'd be honorable, but his Uncle was a usurper and a murderer.

Caspian, unable to hide the creeping fear, blurted out, "Peter, I must warn you-my Uncle—he isn't—he won't fight fairly, and I don't want him to—"

Peter placed a hand on Caspian's shoulder, easing him into silence and said, "I appreciate your concern." He paused for a moment as if to consider his words carefully. "In a hundred years from now, history will reflect on what we do and how we act tomorrow. The same will be for your Uncle. His actions will be judged just as ours will be. I can't control him or the outcome, just what I do." He smiled before he said, "And what you do will matter too. It'll echo for generations to come like any of the stories you've heard of mine."

Generations to come? I didn't need any more pressure on top of the mountain already there.

If his actions will be relayed in history, how would he know what the right choice was? Will his decisions be like Peter and his siblings', revered and acclaimed or will his be judged and hated?

Caspian's panic must've made its way to his face, for Peter continue speaking in that kind tone he had been using before, "When the time is right, no matter what we face, just follow your heart. It'll always lead you to the right path."

"Is that what you do?"

"Yes, he replied, and then with a bit of laughter in his voice, he added, "much to the distress of my siblings."

By his expression, Caspian figured there was some truth to that anguish. If all it took was following his heart to be claimed as the Magnificent King, Caspian had no doubt it meant that Peter had gotten himself into plenty of noble battles, regardless of the danger to himself.

Peter stood up from his spot on the rocks and helped Caspian to his feet with his hand. "I know you have doubts about yourself, and you should know—I just wanted to tell you, I don't share them. I can fight with everything I have tomorrow because I know that you're Narnia's best choice."

There was such sincerity in his voice, as if he truly believed every word, much to Caspian's disbelief. There was also a softness there too, as if he understood how difficult it was to believe for Caspian.

"You have no idea how much it means to me for you to say that," Caspian admitted. "I won't let you down." He felt invigorated for the first time since he met the Narnians. "Thank you, Peter." He paused for a moment as he realized, "I don't think I ever properly thanked you for fighting my Uncle."

"And you never have to," he said with certainty in his voice. As if this was the only course of action he could've taken. "This is why I came back to Narnia. I see that now, and—" This time, when he spoke, Peter didn't sound all that certain, even fumbling over his words. "—I hope I haven't ruined—I—I just hope that after all of this, we can—can be friends."

There was a pink flush to his cheeks as he held out his hand to Caspian to shake. While he could empathize with Peter's fear that they may have ruined their chances at any sort of positive relationship, Caspian's heart leapt out of his chest.

All Caspian had wanted to do was become friends with him, for them to become proper ones and learn from each other. Although, he couldn't expect them to be perfectly mended from their days of discourse, they had taken a huge step today.

Peter had faith in his him, and while this didn't end Caspian's doubt, it did quiet them, because if Peter, the High King, could believe in him so wholeheartedly, then maybe he could find the strength to do so too. For all Peter had done for him up until this moment and what he would he do, there was only one answer to the unasked question.

With a smile beaming on his face and with as much confidence he could mustered, Caspian shook Peter's hand and affirmed, "Friends."