: A Clear, Blue Sky :

Summary: Caspian has a secret. A deep, dark secret of which he can tell no one--In other words, Caspian is completely and hopelessly in love with Narnia's former king, Peter. But now the time has come to choose a bride and Caspian no longer knows what to do...

Pairing: CaspianxPeter, CaspianxOOC (Possibly Susan...it depends)

Warning(s): Even though I'm not really sure this is neccessary, assuming you know this is slash, yaoi, boyxboy content, I'll say it anyway. By the way, rating will change.

Genre: Romance/Angst (Plot gets deeper as story continues...)

World: Movie-verse, I believe. It's been forever since I've read the book so I'm not really sure it makes a big difference. A tad AU-ish cuz the Pevensies don't leave Narnia.

Rating: T (For now—will change in near future)

Disclaimer: Short and simple: I do not own Narnia. If I did, it would have been Peter who'd kissed Caspian at the end, not Susan, and the Pevensies wouldn't have left Narnia.

Chapter 1: Stormy Nights

Caspian's POV:

It was around 3:30 in the morning, or so I had decided, judging by the placement of the moon which hung high in the eastern sky as a strange circle hanging amongst gathering clouds. Clouds? I pondered the thought. Ah yes, it was indeed near winter, the days of autumn slowly fading away into the distant past. It had been months since the end of the Telmarinian rule (although I was still, technically, a telmarine—the small fact was overlooked) and I was still unsure of how helpful I had been to Narnia during the short beginning of my rule. What with all the sleep deprivation and near-starvation habits I've picked up with all the stress it didn't seem like it was going all too well.

The reason for my change in character, I have simply blamed on the stress—naturally. And no one cared to argue Only, maybe, a few suggestions that I should get more sleep. Pfft. But deep down, I knew that wasn't all it was. There was indeed stress, which was bothersome enough, but there was more to it than that. The pressure, the hesitance, the disbelief I have held toward each and every decision made was all questioned with a "How would Peter do this?" or "What would Peter think if..."

My thoughts were all centered, singularly, around Peter. A fact I could bear not knowing. And if bearing him witness to every major account wasn't enough, I had a hard time getting his face—so gentle—and his hands—so warm—and, well, every little thing about his absolute, unaltered perfection out of my mind. It was like I wasn't even me anymore, only a slave to thoughts of greater goods having been left to rot in all my imperfections and mistakes.

Suddenly, as I began coughing, I realized my throat must have run dry—as it commonly would due to another of my stupid habits of ignoring the need for water. I mean, so I was dehydrated a lot, what did that matter? Well, I suppose it sort of began to matter when your throat began to feel as though sand paper were grating against it. I took up the opportunity to stand and stretch, letting my arms drop limply to my sides. A yawn escaped my mouth as I made my way to the door.

The hallway was dimly lit and, due to the new-found peace within the nation, no one felt much need for indoor guards any longer and so the halls remained rather empty and quiet. The Narnians weren't exactly allowed in these quarters so it wasn't often you saw to occasional rat or mouse scurry by.

Then something caught my eye. There was someone walking down the dark corridor to my left, in the very direction of the bathroom—where I was headed. I had to squint to see who it was it the dark without proper lighting, or so was the way I figured. I'd never really been a fan of the dark and only really stopped fearing it at the age of 12. And a half. Needless to say, dark shapes within darkness that moved in the darkness didn't exactly give me that comforting, kingly feeling.

It was when the door to my said destination opened and light engulfed the figure that I realized who it was. Peter. Is it that he cannot sleep as well? I wondered, hating the hopeful feeling that arose deep within my gut. I had been following quietly and unnoticed, or so I hoped, up until then and suddenly felt like walking all the way to the kitchen—which lie down three flights of stairs, through the courtyard, into the lower knights' quarters, up two flights of stairs, through the 100-yard dining room and, finally, reaching the destination, was the kitchen. And that was just the short way. Never would I live it down, had I done just that. Especially once it began raining.

There was a small pitter-patter against the window and, at first, I had simply believed it to be a tall tree brushing against the wall before a growl sounded from the growing clouds. I urged myself over to the window, trying to ignore the fact that the bathroom lie only ten feet away now, and peered out into the gloominess of the sky, looking for signs of lightning.

Not that anything could surpass the burning hatred I held for my uncle whom killed my father, but lightning storms would have to come second on the list. Sure enough, much to my dismay, a stream of light shot like a momentary laser through the clouds and into some of the surrounding trees.

My eyes went wide. The worst night of my life had occurred on a stormy night, much like this one. The night my father died...

But the gloominess of my thoughts were interrupted as the bathroom door reopened and a surprised—and slightly scared, not that I would ever admit it—gasp escaped my lips. I felt a blush creep over my face as soon as Peter's eyes fell on mine and the door to the 'room of light,' as I numbly deemed it, closed, leaving us only the dim light from the window, by which I stood.

I heard Peter chuckle softly. "Can you not sleep either?" he asked in that cute, British—wherever that was—accent of his.

I felt no use in lying. Besides, he always saw right through me anyways. "Yeah... there is still much to think about... having to do with the meeting General Scentowski is to direct, I mean." I felt stupid. The softness of my voice seemed to make my words sound cluttered. I was relieved to realize he'd understood me despite my babbling.

"Yes, you are right," he agreed, smiling in the dark. "Much to think about, indeed. It's not very easy being king, is it?" It took him just three swift strides to reach the window, standing just to my right, only an inch of space between our arms.

My breath hitched in my throat and I felt myself nearly panic as I tried to keep my breathing even. I suspected Peter caught the look in my eye when I did not reply.

"Is something the matter? You do seem fairly pale," he stated observantly. It was for this very reason—his observational skills—that it seemed hardly bearable to even stand close to him like this. For fear that he might suddenly see my true feelings for him... That was most definitely one humiliating moment I could live without.

I had to lie. "I don't like storms." Well, alright, maybe not lie completely. After all, it was true I did not like storms. I was even pleased by how convincing my voice had sounded—or well, convincing enough that I would believe it…

He placed a hand to my forehead—I assumed it was to check for temperature. "Well, you don't seem feverish or anything. That's good." He said, once again staring me down observantly. I hated it. It was hard enough keeping the wind from being knocked out of me when his stunning face walked into the room, let alone having to stand only a foot from the lips my mouth ached to caress, gleaming in the glow of the moonlight.

No. Bad thoughts. Not good. "I-I'm sorry, I should be getting back to bed..." I said, hoping he didn't catch the edge of urgency to my voice. What a stupid, hopeless little boy, I was.

"Sure..." he said softly. For a moment I wondered it that had been disappointment written on his face. Of course, it was dark and I left with only a glance so my assumption must have been wrong. The hopeful feeling in my gut was returning and I bit at my lip as the butterflies fluttered within my stomach.

"Goodnight," I said quickly, before dashing to my room.

"Goodnight," I heard his soft reply, replaying his voice over and over in my head. No, he not disappointed, he's just tired… I reasoned with my thoughts, my stupid hopes.

It was only when I crawled into bed and noticed the storm had grown louder and fiercer did I realize how much I wanted to be back, standing with Peter at the window. The wind blew harshly against my window, lightening sending bursts of brightness into the room, and roaring thunder crackling so loud it sounded as if someone were mashing bones just inside my head. The world began to feel fuzzy and I thought I felt a tear roll down my cheek when an extremely bright burst of light poured into the room, accompanied by louder bone-mashing. I was gasping and trying to shield the sound from my ears when I felt something press against my covers. I felt fear course through my veins for one horrifying moment before I decided I felt inclined as to find out what it was and peered over the loop of sheets at the person placing a hand on me. Another burst of lightning and a frightened gasp from me. It was Peter.

In an instant, I felt relieved. It was like a warm embrace greeting my aching heart as I realized I wasn't alone.

I knew there were tears on my face, and that there were most likely markings to show it, but right now I felt as if it truly didn't matter that he saw me this way. I needed someone to comfort me, to get me through the night, the terror, my worst fear. I needed Peter to comfort me. In fact, Peter was probably the only one who could be that someone. And for this I was grateful.

Peter gently sat himself down beside me and set a glass upon my bedside table. It was full with water. "Are you—" he began, but the untimely thunder interrupted him and sent shivers down my spine.

I quickly plunged against Peter's chest, wrapping both arms securely around him. I was shaking, the storm was too much. "Don't go," I said desperately. "Don't leave me." I buried my face in his chest, taking in his wonderful cinnamon-like scent.

I felt him tense at first but, slowly and surely enough, ease into the embrace and even return it as I tried to muffle my gasps and small sobs within his shirt. "Shhh..." he said comfortingly. "It's alright, I'm not going anywhere."

I looked up at him, squeezing him momentarily as another blast of lightning lit the room, his eyes like glowing, sky blue orbs. "You... promise?" I asked meekly, feeling rather pathetic and desperate for his attention.

"I promise," he swore with a smile. Then something flashed through his eyes, something strange that deemed itself unidentifiable. Just after that, though, he leaned in, letting his eyes fall shut, and left a small, sweet kiss on my forehead. My heart was pounding so hard against my chest I felt I could burst at any given second. Granted it was often I felt both exhilarated and extremely nervous around Peter, this was almost too much to comprehend.

I sniffled. Feeling simultaneously childish and exuberant, I asked, "What was that for?"

"For comfort," Peter soothed. "And..." he began, reaching for the glass left abandoned on the table, "I brought you some water for your throat, your voice sounds a little hoarse."

At first I wasn't sure of what to say. It was as if everything tonight, so far, was nearly-completely out-of-character for Peter. He wasn't always this polite, was he? So kind-hearted and gentle toward me… It was often that we were caught fighting or arguing by Susan or Lucy, either of which would usually end up having to send guards to break us apart.

Peter motioned me to scoot over and the crawled into bed beside me. "Don't worry, my king, you've nothing to fear," he whispered in my ear.

"You can call me 'Caspian,' you know," I interrupted, correcting him.

"Alright, Caspian"—God, I adored the way he said it—"You shall not need to worry for I will not leave you on this night," he said with mock-properness and a twinge of sarcasm.

"Thank you," was all I could get out without choking on air before he pulled me protectively against his chest and—for the first time in, well, a really, really long time—I felt peaceful. My eyelids soon became heavy and finally fell comfortably in place as my mind was put to rest and all became calm. With the warmth of Peter's chest and the firm lock of his arms I felt safe. The storm could no longer scare me, not with Peter here. Peter was that special someone. And for me... well, he was my special someone...

Chapter 1: Stormy Nights

Hey! MD here. Enjoy the first chapter? Hate it? Sorry, I really couldn't stop myself from writing this--Caspian and Peter are definitely my new obsession and the urge just kind of took over. Let me know if I should continue! Sincerely,

xMysterious Darknessx